// we can't see the end from the start //
He’d hoped he’d stayed quiet long enough to let Flora sleep in, but as he sips from the drink and gets it down about halfway does Asta hear her approach. He’s dressed down as he often is on vacation, but still somewhat put together. His hair is pushed back, even if Sicarius is making it a mess, and rather than his traditional attire of waistcoats and vests, the Butcher sits at the stool by the bar with a ruffled and dark shirt, a pair of black pants, and equally dark sandals.
“Flora, darling!” Asta chimes back, laughing once he’s swallowed down the sip and sets the glass down. “And with the lovely Spice, as well.” Positive Sivarius’ arrival may have the pale frosty dragon feeling some type of way, Asta’s dark gaze brightens as he focuses back over to the Queen of Torchline. “We did not wish to wake you. Danta is still sleeping, though it isn’t the first time in the past few weeks I have snuck out of bed early.” Bouncing his brow playfully, the grin crosses his face and only scrunches the branded scar of lips against his cheek, stark against the line his beard typically went through.
Nodding at the mention of Sicarius, though, Asta tilts his head to try and get a glimpse of the dragonling from his peripheral and fails miserably with it, tail flicking idly behind him as he nods. “She was. Her name is Sicarius. I like to think she was a birthday gift.” He chuckles a low and warm sound, before he’s shifting and beckoning her to join him, happy to put together a mimosa or something else for her from her own bar, seeing as he’s woken her up. And all the while, Sicarius sits on his shoulders staring back at Flora and Spice with her dark pitless eyes, and a bit of eagerness to get to meet the frosty dragon. She’s young, though, wary in a way that Asta assumes most dragons are (how would he know, honestly?). “So, I have been dying to hear all about your ascension ever since the Peepholes.. What happened?” He grins over at her, grabbing a glass and juice and champagne, putting together a sparkly mimosa for the Hot Take with a little undercurrent of orange liqueur to make it a little sweeter and more orangey. "And yes, darling, before you ask; I do want to hear all of the gritty details."
“Flora, darling!” Asta chimes back, laughing once he’s swallowed down the sip and sets the glass down. “And with the lovely Spice, as well.” Positive Sivarius’ arrival may have the pale frosty dragon feeling some type of way, Asta’s dark gaze brightens as he focuses back over to the Queen of Torchline. “We did not wish to wake you. Danta is still sleeping, though it isn’t the first time in the past few weeks I have snuck out of bed early.” Bouncing his brow playfully, the grin crosses his face and only scrunches the branded scar of lips against his cheek, stark against the line his beard typically went through.
Nodding at the mention of Sicarius, though, Asta tilts his head to try and get a glimpse of the dragonling from his peripheral and fails miserably with it, tail flicking idly behind him as he nods. “She was. Her name is Sicarius. I like to think she was a birthday gift.” He chuckles a low and warm sound, before he’s shifting and beckoning her to join him, happy to put together a mimosa or something else for her from her own bar, seeing as he’s woken her up. And all the while, Sicarius sits on his shoulders staring back at Flora and Spice with her dark pitless eyes, and a bit of eagerness to get to meet the frosty dragon. She’s young, though, wary in a way that Asta assumes most dragons are (how would he know, honestly?). “So, I have been dying to hear all about your ascension ever since the Peepholes.. What happened?” He grins over at her, grabbing a glass and juice and champagne, putting together a sparkly mimosa for the Hot Take with a little undercurrent of orange liqueur to make it a little sweeter and more orangey. "And yes, darling, before you ask; I do want to hear all of the gritty details."
Astaroth
// but i don't fear the dark //
