sucks to be rich in the tropics, said nobody

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

He spots her nearly immediately up on the top of the stairs, looking radiant as ever despite not having any events to go to. It’s an effortless put togetherness that the butcher admires, given how long it takes for him to get presentable. His smile is bright and sharp, wide as he sees the way his appearance reflects in her reaction. Silent, apart from the way his ashen tipped tail flicks back and forth eagerly, he waits until she’s before him and speaking before he offers his own rumble in return. “I know, I know.” He hums with all the dramatics he can muster – one arm moving far more than the other. “I was so hoping you would suggest such a thing, darling.” He hadn’t wanted to assume, of course. He is a guest in her home.

But she leans forward and Asta, despite the stiffness and soreness, has absolutely loaded up on pain killers and leans forward into her space to meet her – his good arm wrapping around her to tug her in for a hug that’s scented in smoke and ash and honey sweet whiskey. Withdrawing from the hug to let his hand trail down her arm to collect her own, he gives it a gentle squeeze. “It looks worse now than it is. I have had some rounds of healing, but I am fairly certain that I have exhausted the healers of the Infirmary.” He admits with a little sheepishness. “Anywayyy, how have you been? Anything to note happen as of late?”

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life