Astaroth
i think i'm the devil in disguise, here's my state of mind
It’s easier to have a task to focus on rather than the eyes constantly on him. Not that he minded that when he was prepared for it – but he was severely underdressed for what he was used to feeling, much preferring to be the one everyone ogled from the shadows rather than the spotlight with all of his scars on display. And honestly? He’s proud of himself, too, when he manages the situation with ease, even if those more skilled at knowing him would see the touch of stress that creases his eyes with the wide smile he aims the patron’s way.
The bonk from Danta certainly helps, though, distracting the woman from what she wanted immediately so she can join her friends in following Danta’s scar flecked back and powerful, dangerous air as he departs. It’s a view the butcher also takes in, and takes the moment to withdraw out of reach of her touch when she and her friends whirl back around.
They mention something about another drink or some food and it’s something that the butcher concedes to the bartender to order and make, leaning back for a bit of a break as his tail flicks against his heels in a touch of anxiety before he’s crafting himself a drink – something sharp but sweet, taking the edge off before a man slides up to the bar, overly flirtatious as well. To this, he keeps his distance a smidge as well, even if it does have him leaning against the bar a bit to point at the menu of the available options at this point in the season. The golden shirt pools forward, draping like a curtain around his body that looks much smaller and more powerful without all the pomp and lines his suits usually provided, which only allots for more of an eyeful for their very eager crowd and the man he's helping.
The bonk from Danta certainly helps, though, distracting the woman from what she wanted immediately so she can join her friends in following Danta’s scar flecked back and powerful, dangerous air as he departs. It’s a view the butcher also takes in, and takes the moment to withdraw out of reach of her touch when she and her friends whirl back around.
They mention something about another drink or some food and it’s something that the butcher concedes to the bartender to order and make, leaning back for a bit of a break as his tail flicks against his heels in a touch of anxiety before he’s crafting himself a drink – something sharp but sweet, taking the edge off before a man slides up to the bar, overly flirtatious as well. To this, he keeps his distance a smidge as well, even if it does have him leaning against the bar a bit to point at the menu of the available options at this point in the season. The golden shirt pools forward, draping like a curtain around his body that looks much smaller and more powerful without all the pomp and lines his suits usually provided, which only allots for more of an eyeful for their very eager crowd and the man he's helping.
give me destruction, tell me i'm scrumptious
i'm a fucking delight
i'm a fucking delight
