my, my, those eyes like fire, i'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre
come now, bite through these wires,
come now, bite through these wires,
“Ah. How lovely.” The butcher says – and in a swift change from last season where he may have had a fit if he’d heard Danta heard about this place from someone else at the Dusklight, Asta doesn’t care how he found out. There’s only genuine, excited anticipation in his expression as he takes it in.
They head into the Attic and the butcher takes in the wooden ceiling, the low light, the way things look soft and warm but with the rough edge of exposed wood and charm that Astaroth is even more pleased to see. Happily slipping out of his coat and the scarf, he keeps the cane in his hand, content to listen to the sound of it striking the wood as they are led to a table with the perfect view.
He waits for Danta to sit first before he sits across from him, resting the cane up against the window and spends a few seconds longer peering out the window to the slightly damp street below from where the heat of the bonfire has melted the snow that had tried to threaten its existence nearest to it. “This view is nearly as lovely as the one from our window.” He hums, looking over to Danta, face, dark hair and horns, and glinting gold chains framed with flickering firelight that catches on the random gemstones. “I assume they are basing it off of seasonal dishes?” He shifts gears to the menu, lifting the slip of paper to view the courses and see if he was correct.
They head into the Attic and the butcher takes in the wooden ceiling, the low light, the way things look soft and warm but with the rough edge of exposed wood and charm that Astaroth is even more pleased to see. Happily slipping out of his coat and the scarf, he keeps the cane in his hand, content to listen to the sound of it striking the wood as they are led to a table with the perfect view.
He waits for Danta to sit first before he sits across from him, resting the cane up against the window and spends a few seconds longer peering out the window to the slightly damp street below from where the heat of the bonfire has melted the snow that had tried to threaten its existence nearest to it. “This view is nearly as lovely as the one from our window.” He hums, looking over to Danta, face, dark hair and horns, and glinting gold chains framed with flickering firelight that catches on the random gemstones. “I assume they are basing it off of seasonal dishes?” He shifts gears to the menu, lifting the slip of paper to view the courses and see if he was correct.
Astaroth
i'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired
