// make me bleed if you need to confirm that it's something i can do //
Asta plucks a smore up from the saucer, grinning behind the edge of the graham cracker as Danta swallows down his bite. It gives the butcher time to take a bite of his own – precisely in time to start chewing through the sweetness and crunch of the graham cracker, which evidently may be part of his downfall. Because as Danta says it’s an exclusive shift that he wouldn’t know about, the butcher both snorts and laughs once he’s swallowed his bite. Crumbs still linger, however, and one slips back toward him, spearing him in the throat that he can’t help but to cough with in a mixture of laughing and coughing.
He doesn’t choke at least, but it does make for a dramatic deep hoarseness of his voice once he swallows a sip of his tea and spears his lover with a playfully glowering look. “Perhaps I shall go to Dygra and ask her for a lava wyrm shift in spite of it, if I cannot be a part of your exclusive club without it.” It’s a threat that’s playful, but has the undertones of seriousness only from the deep richness of his voice from a raw throat.
Not that it stops him from taking another bite of the smore as Danta leans back, taking his time with this one so he doesn’t choke to swallow it down and chase it with the spice of the tea. “Thank you, fire.” He says it almost as flatly as a teenager having to apologize for starting a fight they very much weren’t sorry about. But the butcher extenuates the point as he snags some of the fire from the fireplace with a bit of magic and sends a ribbon curling like a loving forked hand around Danta’s face.
He doesn’t choke at least, but it does make for a dramatic deep hoarseness of his voice once he swallows a sip of his tea and spears his lover with a playfully glowering look. “Perhaps I shall go to Dygra and ask her for a lava wyrm shift in spite of it, if I cannot be a part of your exclusive club without it.” It’s a threat that’s playful, but has the undertones of seriousness only from the deep richness of his voice from a raw throat.
Not that it stops him from taking another bite of the smore as Danta leans back, taking his time with this one so he doesn’t choke to swallow it down and chase it with the spice of the tea. “Thank you, fire.” He says it almost as flatly as a teenager having to apologize for starting a fight they very much weren’t sorry about. But the butcher extenuates the point as he snags some of the fire from the fireplace with a bit of magic and sends a ribbon curling like a loving forked hand around Danta’s face.
Astaroth
// and i'll paint it red //
