(SE) straight up to the sun

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

"Later," Danta says, his tone clipped and uncharacterstically cold as he wields the flame and lances it towards another member of the group, managing to shatter the icy lance he's directed at them into little more than a shower of hail. "You're in no state," he adds, as if the other man might not realise that he's well on his way to stone if not hypothermia at a minimum.

Searing the fire towards the group's feet and aiming a vicious punch to the side of another's head just as their companion's collarbone breaks with a satisfying crunch, it's clear that the loss of their ringleader and the appearance of two Ancients where there ought only to have been one is finally making them think twice.

And if it weren't for present company, Danta might be the one cawing for meat! and eyes! as they start to make a run for it. Instead the Maverick is left with a rather dangerous look on his face, using his boot against the (still unconscious) ringleader's jaw to turn him this way and that, getting a good look at him. "We still have a jail here, you know," he says, almost conversationally.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

It’s the adrenaline that has him not quite thinking about how heavy his bones feel, how if he didn’t keep moving, the hail and ice still enshrouding the area might make him more akin to a stop motion film. As it stands, the fire that Danta utilizes, helps keep him from sinking down into a statue once again, helping to keep him just mobile enough that the punch lands against the collarbone and he unhooks the cane from the offender’s neck, hissing out a growl as they start to run.

He moves as if to follow them, before realizing he’s frigid, as the adrenaline starts to vanish. Actually trembling from the cold, it takes a great deal of work to keep hold of the cane, and for once it’s actually utilized to keep him upright, leaning against it as his breath chatters through his teeth, dark eyes glaring down at the unconscious ringleader. “C-Can I eat him later th-then?” He chatters, gritting his teeth with another frustrated snarl, drawing closer to Danta’s heat subconsciously. Beneath the gloves, his fingers are certainly a greyish blue, closing sluggishly around the handle of the cane.

Astaroth

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

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

"If I have him taken to a cell, and I let you know which one it is and when he's going to be all alone, what happens between you and he is none of my business," Danta informs the man at his side, his tone low and quiet, the words almost whispered under his breath. In the meantime, he whistles sharply through his teeth for a few of the soldiers they've been training - and at least they'd come running at the sound of the fight - to take said offender away.

In the meantime, he steps in and against Asta's side as they make a show of watching the ringleader's unconscious ass be hauled away, lending the other man as much warmth as he can through their combined layers - enough, he hopes, that no one in the Dusklight will look at him twice at least until they can get away from prying eyes. "Your room is closer, but mine has a better fireplace. You pick," he invites.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

“D-deal.” Astaroth mutters, hissing out another air of frustration as he leans against Dantalion while the soldiers move in to haul the ringleader away. He grits his teeth, trying to keep his shivering to a minimum, his dark hair falling into his face, tinged with a pale sheen of ice on the ends. He tries to soak up what heat the Maverick offers, though its difficult through the layers that originally he’d warn to ward off anything getting in.

As such, his arm slips around the Maverick as he grits his teeth, tasting smoke on his tongue from his shift as they slip into the Dusklight to thankfully averted eyes, the heat blasting him in such an opposite effect that he’s almost dizzy from it. It warms his face at least, granting more color back than the grey it had started to turn, and the ice in his hair begins to melt in cold little droplets down his neck and back. “Yours.” He says on a breath, already aiming them straight for it.

Dantalion’s fireplace was the first and foremost thing on his mind since stepping into the heady Dusklight.

Astaroth

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

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

"Consider it done," Danta purrs, only pausing en route into the Dusklight to murmur something to one of the workers, nodding back towards the boutique, before they're away again in earnest. And whilst the Maverick welcomes the fresh heat against his skin, he's nonetheless keen to get them down the corridor and up the stairs, not that those will be particularly kind on an Ancient turning to stone.

Still, however they manage it, they do, and it's after kicking his door shut that he tugs Asta up towards the fireplace. "Give me a second," he advises, needing to coax the fire up from embers to eat at the fresh fuel he kicks into it. While his magic works, he thinks nothing, apparently, of unbuttoning the other man's coat, and shirt, and shedding him of as many layers as he can.

"You're a fucking idiot," he informs him with a quietly impressed smile, Danta giving himself the same treatment before stepping forward, snatching the taller man against him in an embrace that will likely prove kinder, for now, than yeeting him into the naked flames. "Thanks," he adds.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

Wholly at Danta’s mercy, lugged along like a tall anchor for the Theocrat, Astaroth says nothing but tries to regain his shivering breath and the tremors racking through his body, tremors that are slowing but not for a good reason. No, because where it might be far more likely that it’s because he’s warming up, in this instance he’s freezing up back to that gargoyle he’d been essentially a season ago.

It's a struggle up the stairs, and each step feels heavy and weighty, positioned wherever Danta needs him to be before he’s shed of his layers and lets the cane clatter to the ground. The gloves reveal blackening fingertips, his ears a stone grey and darker than the grey in his face, amongst the rest of him where the ice had settled harsher. Hips and legs slowly creeping up a black inky stone held at bay with the warmth of the fireplace and the preventative layers gone to allow the heat in, he gladly places his weight into Danta’s embrace, arms winding around his middle as his face tucks into his neck and shoulder, while the shivering returns. “Evidently th-they we’re wait-t-ting for m-me.” He breathes out, stuttering a little from the chatter of his sharp teeth, he draws silent for a moment to soak in the warmth.

“Th-Thank you, Danta.” He says instead of the cocky, haughty you’re welcome he’d otherwise say, his stuttering voice full of a surprising amount of gratitude.

Astaroth

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

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

"Take it as a compliment," Danta suggests with a smirk, letting warm fingers comb through the other man's dark hair and pressing him close enough to hopefully kindle the warmth at his core that he might be able to thaw himself out eventually. "You clearly made an impression on them, for them to want to stage an ambush." Though it's the clumsiest ambush he's ever seen, given their crowing outside the Dusklight only moments before.

(Which actually makes what happened more embarrassing, but he won't poke fun until later when Asta is out of the woods).

Teasing a lick of flame from the fireplace so he can wend it through his own fingers, it's with a superheated touch that he presses his hands down the length of the taller man's shoulders and back, huffing something under his breath and shaking his head. "My pleasure," he mutters instead, drawing the fire in the hearth higher so the heat might radiate out at them.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

Warmth spreading through him and keeping the stony prison at bay, Astaroth does manage a breathy little laugh, hiccupped by the shiver that races down his spine. It only has him clinging to Danta further, content to let the compliment lie where it was. And maybe, with the ringleader missing, they’d think twice about returning again, and maybe by then he’ll have his full fire magic back as an additional fuck you for freezing me.

As it stands, he feels so incredibly weak, and there’s a vulnerability in his tone when he thanks Danta in turn, gasping at the superheated fingertips that run down his frigid spine. But it works, edging the grey away back into the bronze of his skin tone. The water in his hair is now warm as it drips down Danta’s shoulder and back and he hums a little under his breath as his tail starts to get a bit more movement, immediately whipping over to sink into the fire to help. “I will bring you some.” He says randomly, already thinking about devouring the poor fucker that chose to have a fight with them.

Astaroth

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

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

"Very kind of you, but you absolutely deserve all of that one for yourself," Danta murmurs. "I won't say no to a play by play, though, when you do return." Hopefully in the dead of night, hopefully free of blood and gore, so the rest of the Grounds can be none the wiser about it.

Only when he's sure that there's enough movement in the other man that he won't keel over or shatter does Danta slowly encourage them to sit - or kneel, as it happens, the warm hearthstone at least a welcome surge of heat against their knees as they go down. "I think you'll be okay," the Maverick murmurs eventually, his hands smoothing across bronzed skin nicked through with scars, but no longer the startling grey of stone.

It's at that moment that a tap at Danta's door interrupts them, and he peels himself carefully away from Asta to go and answer it.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

Snorting and fully ready to deny that he couldn’t possibly eat the entirety of the ring leader on his own, he and Danta both know it would be a lie. Astaroth could be quite the meal prepper when he needed to go long stretches. But, he would be cautious, once he gets his movement back, and with help he’d hopefully not get another icepick to the chest. He fully intends on being the monster in the night, whether or not the ice mage expects such a thing.

He fucked around and now he’s going to literally find out.

“I think so as well.” He admits, sinking to his knees and leeching the warmth into his darkened legs, as such that he has movement again and is no longer stuttering. The knock on the door is ignored as he braces his hands on the warmth of the stone, watching his once black fingertips shift toward a tan-grey as color returns. Allowing Danta to do whatever it is he’s doing (thinking nothing about what happened prior to this unfortunate event), he sidles over a bit to let the flames lick at his side, dipping his fingers and his toes into the fireplace in full survival mode focus.

Astaroth

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

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

Danta doesn't mind what Asta plans to do next to the hearth, as long as he isn't stupid enough to move away from it, and it's with a short, murmured conversation that he closes the door again. When he returns, it's with a kettle full of water that he hangs in front of the fireplace to warm up, a package of the other man's favoured tea, and a sturdy box containing the set he'd chosen what feels like years ago.

"Tea?" Danta smirks, before producing a hip flask of some of the Dusklight's finest liquor. "Spiked, obviously."

Settling in again next to the other man, its a surprisingly casual arm that slips around Asta to draw him close back against his side, Danta's spaded tail flicking this way and that before winding around him as well. "Maybe be more careful next time, yeah?" he mutters.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

Oh he doesn’t plan on moving away from it for some time, given how much he’s soaking up. Hands regain their color, slowly but surely, and when he starts to feel more relaxed is when Astaroth’s attention drifts back toward Danta as the kettle is hung not that far from him. Sighing in a bit of relief, he nods his head, resting it against the edge of the fireplace. “I would love some.” He agrees, before the Maverick is sitting beside him again.

The arm slinks around him and Astaroth is very easily moved to rest against the blonde’s side, super heated fingers from the flame dipping to the outsides of his thighs to start to warm them up, head resting on Danta’s shoulder as his dark and damp hair splays out against the other man’s back, careful to not smack him with his horns. “It would have been easier if I were stronger.” He mutters a hint annoyed, but sighs out the frustration in favor for the warmth spreading. “I can feel that I have my bloodbane magic, but I feel as if I would die if I used it.” And he would be right with his little baby HP, a crit fail for the century.

Astaroth

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

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

"Wouldn't most things?" Danta drawls, nosing into the other man's hair and narrowly avoiding being impaled by his horns, huffing out a sigh and furrowing his brow as he gazes into the flames, pushing his bare toes into the embers and ashes without much thinking about it. "Until then, though, probably best to take it easy." It's as close to don't fuck around and make me worry about you as Asta is ever going to get, and even that much is an enormous step in a direction Danta's never walked.

"I don't think I ever had that," he adds conversationally - bloodbane, he means. "I could heal myself though, if I needed." But now that they're out from under the yoke of others, who knows what the future might hold?

Glancing up as the kettle begins to whistle, it's with a touch of reluctance that Danta moves away to lift it down, nudging the box towards Asta so he might play with his tea set while the Maverick brews the tea and spikes it accordingly.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

“Obviously.” Astaroth drawls as if it were common knowledge, his accented tone surprisingly flat for once in the face of it. But as Danta continues, there’s a certain quiet seriousness that Astaroth focuses on, letting the realization sink in that he was worried, and had every right to be. But gods, what a road they’ve walked so far, isn’t it? “I shall.” He makes the quiet little vow, as much of an apology for making him worry that Danta would get.

Like a little cuddle puddle, the tall scarred form of Asta is half hunched and pressed comfortably against the Maverick’s side, dipped half in flame and half in the heat of the blonde that he hums thoughtfully. “I was always envious of that one.” Namely because he wasn’t used to healing or being healed. Isla’s healing water had been a surprise he hadn’t been expecting. “But, bloodbane made it easier to inflict pain, so... It’s why I was always already bloody before anything happened.” Danta would feel his nose wrinkle as its pressed near or into his neck, before he moves.

Withdrawing a little before Danta fully extracts himself, Astaroth easily obliges as he reaches for the box, opening it up and pulling out the pieces they would need, taking a moment to actually inspect the fine colors of scarlet and gold blended into the china. “It’s even better seeing it under this light.” He muses, tilting one of the cups this way and that, watching the flame reflect off the gold details.

Astaroth

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