They say I'm a dangerous man, better run fast as you can
Perhaps he would be colder, sharper, more afraid and worried of letting anyone see the true Astaroth if Danta wasn’t there to thaw it. Or maybe it would have been an eventual thawing, that the man once born in the snowy recesses of Whitebrim might have warmth in him that isn’t derived from his mastery over fire. Either way, it’s hard to say, and a part of him is deeply glad that he doesn’t have to figure it out.
Life was far more interesting when he had experiences like these - like the queen knelt beside him in the blood of a spontaneous hunt, looking as though she belonged with the flecks of blood that have painted her blonde hair into shades of scarlet, the way the weariness weighs on her in a way that the butcher understands.
Her head is warm where her cheek presses against his chest, and there’s a smidge amount of tension that loosens from his chest. “I am glad.” He murmurs softly, with all the honesty that settles in his shoulders. “It is quite relieving to hear.” He’d already been burned once before when he’d thought to divulge with someone and that still ripples through him with the extent of waves reverberating now and then each tine she reared her head.
His chuckle is warm as he releases her and inclines his head with a hum of “mm, I see now.” As a playful agreement to her teasing, and in the interim he takes a few moments to slice off portions of the meat to devour further, raw and bloodied, dark red. At her question, though, he swipes at his lips as he considers. “I think we shall leave this for the rest of the scavengers. I do, however, want this.” He pauses, snagging the dagger again and working meticulously around cartilage and sweeping through bone and tendons to sever the wolf’s head - absolutely unapologetically - before he rises and flashes her a small yet smug smirk.
“Shall we? We can get cleaned up and finally get you that drink, darling.” Because the two of them looked like an absolute mess, but with the wolf head in his hands at least it would make sense.
Life was far more interesting when he had experiences like these - like the queen knelt beside him in the blood of a spontaneous hunt, looking as though she belonged with the flecks of blood that have painted her blonde hair into shades of scarlet, the way the weariness weighs on her in a way that the butcher understands.
Her head is warm where her cheek presses against his chest, and there’s a smidge amount of tension that loosens from his chest. “I am glad.” He murmurs softly, with all the honesty that settles in his shoulders. “It is quite relieving to hear.” He’d already been burned once before when he’d thought to divulge with someone and that still ripples through him with the extent of waves reverberating now and then each tine she reared her head.
His chuckle is warm as he releases her and inclines his head with a hum of “mm, I see now.” As a playful agreement to her teasing, and in the interim he takes a few moments to slice off portions of the meat to devour further, raw and bloodied, dark red. At her question, though, he swipes at his lips as he considers. “I think we shall leave this for the rest of the scavengers. I do, however, want this.” He pauses, snagging the dagger again and working meticulously around cartilage and sweeping through bone and tendons to sever the wolf’s head - absolutely unapologetically - before he rises and flashes her a small yet smug smirk.
“Shall we? We can get cleaned up and finally get you that drink, darling.” Because the two of them looked like an absolute mess, but with the wolf head in his hands at least it would make sense.
Astaroth
Don't you look back, every bone in my body's bad
