Astaroth
// but if you think I'm misery,
It is a well practiced motion by now – enough that the scars that dot Danta’s skin are proof of it. Some a bit more raised than others, as if those were the butcher’s favorite spaces to bite (they are) to where he’s bit down multiple times to break through the scar tissue again and again. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that they tend to happen closer to the other man’s throat than his shoulders, but it still has the butcher wincing slightly to see the kind of damage he causes even when he’s trying to be good.
Tsking even as Danta sweeps his hair over his shoulder, the butcher continues to clean him up before snagging the dry rag to pat at the wounds, ensuring that the bandages would stay as he starts to open it to start applying them. “Then I suppose it is a good thing you’ve come to me for healing.” He drawls with all of the arrogance of someone who should have incredible healing abilities when he has everything but.
His gaze drifts from the wounds to Danta’s face with the suggestion, meeting the stunning blues of the Maverick’s as they both come to that realization. “Healing wine, you say?” His intrigue is immense, reminded of the Torchline fountain and how handy it had been to just have around.
At the mention of his bloodbane, though, a soft laugh leaves him as he finishes tying off the bandages, snagging the hot, blood tinged rag again to start cleaning up the dried blood on his chest, the very scars he’s talking about on clear display in criss crossing marks up and down his forearms, all the way up to his shoulders. “Oh I think that would be very useful. A red wine healing fountain, mm?” Red wine seems to fit the vibe, he thinks, though he supposes the point could get across with a white or a rose.
Tsking even as Danta sweeps his hair over his shoulder, the butcher continues to clean him up before snagging the dry rag to pat at the wounds, ensuring that the bandages would stay as he starts to open it to start applying them. “Then I suppose it is a good thing you’ve come to me for healing.” He drawls with all of the arrogance of someone who should have incredible healing abilities when he has everything but.
His gaze drifts from the wounds to Danta’s face with the suggestion, meeting the stunning blues of the Maverick’s as they both come to that realization. “Healing wine, you say?” His intrigue is immense, reminded of the Torchline fountain and how handy it had been to just have around.
At the mention of his bloodbane, though, a soft laugh leaves him as he finishes tying off the bandages, snagging the hot, blood tinged rag again to start cleaning up the dried blood on his chest, the very scars he’s talking about on clear display in criss crossing marks up and down his forearms, all the way up to his shoulders. “Oh I think that would be very useful. A red wine healing fountain, mm?” Red wine seems to fit the vibe, he thinks, though he supposes the point could get across with a white or a rose.
then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //
it never leaves me alone, no //
