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,
“It was necessary.” The butcher decides in favor of Danta’s apology. He’d known it had been a lot, he just hadn’t had much of a choice to not delve into the fight it might have caused in order to socialize as he otherwise might have. No harm no foul, he supposes, especially given his tiny excursion of his own had acquired him a very much needed rose for Thalassa. So it had worked out, even if it had not been entirely ideal.
Sipping from his martini, the butcher’s laugh is gentle once he’s swallowed it down, nodding his head. “Mm, but the effort.” The dramatic drawl ends with a sigh, as if he’s already tired just thinking about it. Jokes on them, though, Asta was tired the second he woke up.
But the drama fades for the grin that blooms, his laughter warming up to hear the struggle Danta clearly goes through to not make an innuendo based off of what the butcher’s said and his tail tightens a touch around his own in the equivalent of a silent shrug. “Well I cannot very well ride your lava wyrm shift nor your gore crow, mm?” He points out briefly before their cake arrives.
All chocolate and warm and ready to be cut into for the “lava” to come out, but it’s topped with fresh and ripe raspberries and far more than would ordinarily come with it – something he thought that Danta would approve of more than the molten chocolate inside the cake. “Ah, perhaps the tiger then?” He comments, staring at the cake before his honey dark gaze lifts to Danta’s, as if the molten lava cake had reminded him of his lover’s molten tiger shift.
Sipping from his martini, the butcher’s laugh is gentle once he’s swallowed it down, nodding his head. “Mm, but the effort.” The dramatic drawl ends with a sigh, as if he’s already tired just thinking about it. Jokes on them, though, Asta was tired the second he woke up.
But the drama fades for the grin that blooms, his laughter warming up to hear the struggle Danta clearly goes through to not make an innuendo based off of what the butcher’s said and his tail tightens a touch around his own in the equivalent of a silent shrug. “Well I cannot very well ride your lava wyrm shift nor your gore crow, mm?” He points out briefly before their cake arrives.
All chocolate and warm and ready to be cut into for the “lava” to come out, but it’s topped with fresh and ripe raspberries and far more than would ordinarily come with it – something he thought that Danta would approve of more than the molten chocolate inside the cake. “Ah, perhaps the tiger then?” He comments, staring at the cake before his honey dark gaze lifts to Danta’s, as if the molten lava cake had reminded him of his lover’s molten tiger shift.
Astaroth
i'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired
