proof is in the adversaire

we're born at night, so much of our life

What had started as a suggestion of a stroll out to Peekaboo Rise to find something for Asta to smack with his cane - Danta is sure they once drop-kicked a tangleweed out here once or twice - has become an unfortunate exercise in trying to burrow his way beneath the Butcher's coat collar. He'd realised quickly after they returned from Torchline that Flowerbirth was slow to thaw the post-Longnight snows, and now that they're up on the hillside, the frost at their feet and the bitter wind howling around them has quickly eroded any of the Maverick's wish to be outside.

But they are still here for a purpose, and his very reasonable compromise (in his opinion) has been to shift into a gore crow to leech away his fiance's warmth. He'd perched at first on Asta's shoulder, a sinister companion to the tall Ancient as they ascend Peekaboo Rise, but one gale too many has caused him to inch further and further up towards the other man's neck.

Now, Asta will find it difficult not to notice the way Danta is sneaking into the collar of his coat, a bundle of grumpy fluff and feathers that clicks his beak and nibbles behind the Butcher's ear, as if that will make him more amenable to the idea.

Dantalion

is just carvin' through the dark

// nothing is as simple, I worship, you're my temple //

They do cut a striking figure en route to the Peekaboo Rise. Asta with his height, bundled up against the cold, the cane that glints in its multi-hued metals that make up the bladed bottom half. Posture perfect as ever, his shoulders broad and straight enough to be a good perch – if Danta chose to stay there. The wind is something that bites against them, each gust one that’s progressively colder feeling, and Asta’s tail flicks in irritation of it as he tries to retain some semblance of heat.

Of course, it’s about this time that Danta’s bullying his way into his collar, too. The wind has knocked some of his hair loose from where he’d swept it back, leaving a part of it falling into his face opposite of where he currently is trying to readjust his head enough for Danta to fit his smaller, feathered body into whatever space there was between his neck and his shoulder. He’s managed to do a pretty decent job given the room he was working with, and with each little nibble behind his ear, Asta shivers a little with the sensation.

The Butcher wasn’t ticklish, traditionally, but something about the way Danta’s beak scratches has him a little more jumpy than normal. “At this rate, you may as well just bite.” He says after the third time he’s shiver-flinched, huffing a warm laugh as they step up the hill, keeping his dark eyes peeled for any movement. "It tickles, darling."

Astaroth

// and heaven, hold your gates open, all the hell we've been through //

we're born at night, so much of our life

Having nestled his way into the space between Asta's collar and neck by the time he's shivering and laughing about it, Danta offers a quiet croak of acknowledgement, a silent are u sure about that when it comes to his curved beak and the soft flesh of the Butcher's throat. He does nibble this time at one of the earrings in Asta's earlobes as if to make up for it (and also drawn by the sparklies), though when he can't get it free he fluffs up his feathers and relents.

"TiCkLE tIcKLe," he announces nevertheless, the word warped by an avian throat, though there's no denying the pride in him for it. They near the top of the rise now where there's very little cover against the wind, and the next chill breeze that slices across the sky has him nearly melting into Asta's coat as a result, relishing the warmth of his body against his feathers.

He can't see anything out here just yet - nothing worth attacking with the other man's cane anyway, but that isn't to say there won't be something promising on the other side of the hill.

Dantalion

is just carvin' through the dark