(SE) straight up to the sun

// with our one foot in the grave //

“Did you know that it took healing water to only half heal the bite you so wonderfully landed on me?” Astaroth asks, wandering through the lower level of the Inner Quarter, evading the snow for the moment while he peruses the little windows of the stores and shops leading up to the Dusklight. The cane taps against the tiled floor, his head tilting over toward the other Ancient with that same sharp toothed grin and a chuckle.

He sighs a little after and returns to their easy little jaunt, though. “That was quite possibly the best one anyone has ever gotten on me.” He gives a little kudos where they’re due, even if he had been entirely at the Maverick’s whims, tied and bound in order for it to land. He’s still counting it, which proves that he’s at least changing a little and appreciating this strange frenemyship between them.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

"Much as I appreciate the compliment," Danta croons to his companion, "you were bound and gagged at the time, so I'm not sure I deserve it." And only between two Ancients could the idea of sinking one's teeth into another be treated as anything positive, but to look at the two walking through The Last Whisper, they might have been discussing something as innocuous as the weather.

Having - at last, perhaps - taken a leaf out of the butcher's books when it comes to cold attire, Danta is dressed comfortably enough for this little jaunt; the fur scarf the other man has procured for him sits snug about his neck, and he's wearing more than adequate layers beneath his leather coat.

Pausing to gaze into one of the windows Asta has stopped near - a little boutique selling crockery, it seems, he spends a second tugging at his gloves, before nodding at the interior. "Would you like to get a tea set for your room?" He smirks.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

It’s so incredibly casual that Astaroth chuckles lightly as if they were simply talking about sports news and how their favorite teams have fallen behind or gotten a cheating leg up on the other. “I still could have stopped you, darling. But it is nice to have a different scar for once.” He muses, glancing through a different window as he adjusts his coat a bit tighter, until the Maverick stops and he turns back, glancing through the window before looking to Danta and catching the smirk.

Snorting a little, Asta concedes with a dip of his chin, gesturing with a hand so that Danta can lead the way. “Sure. Let’s see what they have, shall we?” He’ll let the blonde Ancient take the lead, wondering if he’d seen one through the window he thought would be a perfect addition.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

"Is that so?" Danta raises his eyebrows, the expression visible in their reflections in the boutique window. "Not that I would ever insult you in this way, but I don't quite believe you. Perhaps we'll have to have another go to make sure." He's almost entirely jesting, given what being bound and gagged brought out in the Maverick the last time, but still. He has to match that energy somehow.

He has seen one he thought Asta might like, as it happens, and with a dip of his chin to the other man he leads the way inside, gesturing to an ornate teaset inlaid with gold and wisps of crimson - not enough to overwhelm the delicate porcelain, but certainly to the other man's taste, he thinks. "What do you think?"

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

With the Hollowed Grounds’ alterations in landscape, some of the animals have grown a bit wilder. A bit bolder.

So while it may surprise some, and others not at all, a crow swoops down, snatching at clothing and bags with sharp, irritating, and annoying talons. Maybe you just lost a piece of bread, or a valuable keepsake!

Whoops. Best go try to get it back!

// with our one foot in the grave //

Another deep chuckle leaves him as he inclined his head as if to say ‘yes, that is so,’ before conceding with that same sharp toothed grin he’s known for. “Perhaps so.” Though they both know it wouldn’t happen. Perhaps it could be a bedroom training exercise for Danta to try to escape out of, with Astaroth giving the exact pointers as to how he would have done it.

Either way. They start to step inside, the door cracked open from a rogue breeze such that it won’t close the entirety of the way as he inspects the tea set that Danta points out. His hand lifts as if to grab the ceramic cup, humming a soft little “this is quite lovely” as the flap of wings can be heard and faster than Danta has seen him move, Astaroth promptly ducks behind the shorter man, that one reaching hand now on his shoulder with an iron grip.

“Mother of Dygra, what the fuck.” He finally breathes a hint shakily, though not before suddenly inspecting the tear in his coat from the talons ironically precisely on his shoulder where Danta would know a similar scar sat.

Luckily for him, though, while he tries to regain composure and his breathing (the benefit of standard crows versus gore crows, being that they’re smaller and he doesn’t have to listen to the incessant chant of meat, eyes that still admittedly haunt him in his sleep), the shop keeper’s already got a broom swatting at it with a curse, to which Astaroth is all too high strung now and intent on watching as the broom smacks the crows shoulder in an attempt to corral it out.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

Given that this particular crow is the bane of Danta's existence, the Maverick might have found this absolutely hilarious in different circumstances. In fact he's still grinning victoriously as the shopkeep batters the corvid back outside (whilst apologising profusely to them, of course), though his gloved hand comes up automatically to cover Asta's, his stance firmly in front of the other man despite all other quips that might flow between them.

"It's alright," he says airily, his voice low enough for the taller man's ears only. "Just a regular crow." Turning slightly, he reaches out to inspect the tear in Asta's coat with deft fingers, tutting under his breath. "Nothing a visit to your favourite tailor won't fix," he continues, giving said shoulder a quick squeeze before returning to the inspection of the tea set.

It isn't that he doesn't know how serious an incident it is that's just taken place - on the contrary, he just doubts that Asta wants the world to know about it as well. "Do you think you will get this?" he asks of the china.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

Dark eyes are too focused on the way the shop keep continues to battle the crow outside that he nearly flinches with the feel of Danta’s warm hand covering his own. But it does leagues for him to regain his composure, the low murmur offered from the other Ancient enough to have him still on edge, but drawing up to his height again, clearing his throat, letting Danta do his inspection of the tear in the butcher’s favorite coat (because of course it was his favorite), before he reaches up to brush his dark hair back, trying to regain some composure even though his hands and fingers are still a bit twitchy.

He’s still on the opposite side of the Maverick from the entrance, now, and while the shop keep’s back is turned, he pinches at the bridge of his nose before nodding and focusing on something else. Grounding himself, he supposes it’s called. “You’re right.” He breathes out a little softer, before he leans in for the tea set again, clearing his throat once more. “I think I will.” He says of the tea set, despite being a little too shaky to collect the items, he tries to start to place them together to purchase, side pressed into the Maverick’s for the comfort and support offered.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

"A good choice," Danta determines with a crooked smile, despite how his own fingers want to seize the delicate china and smash it to the ground, if for no other reason than to see what patterns the fractures make. Leaning in to collect together the pieces Asta has chosen, given that the other man's hands don't seem up to the task, he lifts them up just as another ruckus sounds outside.

The shopkeep is at the open door instantly, tilting his head, and Danta peers out the shop window towards, wouldn't you know it, The Dusklight seems to be having a few problems at the entrance. In fact, he thinks he recognises a couple of faces (one of them is missing a strip of flesh from his leg, he thinks).

Nudging Asta at his side and raising his eyebrows to the other man, he nods towards home. "The crow is long gone. Maybe some strategic violence will make you feel better? I can get this for you, if you want to go and deal with that."

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

Dropping back onto his heels a small amount as Danta begins to help, distrusting of his shaky fingers to keep from breaking the perfectly on brand for him china, his dark gaze slips from the procedure they’re in the middle of as the ruckus occurs outside. He half expects it to be the crow starting more bullshit, until further inspection and the lure of Danta’s voice at his side, nudging him. He recognizes them, though, recalling the ice pick to both of their shoulders and his usual grin is replaced with a snarling face fit for his fyrhund shift.

“Works for me, thank you.” He says softly, a touch of more honesty and less poise than normal as he hands the cane to Dantalion to look after, before he’s stepping out of the door and shifting to his fyrhund shift. It’s with smoky black clouds and flames licking at his maw that Astaroth snarls a bit too viciously than he has before, almost like he’s going to take out the anxiety and fear the crow had instilled on these returning troublemakers.

There’s no time for words, of course, because he’s sure he warned them last time before they sunk a fucking ice pick into his shoulder, and despite the warning of the taller one missing the chunk in his leg, they’re back, and so the time for warning is over and with a hunger thrumming deep within him, he intends to make it painful.

He gives them one second to register what’s happening and think better of it before he launches at the ice cold party, smoke in his wake as he barrels right for the main offender.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

"You are so welcome," Danta purrs, a smirk on his face even as he turns to deal with the relatively mediocre task of getting the tea set boxed up for Asta's later perusal. With the cane in the crook of his arm, he clicks his tongue to get the shopkeep's attention (he's been gaping, open mouthed, at the sudden fyrhund in the Last Whisper) so he might go behind the counter to get him all set and ready to go.

With one ear on proceedings, Danta hears the snarling and the ripple of shock go up around the boutiques (and likely the crowd amassing outside the Dusklight), and expects to hear some strangled and pained cries a few seconds later. Only, he doesn't.

The crowd has returned very much with the intention of getting Astaroth's attention, it appears. And this time they aren't just here to cause trouble for the Dusklight, but for the tal Ancient himself, fyrhund or no fyrhund. As one, they ignite the ice magic in their blood, and rather than a few stray ice shards, this time the cold is near glacial in its intensity, trying to encase the fyrhund completely to either freeze it solid or - even better - force Asta to shift back.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// go get your gun, get your gun //

Oh. Comes the first thought. The second shortly after is oh fuck.

Because they are very much prepared for him this time, and as they turn as if in fucking unison (he wonders if they’ve been practicing like a little college frat club) does Astaroth realize he’s quite possibly fucked and maybe shouldn’t have left the cane behind. And despite the heat running through his blood, Astaroth had not quite been level headed enough to realize that maybe he shouldn’t just immediately announce his presence to let them single him out like they are.

It's too late, though, because the ice starts to encase and freeze parts of him, his otherwise quick movement shifting toward a sluggish temperature, but he manages to breathe out the fire in a snarl that has his front paws loosening up. It’s enough that he tries to swipe at the nearest ice conjurer, spitting flame at him as he does so in case his now cold paws miss.

Astaroth

// and lets find out what it does //

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

His too-cold paws do miss, in fact, and with the Dusklight's security rendered into nothing more than a popsicle, even those who had stopped to watch outside now retreat in, peering out through the windows of shops, boutiques and the brothel to see how everything will end.

Booming out a curse as the fire hits where the paws have not, Asta will at least be able to get the satisfaction of singeing a great deal of hair off the ringleader's head, but of course he only doubles down on the ice magic once he's recovered. "Teach you to fuckin' kick us out," he sneers, using both the season and his innate magical ability - and that of the surrounding Abandoned - to focus on encasing Asta in his icy tomb.

Which is just about when the cane the taller Ancient had been missing cracks across the back of the ringleader's head, knocking him out cold as he crumples to the ground. Danta raises his eyebrows at the rest of the group - and then his hand, pulling some of the fire from Asta's shift to grow it into vibrant, angry tendrils, intent on making this a fair fight if nothing else.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

He snarls more, sluggish and slow as the ice starts to wear on his volcanic body, permeating the metal and hardened exterior, watching through bright hateful eyes as the fire singes and burns and the curse is aired aloud, and its finally time he has to shift back. But it takes a second in order to do so, a second that has the Maverick joining him and the butcher’s beloved cane, such that when the rest of the group starts to realize what’s happening, Astaroth leaves Danta to utilize his flame as he snags the cane and tries to get a bit of warmth in his blood again. “Can I kill them?” He asks through clenched, sharp teeth.

He bares them next, flipping the cane so that the hooked end faces out and he aims to hook around one of the ice mage offender’s neck to pull him in and lose his balance so that he might slip on his own ice or trip over his knocked out buddy, while Astaroth prepares a strong punch to break the other man’s collarbone, well versed enough in human anatomy to pinpoint the location.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //