tell me what you need

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

The new office was a dream, so much so that he’d incorporated it with things that weren’t so ‘Dusklight Security’ related, (keeping track of everything he needs to do for the shrine). Satisfied with the progress thus far, he figures he should make an appearance in the rest of the Dusklight, allowing his face to be seen however briefly. He’s dressed surprisingly nice as well, a dark vest with a tie, adorned with silver jewelry, a band on his horn that glimmers in the light.

Satisfied with the walk through (and avoiding any reaching hands for him), he snags a bottle of wine and two glasses and drifts to Danta’s room, knuckles tapping against the door to announce his entry (and to hopefully avoid walking into anything he’d rather not).

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //

// there's shadows on the walls //

There are a lot of mistakes leading up to the moment where Danta opens the door to his bedroom.

First, he hasn't been expecting Astaroth. Second, he has been expecting another one of the Dusklight workers to join his party.

Third, Asta has knocked without announcing his presence.

And finally - Danta is impatient.

Thus, the Maverick who opens his door is stark naked but for a cowboy hat and a pair of crotchless chaps, a cowbell in one hand and a very enthusiastic hello for the butcher south of his waistline.

"Did you bring the cream?" he's asking, the sentiment echoed by a few feminine voices over his shoulder as his companion decides to also investigate the newcomer at the door, flapping dark wings to perch directly on Danta's head.

"Oh, you aren't the whore I ordered," the Maverick continues with a filthy smile as he realises who it is. "But you're still welcome to join us."

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

It’s almost funny how fast the good mood begins to fall, sliding past each and every potential ability to save itself. He should have announced who he was (and he makes a note to mention it next time), but there isn’t any surprise when Danta answers realizing he isn’t who he’s expecting, and Astaroth’s dark gaze immediately takes him in with a raised brow and the start of a laugh that very clearly turns into something else when a fucking bird (a crow of all Dygra forsaken things) settles onto the Maverick’s cowboy hat.

His heart lurches into immediate nausea, grasp slipping on the bottle of wine as it falls and collides with the floor in a shower of dark red, and Astaroth spends little time getting out of fucking sight, flattening against the wall to stare at the wall opposite, sharp teeth gnashing immediately as he tries to settle his pulse. “No thank you.” He croaks out rather than anything smart and witty, exhaling a sharp sigh as he debates whether he should just leave.

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //

// there's shadows on the walls //

Danta's ridiculous delight promptly disappears as he tracks the bottle slipping from Asta's fingers to shatter on the ground - and the Maverick has to take a quick hop backwards not to be hit by any glass or wine. "Asta what the f--" Then of course the other man is just gone - and Danta finally realises why as the little presence in his mind radiates confusion and shiny glass.

"For the love of-- Moira, get the fuck out." There's a great deal of movement, including an opening window and some upset flapping and squawking, and Danta curtly telling his company to make themselves scarce. Asta will be treated to not one, but three lovely ladies dressed as cows and milkmaids hopping over the spillage and back down the stairs; a moment or so later, Danta reappears. (This time in sweatpants, and sans hat).

"Hey, it's okay now. She's outside." He pokes his head around the door.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

His heartbeat is loud enough to drown out the question and the ruckus from inside, his now suddenly free hand rests against his chest where it feels like his fingertips are tingly and his heart is trying to rip its way out of his body, trying to rein it in as the women make their departure, trying to offer them a nod and making some far away note about their attire that doesn’t find the headspace to sit in his mind at this present moment.

It isn’t until Danta returns more covered up that Asta’s finally starting to relax, able to feel his voice and hear himself speak again, jaw working tightly as he reaches to grab the shards of glass from the exploded bottle of wine. “I apologize.” He says wearily, looking up to Danta from where he collects the large glass pieces, face surprisingly pale. “That was my fault.” Though he wants to ask when the fuck Danta started letting corvids into his room (aside from the Maverick himself, of course).

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //

// there's shadows on the walls //

"Leave it," Danta says softly, shaking his head at the glass and standing aside to beckon Asta into the room. "I'll get one of the staff to come up and clean. Besides, you look like you need something stronger." So saying, the Maverick crosses his room (the curtains are pointedly closed) to fetch a couple of glasses and the rest of a bottle of some very fine rum from Torchline.

"And it wasn't your fault, it was mine." Sighing as he pours the rum, he offers one of the glasses out to the butcher. "I recently acquired a companion. You can well imagine what shape she takes - you just met her. I did mean to break the news to you though, rather than having you just see her like that. So I'm the one who's sorry."

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

It isn’t a demand, but it’s as good as one with how Asta’s mind absorbs Danta’s words, the hand twitching before he drops the rest of the glass cradled in his hand. It hits the floor again with a soft thunk and his dark gaze focuses on it rather than up at the Maverick. His voice seems further away, indicating to Asta to follow despite not seeing him beckon, and he draws himself back up to step over the mess into the room, immediately (he can’t help himself) looking around for any sign of the crow.

Not finding it, his gaze lands on Danta as he offers the glass and the butcher reaches for it silently, until the blonde elaborates at least. “I should have said who I was.” Is all he comes up with, nose twitching slightly before he shakes his head and downs the entire glass in one go as if it might shake him out of it. Internally it’s more numb than anything else yet, but there’s frustration and anger buried deep that hasn’t come to light yet. A distinct feeling to gnaw on something.

Exhaling a sigh as the burn hits his throat, his face scrunches a little having not expected rum, but it should do the job.

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //

// there's shadows on the walls //

"Astaroth." Danta's voice is quiet but firm, and he abandons his own drink to step up opposite the other man, hands landing warmly upon his shoulders. "It wasn't your fault. I didn't expect you to be up here for a few more hours." Or at all, some days. Or he'd see the butcher in their collective offices, or at the bar, or whatever. Not this random hey look a crow bombardment.

"Come and sit down," he murmurs, gently guiding him towards the couch he's dragged up to be situated in front of his fireplace (which is of course crackling merrily). Danta sits as well, raking a hand through the longer lengths of his fair hair and letting out a sigh. "I'll make sure she isn't inside the Dusklight any more."

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

The firmness of his voice draws Astaroth’s attention raptly, dark eyes focusing on the blonde before him, the hands at his shoulders, steadying him enough that he can cradle the now empty glass in his hands. And despite the attempts to make it sound like it isn’t his fault, it really doubles down on it in his mind. If he had waited a few hours, perhaps the crow wouldn’t have been there, perhaps Danta would have prepared, but it all starts to feel like this big secret that the Maverick must keep hidden from him and he wonders when he would have told him if he hadn’t witnessed the crow.

His nose wrinkles, but he’s malleable enough to be guided to sit near the fireplace, trying to let the warmth of it breathe life into his clammy hands. “How long have you had her?” He asks instead of any confirmation to hearing what he said, dark eyes focusing a bit more raptly as his nose remains wrinkled and there’s a slight curve of his lip, the numbness slipping away into an irrational anger that he knows deep down is exactly that, but with the whiplash of emotions he doesn’t know what to do with, he instead begins to lash out.

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //

// there's shadows on the walls //

And thus is the downside of having known Asta for so long, and for the majority of that time under not-so-great circumstances. Danta knows his tells, especially concerning his temper, and it causes the Maverick to bristle even before the other man says anything, his spine straightening and shoulders setting quite without his permission.

"A few days," he says quietly. "Same crow that has been lurking around the Inner Quarter for ages, except this time..." He shrugs and gestures to his temple, as if to indicate the companion bond. "I've never had anything like it before. I wanted to understand it before I told you, given what she was."

Because they both know if Moira was a lava wyrm or a rabbit or a lizard that Danta would have thrust her upon Asta likely without any warning. "I didn't realise I wasn't allowed to do that."

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

The butcher, too, has never had a companion before in his life. It’s an attachment and understanding that he cannot begin to imagine, let alone sharing his mind with anything else (or anyone else), but the fact remains. There’s a settled frustration and anger that’s brimming to the surface, replacing the numbness, despite having absolutely zero reasons to be so mad about something out of his control. He doesn’t even intend for the question to be so harsh, but it’s already fallen from his lips and he can’t take it back.

“That she is a crow?” He asks, both knowing the same meaning behind the words (because he would have been delighted had it been literally anything else and it pisses him off more that he’s mad about this in the first place). And perhaps this is where that old flash of them prior in the Climb rises to the surface, because with Danta’s own little quip it lights a flame within the butcher even more.

“I didn’t realize we were keeping secrets.” He quips back, surprisingly casually despite the twitch of his lips in that tell-tale frown.

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //

// there's shadows on the walls //

"Yes, that she is a crow," Danta confirms with a shrug that conveys more frustration now than confusion. "I can't help it, and she can't help it, and she's just--" Gesturing vaguely behind the closed curtains where Moira is definitely trying to catch spiders and bugs on the sill, Danta hates himself for even feeling anything towards a corvid that has been troublesome, up until the last few days.

At the mention of secrets, Asta's frown is countered by a raise of Danta's eyebrows and a sharpness to his gaze, and he scoffs and looks away from the other man. "Right, because your reaction would have been so much better if I had just flounced into your office with her," he drawls. "Fuck me for trying to spare you some pain."

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

He knows how companions work, and he knows full well the implications of such a bond – how neither gets a choice in the matter – that isn’t what he’s upset about, though. He can’t even really put his finger on what he’s upset about, he just is. Nose still wrinkled, he tries to ignore the sound of the corvid scouting for bugs on the windowsill, the brief indicator of a beak scraping against glass.

The butcher meets Danta’s sharp gaze with a sharp one of his own, hearing the scoff which only brings more anger with the words said, because holy shit what an overreaction they’re both having, but the snowball is rolling and growing larger and he, too, can’t stop it (maybe it’s also the rum?) “You do not have to show me her? You could have stopped in and said hello Asta, I have a companion now and it’s a crow, but I’ll try to keep her away from you so you don’t get like this??” His voice pitches, taking on a tone similarly to the Maverick’s, before he shakes his head and moves to stand – where he intends to go, he doesn’t know. What he does know is that he can’t sit still.

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //

// there's shadows on the walls //

"Trying to keep her away from you is impossible given how much time we-- how much you're around me," Danta snaps, folding his arms across his chest and scowling. "We both know you'd have run into her eventually, because I don't know if you've realised this, but we live in the same building." And that's the crux of it in truth - that he's been afraid the other man would learn about his companion and decide to leave. Rightly or wrongly, the Maverick has been trying to delay that discussion.

Except now Asta is already getting to his feet, and Danta rises with him as if to prevent it, though he's completely unsure why, and it looks much more like a confrontation than anything else. "You're telling me that if I'd come and had a discussion with you - which I did plan to, by the way - that you wouldn't have ended up like this anyway?"

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //