Before the party is over

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

"Fuck did you just say?" Danta drawls, as if the other man's accent has finally crashed into the brick wall of his own inebriation. Knocking back his drink as if that will help (it will not), he lets out a deep sigh and passes his fingers back through his fair hair. "I'm no priest," he says, though he thinks he'd make a good one - and gods help the Grounds then, "but I think shit like this is a pretty personal thing, don't you?"

Tapping the bar for another, though it's likely to be his last before he finds someone's thighs to bury his face between (or some office work if he's feeling spicy, he supposes), Danta regards Tal with the soft amusement of the quietly entertained. "If you want to find out how best to serve Dygra, go and ask her yourself. She'll gladly accept another Ancient into our family."

Dantalion