// day breaks sorrow //
“Precisely, darling.” Asta grins, imagining it alongside his lover as he sinks into his side. His arm slips around a bit more comfortably, fingertips dipping into Danta’s waistband, head still angled toward him as he muses his question. His head remains tilted as they walk, nodding only once to the echo he hears, before he snorts another soft laugh. “Mm, yes, I suppose you would have to be on your best behavior.” A dramatic drawl, angling his head away momentarily to sigh equally as dramatic.
The darkness still lingers within Danta, though, as the butcher is well aware. And at the very least, he’s pleased with the fact they have the rage room in case he did ever let it get too bottled up. “Far less these days than there once were.” And maybe it’s the fact the butcher’s family dynamic had been fucked up from the get-go, but he highly doubts anyone in Halo is still holding onto lanterns of their ancestors.
Tilting his attention back toward Danta with the question, his smile is a touch softer as he contemplates. “My Whitebrim did not. We did not really pray to anyone but the Eirachi for easier Deepfrosts.” That had been the extent of his godly following, until of course, Dygra had saved him and he’d become truly, wholly, completely devoted. “The larger cities did, however. When I had my sprees after becoming Ancient, there were lanterns I could often attribute to those I had encountered.” Something about the design would match those that fell at his hand, and perhaps it was arrogance that made him assume it was correlated, if it wasn’t true.
Ah, but that’s when the fun ends, because the butcher’s snapping up immediately once the words leave him, peering past Danta’s golden crown to spot the movement. A low snarl passes from his lips, shifting their positioning so that the butcher’s closest toward the wicker woman if she decides to reach out. “Shall we continue where we can be alone?”
The darkness still lingers within Danta, though, as the butcher is well aware. And at the very least, he’s pleased with the fact they have the rage room in case he did ever let it get too bottled up. “Far less these days than there once were.” And maybe it’s the fact the butcher’s family dynamic had been fucked up from the get-go, but he highly doubts anyone in Halo is still holding onto lanterns of their ancestors.
Tilting his attention back toward Danta with the question, his smile is a touch softer as he contemplates. “My Whitebrim did not. We did not really pray to anyone but the Eirachi for easier Deepfrosts.” That had been the extent of his godly following, until of course, Dygra had saved him and he’d become truly, wholly, completely devoted. “The larger cities did, however. When I had my sprees after becoming Ancient, there were lanterns I could often attribute to those I had encountered.” Something about the design would match those that fell at his hand, and perhaps it was arrogance that made him assume it was correlated, if it wasn’t true.
Ah, but that’s when the fun ends, because the butcher’s snapping up immediately once the words leave him, peering past Danta’s golden crown to spot the movement. A low snarl passes from his lips, shifting their positioning so that the butcher’s closest toward the wicker woman if she decides to reach out. “Shall we continue where we can be alone?”
Astaroth
// and i still feel the edge of this cold knife //
