run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine
Steam hisses from the exposed flame within the cracked plates of the fyrhund’s exterior. Orange eyes see the way he relaxes and as he lifts a hand to scratch behind the canine’s ear, Asta leans into the touch easily, the tip of his tail twitching as he tries to repress the wagging. It’s not something he has to suppress for long, though, given that Danta’s hand falls away and the bottle falls from his other hand to the ground.
When his hands leave him completely, the butcher nudges his head in gently against the side of Danta’s leg, a low rumble leaving him of understanding. He watches him for a moment before he pushes himself up beside Danta, able to get his head in Danta’s space, nosing at a hidden cheek with a warm wet nose, even if it is made out of rock.
It only takes a few seconds longer before the butcher shifts back into himself, sitting beside Danta on the little fenceline. “Let us go somewhere else, then?” He asks softly, head tilting toward Danta. No smiles, no hidden motives, just absolute openness from eyes made black by the darkness around them. “I know with the Blood Moon the other inns are likely busy, but I am sure they have some openings. The Dusklight will manage itself and we can go back later..?” The Dusklight wasn’t home for the butcher as much as it was for Danta. Sure, his things and treasures he coveted were there, but home was the man beside him. The one he’s inadvertently made feel like his home wasn’t his home anymore.
Which, as it turns out, has not changed over the centuries even if Asta's intentions were different now than they were back then.
When his hands leave him completely, the butcher nudges his head in gently against the side of Danta’s leg, a low rumble leaving him of understanding. He watches him for a moment before he pushes himself up beside Danta, able to get his head in Danta’s space, nosing at a hidden cheek with a warm wet nose, even if it is made out of rock.
It only takes a few seconds longer before the butcher shifts back into himself, sitting beside Danta on the little fenceline. “Let us go somewhere else, then?” He asks softly, head tilting toward Danta. No smiles, no hidden motives, just absolute openness from eyes made black by the darkness around them. “I know with the Blood Moon the other inns are likely busy, but I am sure they have some openings. The Dusklight will manage itself and we can go back later..?” The Dusklight wasn’t home for the butcher as much as it was for Danta. Sure, his things and treasures he coveted were there, but home was the man beside him. The one he’s inadvertently made feel like his home wasn’t his home anymore.
Which, as it turns out, has not changed over the centuries even if Asta's intentions were different now than they were back then.
Astaroth
run, baby, run, run for your life
