// he's nice, polite, he'll catch you by surprise //
It’s afternoon by the time the butcher has finally sequestered Danta toward the Temple. The sun hangs low in the sky, leaving the Inner Quarter with a dusky leadchange appearance, the scent of rain lingering like a blanket with the humidity. No screams thus far, at least, and with the one track mind to get Danta to the temple while encountering as little people on the way as possible.
He succeeds for the most part, refraining from snarling too much at the one person that stops to greet their Theocrat before immediately moving on as Asta’s shadows seem to pull into him with the threat.
All in all, they manage it, and Asta only marginally relaxes the second the door closes behind them in the Temple, realizing for perhaps the fifteenth time since they'd left the Dusklight how much of an imposition this was on his fiance. The cane sits loosely in his hand, the multi-colored blade glinting in the dim lighting. “It does not have to be much, darling. I will leave the choice to you whether to use the cane as is or in its whip form, or even both. The button shall change it.” The instructions flow easily as the butcher turns toward Danta to hand it off.
His hand is slow to be removed from the cane, but only because the other one keeps Danta close, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek then to the bridge of his nose, then to his lips as if he’s confident he’ll be okay. He wears a dark black and rather floofy shirt, if only to not ruin the kind he prefers to wear every other season. And as he withdraws, empty handed, he’s really anything but. “Thank you.” He hums, prepping himself as he shoots him a shark toothed grin that he hopes conveys his emotions on this topic — the utter confidence he has in his soon to be husband that there would be a way to not get lost in it.
He succeeds for the most part, refraining from snarling too much at the one person that stops to greet their Theocrat before immediately moving on as Asta’s shadows seem to pull into him with the threat.
All in all, they manage it, and Asta only marginally relaxes the second the door closes behind them in the Temple, realizing for perhaps the fifteenth time since they'd left the Dusklight how much of an imposition this was on his fiance. The cane sits loosely in his hand, the multi-colored blade glinting in the dim lighting. “It does not have to be much, darling. I will leave the choice to you whether to use the cane as is or in its whip form, or even both. The button shall change it.” The instructions flow easily as the butcher turns toward Danta to hand it off.
His hand is slow to be removed from the cane, but only because the other one keeps Danta close, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek then to the bridge of his nose, then to his lips as if he’s confident he’ll be okay. He wears a dark black and rather floofy shirt, if only to not ruin the kind he prefers to wear every other season. And as he withdraws, empty handed, he’s really anything but. “Thank you.” He hums, prepping himself as he shoots him a shark toothed grin that he hopes conveys his emotions on this topic — the utter confidence he has in his soon to be husband that there would be a way to not get lost in it.
Astaroth
// a smile so bright, you'd never bat an eye //
