/// sorry, but you just got in my way
i promise honey, i can feel your pain
i promise honey, i can feel your pain
The screaming rain certainly had a hold on the Dusklight this evening, enough that the butcher was at the very end of his leash when it comes to being social. After far too many glares and settling as far back from the groups of people as he can, the muzzle does not blot out the twitches in his smile that he has glued to his face as he took in the brothel’s company for the evening. It’s a masked façade that falls the second Danta’s heading toward their room – his back turned, his smile falling into something easier and less likely to make his cheeks ache from the force of keeping it up.
It is almost as if the two of them have swapped their fashion roles this evening – with Danta dressed up in quite the flattering silk shirt, a beautiful waistcoat, and the bowtie, it had been hard for Asta to keep his attention away from him. For the gentleman butcher himself, dark pants are paired with a billowy shirt, one that’s tight around his waist but floofs out his shoulders in a means of reducing restricting fabric. It’s a deep purple, silk chaffon shirt with a low enough v neck to see the edges of his scars peeking up and over the collar. It’s clear that the butcher is less of a fan of being swaddled up in a cage of his traditionally chosen attire this season.
That, paired with the silver muzzle that glints on his face, the butcher’s hair is kept back like usual, draped down his back and along his shoulders, still at that almost too long appearance. He doesn’t seem to pay it much mind as the door closes behind them in their room and the screaming rain thunders overhead again, shaking up the entirety of the building. Already, Asta’s undoing the muzzle with a few clicks of latches when he says, “I could go for that.” He sets the muzzle on the edge of the table before he’s approaching the Maverick at the windowsill, snorting softly to hear that he’d like to be murdered in sunshine.
The butcher settles at the little nook by the window as more light screams across the sky, getting comfortable before he’s tugging Danta into his lap so they both can comfortably stare out the window (and so he can help him undo all the prim and proper clothes he’s wearing). “It would suit you, I think.” He murmurs, obviously not wishing for his fiancé to be murdered. But if it had to happen, a sunny day was at the top of the list. “I would prefer the moonlight, I think.” A clear sky, regardless. The last thing he'd want is to go to Ludo's embrace with the annoyance of rain smattering his face and body.
It is almost as if the two of them have swapped their fashion roles this evening – with Danta dressed up in quite the flattering silk shirt, a beautiful waistcoat, and the bowtie, it had been hard for Asta to keep his attention away from him. For the gentleman butcher himself, dark pants are paired with a billowy shirt, one that’s tight around his waist but floofs out his shoulders in a means of reducing restricting fabric. It’s a deep purple, silk chaffon shirt with a low enough v neck to see the edges of his scars peeking up and over the collar. It’s clear that the butcher is less of a fan of being swaddled up in a cage of his traditionally chosen attire this season.
That, paired with the silver muzzle that glints on his face, the butcher’s hair is kept back like usual, draped down his back and along his shoulders, still at that almost too long appearance. He doesn’t seem to pay it much mind as the door closes behind them in their room and the screaming rain thunders overhead again, shaking up the entirety of the building. Already, Asta’s undoing the muzzle with a few clicks of latches when he says, “I could go for that.” He sets the muzzle on the edge of the table before he’s approaching the Maverick at the windowsill, snorting softly to hear that he’d like to be murdered in sunshine.
The butcher settles at the little nook by the window as more light screams across the sky, getting comfortable before he’s tugging Danta into his lap so they both can comfortably stare out the window (and so he can help him undo all the prim and proper clothes he’s wearing). “It would suit you, I think.” He murmurs, obviously not wishing for his fiancé to be murdered. But if it had to happen, a sunny day was at the top of the list. “I would prefer the moonlight, I think.” A clear sky, regardless. The last thing he'd want is to go to Ludo's embrace with the annoyance of rain smattering his face and body.
Astaroth
and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit
does that make me insane? ///
does that make me insane? ///
