She doesn't look up from her book this time, humming a note of smug certainty that Asta's love will prevail in the end. He knows she won't let it end otherwise, so she lets the conversation shift to her confrontation with the beast who'd mauled her. Her eyes swirl with a dark, murderous energy that bores into the pages, flickering up briefly so Asta can appreciate the violence there. "I wasn't using my full strength last time." She shakes her head, curious how they would stack up if she hadn't been limited by her quest restraints. Next time, she wouldn't have to hold back. Next time, that ursur would burn. And she'd happily eat every bite.
Embarrassment hadn't even been on her radar, the fear of having her tail ripped from her body being the more logical concern when presented with the dare, but she appreciates his approval nonetheless. A small smirk peeks around the book, still recalling the patchy shearing of blonde hair that had stuck up from Colt's head. At least the wig looks convincing enough, so Thal doesn't expect too much retribution, but she'll cherish that memory for a long time yet.
Chuckling a low and playful note, she glances momentarily to the Butcher, sure he'll understand when she says, "Depends on who you ask, but I'd say we were both too drunk to declare a winner." They'd both been flayed emotionally and botched physically, and yet their laughter had echoed the streets when the night came to a close.
Her interest in the book is waning, the words dragging on about precise measures and abstract concepts of 'love' and 'devotion' that she doesn't much care for, but when she turns the page, her eyes widen slightly, a grin spreading across her face. "Wow. This outfit would be quite the statement." Thal rotates the book for Asta to look at, the depiction of a woman in a stiff, high-collar monstrosity of layered fabrics staring out as she drips blood into a goblet. It's not her cup of tea, but there's no denying that it would be dramatic, and she'd expect nothing less from the men.
Embarrassment hadn't even been on her radar, the fear of having her tail ripped from her body being the more logical concern when presented with the dare, but she appreciates his approval nonetheless. A small smirk peeks around the book, still recalling the patchy shearing of blonde hair that had stuck up from Colt's head. At least the wig looks convincing enough, so Thal doesn't expect too much retribution, but she'll cherish that memory for a long time yet.
Chuckling a low and playful note, she glances momentarily to the Butcher, sure he'll understand when she says, "Depends on who you ask, but I'd say we were both too drunk to declare a winner." They'd both been flayed emotionally and botched physically, and yet their laughter had echoed the streets when the night came to a close.
Her interest in the book is waning, the words dragging on about precise measures and abstract concepts of 'love' and 'devotion' that she doesn't much care for, but when she turns the page, her eyes widen slightly, a grin spreading across her face. "Wow. This outfit would be quite the statement." Thal rotates the book for Asta to look at, the depiction of a woman in a stiff, high-collar monstrosity of layered fabrics staring out as she drips blood into a goblet. It's not her cup of tea, but there's no denying that it would be dramatic, and she'd expect nothing less from the men.
I just want you to set me free.
Thalassa
