Astaroth
// so sip the gossip, drink 'til you choke. sip the gossip, burn down your throat //
Should he have mentioned something to Danta before slipping out in the middle of the night? Perhaps. Should he have left a note? Perhaps. But as Asta weaves his way back through the bonfire with essentially a new entire life before him, the Butcher finds that whatever rage he might incur for vanishing in the middle of the night may be swept away with the very news he harbors both on his shoulders and within him.
It’s cold, the brisk morning filtering in with a new dusting of snowfall, and as the Butcher attempts to try and figure out just what all has changed within him, the attempt to keep warm is met with the very same fire that had always lingered in his soul as an Ancient but touched just a fraction differently. Bewildered as it curls in his hand in a lime green flame, vibrant and hot and stunning him momentarily as Sicarius squeaks a little grating, grinding sound of her own amusement over his surprise. “I know.” The Butcher hums to her, dispelling the flame the second they reach the doors of the Dusklight.
He has zero idea of how he looks right now, after having spent however long drinking from Dygra and the bone dragon draped across his shoulders, but he doesn’t have eyes for anyone within the confines of the Dusklight apart from his fiancé whom he still hopes is lounging in bed. He rushes to the door, slipping into it and setting Sicarius down out of view with a quiet little murmur to stay put for the moment, because this was news that Asta needed to go in a very specific order so as to not overwhelm the Maverick.
Though something tells him he will anyway, regardless of which order he explains it in.
But he slips into the den quickly, settles on the edge of the bed to lean over his lover, tail sweeping behind him in a slight wag as he starts to pull away the blankets that he’s sure Danta spread around and all over himself in search of his body in his sleep, to try and bring some awareness to the other man. “Danta, mi amor, wake up. I have to tell you something.” He hums softly, beckoning, smelling abruptly like the Climb and embers and wine-dark blood.
It’s cold, the brisk morning filtering in with a new dusting of snowfall, and as the Butcher attempts to try and figure out just what all has changed within him, the attempt to keep warm is met with the very same fire that had always lingered in his soul as an Ancient but touched just a fraction differently. Bewildered as it curls in his hand in a lime green flame, vibrant and hot and stunning him momentarily as Sicarius squeaks a little grating, grinding sound of her own amusement over his surprise. “I know.” The Butcher hums to her, dispelling the flame the second they reach the doors of the Dusklight.
He has zero idea of how he looks right now, after having spent however long drinking from Dygra and the bone dragon draped across his shoulders, but he doesn’t have eyes for anyone within the confines of the Dusklight apart from his fiancé whom he still hopes is lounging in bed. He rushes to the door, slipping into it and setting Sicarius down out of view with a quiet little murmur to stay put for the moment, because this was news that Asta needed to go in a very specific order so as to not overwhelm the Maverick.
Though something tells him he will anyway, regardless of which order he explains it in.
But he slips into the den quickly, settles on the edge of the bed to lean over his lover, tail sweeping behind him in a slight wag as he starts to pull away the blankets that he’s sure Danta spread around and all over himself in search of his body in his sleep, to try and bring some awareness to the other man. “Danta, mi amor, wake up. I have to tell you something.” He hums softly, beckoning, smelling abruptly like the Climb and embers and wine-dark blood.
// you're not iconic, you are just like them all. don't act like you don't know //
