// we can't see the end from the start //
The tension between dragons begins to break as Spice zooms down to the bar where Sicarius has decided to perch and try to offer up a motion of playing – like a quiet I’m in your house but we can be friends if you’d let me, and much to the bone dragon’s surprise, it’s well received. Sicarius chitters her delight, bouncing over to Spice with the beckoned frosty breath, met with the plume of dark smoke leaking from the holes where Sicarius’ teeth close and leave gaps without having skin to keep it all neat. Immediately diving in to inspect and sniff Spice in return, she immediately descends into the quiet chaos of a younger sibling trying to mirror and mimic the eldest.
All while Asta’s captivated to hear Flora’s laugh – just as bright and as happy as she deserves to be. It makes his smile twitch a bit softer, leaning slightly to rest his elbow on top of the bar and prop his head up, taking her and her experiences in and silently comparing them to his, too. “I am so very happy for you, darling. You deserve it.” After everything that had happened, her own quiet worries he can remember her telling him in confidence, of the fact that maybe she might not be enough at times if she had to rely on her fathers to come to her rescue even if he’d known she was one of the strongest people he knew and had certainly managed to handle things on her own (whether or not other people approved or didn’t).
Now she gets to sparkle in all the glory herself, to be raised to a well-earned and deserved higher status. “The Hot Take?” He purrs, his grin sharpening as he regards her more fully, but even he can’t hide the way his brows lift in surprise and quiet charm to hear that she can replay memories. “Ahah, that is brilliant!” Reminiscent of the orb that Kaisel had produced to have a memory stored away, here she is able to do it herself. He’d known she’d have flashier, dazzling magics in comparison to him, but he hadn’t realized it would be like this.
She isn’t done, though, and as the great listener the Butcher is, he watches as she starts to show him the magic – only to sit up straighter with rapt attention when he realizes the view starts to shift just enough to reveal the back rooms of the old Hanged Man, to a night that admittedly lived rent free in his mind as a catalyst. A night that he was fairly certain wouldn’t lead to him and Flora being like this, once the culmination had occurred. And while he had gotten the gist of what was said in the back while he’d been singing – right there, the undercurrent of his voice alongside the karaoke machine, a slow back drop to how their lives would change with nine words.
For as much as Astaroth prides himself in his capabilities to be nonchalant and polite, it’s early and he’s already buzzed enough that for Flora, his face describes everything. Because this wasn’t too far after the Butcher had figured he’d overstepped his bounds, how he hadn’t known exactly what love was, but knew that he couldn’t stop thinking about the Maverick. How he might be charming and suave with his words but still unable to define the feeling that sat inside him to say it in a way that wouldn’t make his now-fiance flee into the dark.
But here, he isn’t even involved. He’s singing in the background, drunk off his ass and unaware of what went on behind the door, back when he and Flora had been together officially (even if it was hazy on the Butcher’s part), to hear that Danta said he wasn’t his friend but that he was just his. Period. Stop. That one word that encompasses everything.
His cheeks flush dark pink with the realization, the charm that settles somewhere deep in his chest as he sucks down a deep breath to try and put the fire out that blooms inside him as he looks over at Flora to see that softer smile with the wicked sparkle while his reflect nothing but appreciation and adoration for such a lovely little gift she can just pull out of nowhere. “Flora,” he starts off, clearing his throat and huffing a soft buzzed laugh that by no means can convey how lovely this is, finding himself relatively speechless for a man that could wax poetics about the mundane. “That is phenomenal.. I do not even know what else to say.” Then, because he can’t help himself, his dark gaze remains just as warm even as mischief starts to settle in them. “It does make a lot more sense why you asked the question you did when you came back.” The smile remains even as he dramatically winces, realizing how he’d been so poor at responding back to it.
In fairness, the Butcher had never really been in love before. Not how he was with Danta, at least. And there was a very vast difference between a shallow passion and the depths of divine, lethal devotion.
All while Asta’s captivated to hear Flora’s laugh – just as bright and as happy as she deserves to be. It makes his smile twitch a bit softer, leaning slightly to rest his elbow on top of the bar and prop his head up, taking her and her experiences in and silently comparing them to his, too. “I am so very happy for you, darling. You deserve it.” After everything that had happened, her own quiet worries he can remember her telling him in confidence, of the fact that maybe she might not be enough at times if she had to rely on her fathers to come to her rescue even if he’d known she was one of the strongest people he knew and had certainly managed to handle things on her own (whether or not other people approved or didn’t).
Now she gets to sparkle in all the glory herself, to be raised to a well-earned and deserved higher status. “The Hot Take?” He purrs, his grin sharpening as he regards her more fully, but even he can’t hide the way his brows lift in surprise and quiet charm to hear that she can replay memories. “Ahah, that is brilliant!” Reminiscent of the orb that Kaisel had produced to have a memory stored away, here she is able to do it herself. He’d known she’d have flashier, dazzling magics in comparison to him, but he hadn’t realized it would be like this.
She isn’t done, though, and as the great listener the Butcher is, he watches as she starts to show him the magic – only to sit up straighter with rapt attention when he realizes the view starts to shift just enough to reveal the back rooms of the old Hanged Man, to a night that admittedly lived rent free in his mind as a catalyst. A night that he was fairly certain wouldn’t lead to him and Flora being like this, once the culmination had occurred. And while he had gotten the gist of what was said in the back while he’d been singing – right there, the undercurrent of his voice alongside the karaoke machine, a slow back drop to how their lives would change with nine words.
For as much as Astaroth prides himself in his capabilities to be nonchalant and polite, it’s early and he’s already buzzed enough that for Flora, his face describes everything. Because this wasn’t too far after the Butcher had figured he’d overstepped his bounds, how he hadn’t known exactly what love was, but knew that he couldn’t stop thinking about the Maverick. How he might be charming and suave with his words but still unable to define the feeling that sat inside him to say it in a way that wouldn’t make his now-fiance flee into the dark.
But here, he isn’t even involved. He’s singing in the background, drunk off his ass and unaware of what went on behind the door, back when he and Flora had been together officially (even if it was hazy on the Butcher’s part), to hear that Danta said he wasn’t his friend but that he was just his. Period. Stop. That one word that encompasses everything.
His cheeks flush dark pink with the realization, the charm that settles somewhere deep in his chest as he sucks down a deep breath to try and put the fire out that blooms inside him as he looks over at Flora to see that softer smile with the wicked sparkle while his reflect nothing but appreciation and adoration for such a lovely little gift she can just pull out of nowhere. “Flora,” he starts off, clearing his throat and huffing a soft buzzed laugh that by no means can convey how lovely this is, finding himself relatively speechless for a man that could wax poetics about the mundane. “That is phenomenal.. I do not even know what else to say.” Then, because he can’t help himself, his dark gaze remains just as warm even as mischief starts to settle in them. “It does make a lot more sense why you asked the question you did when you came back.” The smile remains even as he dramatically winces, realizing how he’d been so poor at responding back to it.
In fairness, the Butcher had never really been in love before. Not how he was with Danta, at least. And there was a very vast difference between a shallow passion and the depths of divine, lethal devotion.
Astaroth
// but i don't fear the dark //
