// we haven't won, and if we win, //
He catches her gaze, the swirling edge of a sharp blade hidden within them that does call to him in a predator recognizing a fellow predator atmosphere. His lips twitch into an amused smile, hearing that she hadn’t used her full strength last time, limited either by personal reasons or something else, and the butcher simply inclines his head slightly as he drags a hand up through his hair to keep the long strands of black from falling into his face. “Well, darling, I trust you know what to do next time, yes?” Full strength, full potential.
Aka, go hard or go home.
As for the blonde versus being bald, the butcher certainly prefers the blonde locks on Thalassa’s head – not that he’d say anything to her if she did have a bald head even if the attempts would be there. What he might consider to be a little playful banter might be a smidge too much for one of the few that appreciates Asta’s darker urges. So he snorts, conceding the point. “Perfect, then that means you can claim victory.” Why not take the opportunity, right?
Dropping his attention back down to the books, he scans a few more pages, flips through a few more until she’s snagging his attention again and his dark gaze flits toward the book to spy the high-collared dress and appears to be dripping blood into a goblet. Intrigued, obviously, the butcher’s dark gaze almost lights up with recognition. “Oh, now that is an idea.” He hums, scribbling it down on the small notebook with him, before he folds his arms across the pages of his book and leans in toward her. “I am always looking for the most dramatic ideas for the after party.” He bounces his brows playfully, as if the answer of that goblet was a perfect addition.
Aka, go hard or go home.
As for the blonde versus being bald, the butcher certainly prefers the blonde locks on Thalassa’s head – not that he’d say anything to her if she did have a bald head even if the attempts would be there. What he might consider to be a little playful banter might be a smidge too much for one of the few that appreciates Asta’s darker urges. So he snorts, conceding the point. “Perfect, then that means you can claim victory.” Why not take the opportunity, right?
Dropping his attention back down to the books, he scans a few more pages, flips through a few more until she’s snagging his attention again and his dark gaze flits toward the book to spy the high-collared dress and appears to be dripping blood into a goblet. Intrigued, obviously, the butcher’s dark gaze almost lights up with recognition. “Oh, now that is an idea.” He hums, scribbling it down on the small notebook with him, before he folds his arms across the pages of his book and leans in toward her. “I am always looking for the most dramatic ideas for the after party.” He bounces his brows playfully, as if the answer of that goblet was a perfect addition.
Astaroth
// and if the morning light sets in, we've cheated fate again //
