// we haven't won, and if we win, //
The pride that lingers on her face is one that Asta finds quite comforting – because while he had always been born a fighter, the kind that scraped at the bottom of the barrel for whatever they could, he knew that she wasn’t at all like him. She was everything opposite – selfless, caretaking and gentle in ways that the butcher never was. Or if he did, felt as though it wasn’t right.
So he waits, letting his patience take matters into its own hands as she debates what to do next with him this close – the scent of smoke from the fire he conjured often etched into his skin. He’s composed, though his smile remains, sharp and eager for her next decision. And truthfully? It’s a good one – as her hit isn’t as strong as it would have been if he’d had more distance, but it does jostle his arm enough to make it miss, careening over her shoulder and shorter stature, even as it draws him a moment to get away from her and create more space. “Nicely done.” He hums with absolute pride glittering in his voice.
“Now try to block mine.” He murmurs as he surges in toward her, slower than he would, aiming a punch toward her center of mass to see just how she would evade it. And if she can’t, the hit would be minimal at best, a brief dusting, conscious of how hard he could hit without wanting to actually hurt her.
3/4
So he waits, letting his patience take matters into its own hands as she debates what to do next with him this close – the scent of smoke from the fire he conjured often etched into his skin. He’s composed, though his smile remains, sharp and eager for her next decision. And truthfully? It’s a good one – as her hit isn’t as strong as it would have been if he’d had more distance, but it does jostle his arm enough to make it miss, careening over her shoulder and shorter stature, even as it draws him a moment to get away from her and create more space. “Nicely done.” He hums with absolute pride glittering in his voice.
“Now try to block mine.” He murmurs as he surges in toward her, slower than he would, aiming a punch toward her center of mass to see just how she would evade it. And if she can’t, the hit would be minimal at best, a brief dusting, conscious of how hard he could hit without wanting to actually hurt her.
3/4
Astaroth
// and if the morning light sets in, we've cheated fate again //
