// with our one foot in the grave //
“Precisely.” The Butcher laughs lightly, at least until Danta’s very confident Asta will end up spilling the rich and spiced stew all over himself should he try to sit in one. He peers at Danta with mock despair, as if he’s hurt that the Maverick didn’t believe in his abilities to balance a bowl of stew on a less than perfect spot to sit. “Darling, you go in first and then I shall join you. That way if I end up wearing it, it will be all your fault.” He teases with a flick of his tail that has the ashen tip slapping gently against the back of Danta’s calf.
As for the bell, though, a low laugh leaves him and he shakes his head slightly, flashing his fiancé a roguish smirk. “If I had my way, I would not be the one holding it in the first place.” Comes the playful and sultry drawl, one soon bypassed as if he hadn’t let the jest slip while he sucks in a breath and spies the hammock they’re circling. He notices Thalassa and flashes her a sharp smile and a wave before he’s looking back to Danta and the hammock in question, half bowing toward it. “Now shall we give this a go?”
As for the bell, though, a low laugh leaves him and he shakes his head slightly, flashing his fiancé a roguish smirk. “If I had my way, I would not be the one holding it in the first place.” Comes the playful and sultry drawl, one soon bypassed as if he hadn’t let the jest slip while he sucks in a breath and spies the hammock they’re circling. He notices Thalassa and flashes her a sharp smile and a wave before he’s looking back to Danta and the hammock in question, half bowing toward it. “Now shall we give this a go?”
Astaroth
// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //
