tell me what you need

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

“Okay.” He says softly, an agreement as the anger bleeds away. It makes for the quiet admission he isn’t sure the Maverick hears, shoulders relaxing slightly as Danta questions him, uncertainty.

“No, I do want to.” He reiterates softly, shifting a little, “I think it might help.” Less anxiety inducing if he understands her tells in a controlled environment. And as Danta offers the name, he withdraws slightly, enough to look back up at Danta, catching the end of the eye rolling. “Moira.” He reiterates before he sighs softly and loosens his arms from around Danta, shifting back to run his hand through his hair.

A moment passes of working his jaw, then he tilts his head. “Something strong to calm the nerves and I would like for you to bring her in.” Comes the quiet request, eyeing Danta to see if he’ll do it.

Astaroth

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

// there's shadows on the walls //

Quite unsure how they've gone from dropping a bottle of wine to shouting in each other's faces to this, Danta is nonetheless too happy not to have shoved Asta out of his life entirely to question him any further. "Okay, if you're certain," he murmurs, stepping back as the other man's arms loosen from around him. "I'll get the good stuff from my office for you."

And he does just that, bringing in a bottle of aged Halovian liquor, setting it and a small glass on the desk before the butcher and leaving him to decide how much constitutes enough before he goes to collect his companion. She isn't difficult to find luckily, having been making some sort of mess twig pile on the sill that he thinks is meant to be a nest.

"Alright," he murmurs to Asta through the door of his office just as he's about to walk back in. "I've got her in my hands, so she's not going to flap around or... yeah." He's so good at this.

Waiting for the other man's go ahead, only then will Danta step inside, a disgruntled ball of black feathers between his fingers.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

Nodding once Danta withdraws from him, Asta offers a weak smile. “Thank you.” Is the first thing he says, reiterated when the blonde returns with a glass and the bottle of Halovian liquor, something that’s actually surprisingly nostalgic for the butcher as he definitely pours plenty to let the burn of to distract away from the internal stressors he feels as he waits for Danta to return. The liquor hits with a certain zing that’s reminiscent of before he was Ancient, and it’s a sensation that calms him surprisingly well – like this can be a new beginning.

He hears Danta’s announcement from the other side of the door and he steels himself, shifting to face the desk with his arms braced and the empty glass. “Come in.” He calls out loud enough for the Maverick to enter, his voice surprisingly steady for the moment until the blonde enters, dark eyes immediately dropping to the dark bundle in Danta’s arms like it’s the largest threat in the room. He can see how she’s quite obviously upset between the Maverick’s hands, and that understanding and the connection to the Maverick has him trying not to immediately push it away.

So, it’s with a shaky breath and a tight jaw, a hand beckoning him closer, that he tries to get a better look. His heart suddenly resides in his throat and he desperately tries to swallow it down enough to offer a shaky “hello Moira,” before his jaw shuts tight again with a snap. Exhaling through his nose, he keeps his hands in front of him, watching to see how she reacts and trying to desperately believe that her first initial movement wouldn’t be descending on to tear away his flesh.

Astaroth

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

// there's shadows on the walls //

"If you need us to go, I will," Danta says as a precursor, before he's stepping closer to the desk at Asta's instruction. For her part, Moira is at least all companion as well as all crow, because she's much less unpredictable than any other corvid might be purely due to the connection she shares with the Maverick. As such, whilst her black feathers are still ruffled at being contained in a cage of hands, she does look up at the butcher with beady black eyes, clacking her beak in greeting.

Wriggling enough such that Danta does loosen her grip on her ever so slightly, Moira settles more in his hands, and the Maverick is able to take a seat opposite Asta on the desk. "She is hoping that you have snacks in your desk," he says dryly. "I have already assured her that you do not, but..." He shrugs. "Is this okay, so far?"

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

“I know.” Astaroth says immediately, jaw working slightly before he manages to tear his gaze away – however briefly – to look up at Danta. “I will tell you.” It’s a quiet vow punctuated by the shakiness of his voice and how his eyes immediately drop back down to the companion in his hands. She’s still ruffled, but he can tell the difference this close between the much larger, gorier cousins, and how sharp and pointed her beak is in comparison to the broad, larger beak of the Climb’s gore crows.

The clack of the beak is a nice touch, though, and while he remains mostly closed off, he adjusts enough as Danta comes to sit on the opposite side of the desk, watchful as the crow gets more comfortable (and without the proverbial death grip Danta seems to have had on her initially, he finds he can understand her upset). Danta’s comment has a small smile managing to ghost on his face, his heartbeat starting to smooth out just a fraction to where he feels like he can be more understanding, (it’s likely the alcohol on board too, making it less difficult to manage). “This is okay so far.” And he means it, surprisingly enough, that even while he keeps that hawk focus on the corvid, Asta withdraws a second to open a drawer in the desk. “I know gore crows.. prefer meat, does she?” He asks, wondering if perhaps a realization that it isn’t entirely what she eats might help soothe some of his other stressors surrounding the companion, he rummages in the drawer for a moment before withdrawing a handful of peanuts, sucking in a sharp breath, and reaches out far enough toward Danta’s side to drop the handful before withdrawing his hand surprisingly quickly back to his own side, watching and waiting.

Astaroth

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

// there's shadows on the walls //

"Good," Danta murmurs, because right now both of their attention is on Moira rather than anything else, and the Maverick is liable to miss any subtle clues that Asta is reaching the end of his tether with the corvid in his lap. "It is? I'm glad you think so. She's none the wiser, if it helps." As in, she doesn't sense his fear or his nerves, interested only in the shiny band around one of his horns, in truth.

And whatever snacks he's gone rummaging for.

"She's an omnivore and a scavenger," he replies, Moira clacking her beak again as the peanuts appear. "Mostly bugs and whatever scraps I give her. But she does have a soft spot for those. Why do you have peanuts in your desk?" Smirking - because he can't help it - Danta slowly lifts his companion and sets her gently down on the desk, keeping a hand on her just in case she makes any sudden moves - which, unlikely to be honest, given the huge neon DO NOT FLY sign he's projecting into her mind.

No, instead the crow grabs up on of the peanuts in her beak and chows down, before continuing on the others and offering a weak croak of gratitude.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

It’s true, the no flying really does help – and keeping her a distance away from him for the moment in a controlled environment where Danta can grab her if she starts to get squirrelly, Astaroth is given a rare opportunity to simply watch and study, learn the difference between crows and the average gore crow that he’d had the intimate knowledge of their habits. He withdraws the second the peanuts are placed, dark eyes focused intensely on her and her own equally dark eyes, humming a note that is relieving to an extent to know she’s an omnivore.

When the question is directed about why he even has peanuts in his desk, he snorts a little (made easier by the fact Moira isn’t terrorizing him right now and he’s getting used to being in the same room as her), that he can respond. “I like the crunch they have.” He shrugs a shoulder casually but continues to watch as she chomps down, her wings tucked in tightly, his hands folding together directly in front of him pressed against his chest on the desk. His posture is still quite tense, but he’s doing far better than he thought he would. “I think it helps that she is not flying.” Not that he hadn’t dealt with gore crows wandering around his flayed body, but, the swooping and descending really had the biggest impact to his issues. “She looks different, too.” It might be obvious, but these are things the butcher has to say out loud as if to cement the idea, to make it real.

Astaroth

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

// there's shadows on the walls //

For Danta's part, he's still concentrating too hard on Moira to even realise that the butcher is growing more comfortable in her presence, and at this rate the Maverick is liable to give himself a headache just trying to keep the shit from hitting the fan. "You're such a dork," he does tell the other man about his peanuts, but then Moira is squawking her agreement and he's left rolling his eyes.

Finally and carefully letting his hands fall to the desk - still close enough to corral his companion if needed but allowing her to move of her own will - Danta watches as Moira finishes the last peanut and glances up at Asta expectantly. As she's told she looks different, of course, her feathers ruffle with pride and she struts back and forth across the desk as if to demonstrate.

"You're a dork as well," Danta tells her, before reaching out suddenly to catch her. "Her wingspan is different as well," he remarks, promptly flipping the crow over in the crook of his arm like a baby.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

“I do enjoy carrots, too.” He responds to Danta’s quip, and he would be rolling his eyes in agreement if he were more relaxed. Alas, he isn’t, and so he simply sits there to watch as Moira continues to finish off the handful of peanuts, before she glances up at him and Asta’s jaw tightens for a moment as if expecting her to judge him as food as well and come barreling toward him. She doesn’t, and he loosens a long slow breath to watch as she ruffles her feathers and struts along the desk in a walk not unlike the gore crows in their waddling fashion, but still enough that now while not horribly mutilated, he can realize is a goofy way to fucking walk.

It sparks another small ghost of a smile on his face before Danta’s cradling her like a child and Astaroth – now that Moira is contained again – reaches for the bottle to pour another glass of the Halovian liquor, taking about half of it before sliding it toward Danta. The Maverick looks like he could use it too, right about now. But it boldens the butcher enough to stand, to lean over the desk a little to inspect her further, seeing those differences. “What does it feel like?” He asks softly, curiously. “To have a companion?” Just in case the blonde needed the clarification.

Astaroth

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

// there's shadows on the walls //

"Biting into a carrot is very similar to biting into a human finger, apparently," Danta quips as he tickles the downy feathers under Moira's chin, before lifting his eyes to smile darkly at the butcher across the desk. "But I'm sure you already knew that." Hence the enjoyment.

Reaching out to accept the glass of liquor and smoothly knocking back the glass as Asta rises to his feet, Moira is left looking up at him with beady eyes and her clawed feet tucked up ridiculously, not that she notices or cares a jot about such things. (She is Danta's companion, after all).

"It's strange," he admits, setting the glass back down and gesturing for a refill. "It's not something I've ever had before. It's just like this little extra presence in my head that isn't mine, but... it isn't not mine either, you know? I imagine it's similar to what the Attuned feel with their bond, but different at the same time." More intimate, somehow.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

“It is, and yes I did know that.” It sates him enough to manage being good while living here in the Grounds, even if the taste was so far off everything else. The snap is truly the best part, as far as the butcher was concerned. Regardless, Danta knocks back the glass and gestures for a refill which Astaroth is happy to provide, relaxed as he is for the moment that Moira is trapped within her bonded’s arms.

Once the glass is poured again and handed back to Danta, Astaroth focuses back on the raven, head tilting slightly as their eyes meet and he sucks in another breath only to exhale it slowly and boldly let Danta’s words wash over him as he reaches out to run a finger along her stomach gently, pressing against the slick and smooth feathers on Moira’s chest. “Is it nice?” To share that mental space, that is. He doesn’t know how well he would handle it personally, too controlling over his own mind and anything that may invade it.

Astaroth

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

// there's shadows on the walls //

Accepting the new glass with a nod and taking more of a sip this time than a gulp, Danta also feels himself start to relax at last - at least until Asta reaches out to touch the crow in the crook of his arm, and the Maverick is stuck watching him this time rather than Moira. Which is a shame, because his companion naturally responds by trying to twist her head down to see the thing invading her space, beak parting as if she can preen non-existent feathers on Asta's finger.

"I don't know," he admits with a bark of a laugh at the other man's question. "It's just been very stressful so far." Keeping her a secret, sequestering her throughout the Dusklight, trying to keep tabs on both her location and Astaroth's. "I imagine it's supposed to be, though."

Sighing and slouching back in his seat, content for now that Moira isn't going to pull any sudden moves, he nods down at her and then at Astaroth. "You can hold her if you want."

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //

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

It’s strange, to see the beak part and reach for him in a gentle manner, and inebriated enough to let her do it, he watches as her beak isn’t razor sharp or threatening to add to the scars that cover his entire torso, he’s nearly enamored with the idea, letting her try to preen a plain, boring old finger with nothing to preen. It’s with a surprising amount of the butcher being okay to let this happen – but also the vast differences he chants over and over in his head to witness the differences between this common enough crow and those from the Climb.

“Well… I am doing better than I thought I would, to be honest.” Astaroth hums softly, thinking about how Danta may not need to hide her as much or stress about it, at least until the question of holding her comes up and Astaroth’s attention immediately lifts to Danta with a near deer in the headlights look (punctuated by those anter-like horns that adorn his crown) and he shakes his head withdrawing to sit on his side again. “I am not ready for that yet.” He admits a bit wearily, but truthfully, eyes dropping back to the crow in the blonde’s arms.

Astaroth

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

// there's shadows on the walls //

"Better than I thought you would as well," Danta says, not remotely afraid to admit it as he finally drops his gaze enough to see his companion do her best to rearrange the butcher's (apparently invisible) plumage. Rolling his eyes but saying nothing about it, he can practically feel the temperature drop a few degrees at his suggestion, and he smirks and nods his understanding.

"Alright. Well I'll put her outside so she can stretch her wings, and you won't see her for the rest of the night unless it's on a windowsill on the other side of some glass." Which - hopefully - would be enough distance to keep any brewing panic attacks at bay.

Rising to his feet with his feathered idiot, Moira croaks her version of a farewell before Danta is carrying her off, stupid upside down feet and all, to release her out the back door of the Dusklight. Once she's safely out of the way, the Maverick returns, stretching out tension he hasn't realised is there.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //