Astaroth
// but if you think I'm misery,
“I will clean them.” The butcher confirms, flashing a still annoyed and sharp smile at his lover as if that was all the explanation needed. If anything, keeping the mud to one section of their room was much more preferred than spreading it all around the floorboards. And while they continue to get prepped for the shower, it gives the butcher a moment to try and remove the hair tie that keeps the dark muddy locks of hair out of his face.
It snaps under the pressure and as he opens his mouth to say something along the lines of I’ll get you another one, he’s silenced as he catches Danta’s gaze surveying him and the bruises blooming under the mud marks left behind. “I have never had a flighted shift before.” Comes the quiet admission, the slight sigh, the way he does and doesn’t agree that he’d crashed hard into a cliff because of it.
Danta was there to witness it, anyway. Still, his nose wrinkles with the thought before it fades as he’s beckoned toward the bathroom, following his lover into the space as the water is turned on to the hottest setting, steam filling up the room quickly. As Danta adds scents, the butcher very pointedly does not look at the mirror to see the caked mud on the side of his face and stuck in his beard. “I am… Sore. And far dirtier than I would prefer to be.” If it was blood, it was a different story. At least that was fun. But it might be enough to explain the tension in his bones, still thrumming and looking for an out.
The twitch of his ashen, muddy tail, suggests that he’s perhaps a bit embarrassed too. From crashing into a cliff and completely throwing himself into the mud? There’s a bit of bruised pride there, too.
It snaps under the pressure and as he opens his mouth to say something along the lines of I’ll get you another one, he’s silenced as he catches Danta’s gaze surveying him and the bruises blooming under the mud marks left behind. “I have never had a flighted shift before.” Comes the quiet admission, the slight sigh, the way he does and doesn’t agree that he’d crashed hard into a cliff because of it.
Danta was there to witness it, anyway. Still, his nose wrinkles with the thought before it fades as he’s beckoned toward the bathroom, following his lover into the space as the water is turned on to the hottest setting, steam filling up the room quickly. As Danta adds scents, the butcher very pointedly does not look at the mirror to see the caked mud on the side of his face and stuck in his beard. “I am… Sore. And far dirtier than I would prefer to be.” If it was blood, it was a different story. At least that was fun. But it might be enough to explain the tension in his bones, still thrumming and looking for an out.
The twitch of his ashen, muddy tail, suggests that he’s perhaps a bit embarrassed too. From crashing into a cliff and completely throwing himself into the mud? There’s a bit of bruised pride there, too.
then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //
it never leaves me alone, no //
