i will never go backwards, i will never be seen
in the wake of disaster ...
in the wake of disaster ...
Nestled up against the oak as he has been for nearly the entirety of the night, the butcher’s spent much of the time tracking the rest of the party. Trying his best to give Danta as much time to mingle as possible without chewing a hole through his cheek in the process, it had been a challenge to say the least. So instead, he’d busied himself with his own little means of amusement in the interim, extending out his haunt with the smiling shadow to only just get caught in the corner of people’s eyes enough to look and end up seeing nothing.
Luckily, though, the vast majority have left him alone. The drink Danta had given him before departing to go and socialize has been empty for some time now and having not trusted himself to get a refill without causing some kind of scene, he’d opted to lean against the trunk, arms across his scarred chest, the chainmail rags weaving with the little bouts of breezes here and there. The occasional will-o-wisp catches his attention, but nothing quite like when Danta returns to him.
He sees the path he takes through the crowd, less people now than there had been originally, and he watches him with outward admiration from beneath the mask and muzzle he bears, ignoring the basket he carries for the moment until he’s actually within speaking distance. His muscles seem tense, like he was fighting against meeting him halfway, but once he hoists the basket it seems to lessen the tension some. “Welcome back, darling.” He purrs softly, arms unfolding from his chest as Danta sinks into it, his arms wrapping possessively around him and under the half shoulder cloak. “I am managing well enough.” Which is a good way of saying he’s only fucked around a little bit and that he should be proud of him.
He really should be. "Did you enjoy your socializing?"
Luckily, though, the vast majority have left him alone. The drink Danta had given him before departing to go and socialize has been empty for some time now and having not trusted himself to get a refill without causing some kind of scene, he’d opted to lean against the trunk, arms across his scarred chest, the chainmail rags weaving with the little bouts of breezes here and there. The occasional will-o-wisp catches his attention, but nothing quite like when Danta returns to him.
He sees the path he takes through the crowd, less people now than there had been originally, and he watches him with outward admiration from beneath the mask and muzzle he bears, ignoring the basket he carries for the moment until he’s actually within speaking distance. His muscles seem tense, like he was fighting against meeting him halfway, but once he hoists the basket it seems to lessen the tension some. “Welcome back, darling.” He purrs softly, arms unfolding from his chest as Danta sinks into it, his arms wrapping possessively around him and under the half shoulder cloak. “I am managing well enough.” Which is a good way of saying he’s only fucked around a little bit and that he should be proud of him.
He really should be. "Did you enjoy your socializing?"
Astaroth
will you sink down to me?
