(SE) and oh my weary soul

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

Distracted by the sheep comment immediately, the Butcher’s attention flits back up toward the Maverick, head tilting in confusion despite the grin remaining on his face. “Sheep?” Something else he hasn’t witnessed just yet, additions to the Climb in their centuries since succumbing to stone that certainly distract the taller Ancient enough to not notice the way the ferret continues to try and thrash and twist, small jaws parted to try and nip at his wrist.

At any rate, Astaroth does fully intend on trying to collect enough of these to make one of those too fancy coats, but noticing a silent look in Danta’s blue gaze and the comment of this one in particular aiming to keep its life, he hums as he turns back away from Danta toward the ferret’s burrow. “I suppose this one can keep it for now.” He agrees, crouching again to let it go. The second it touches the ground, however, it spins impossibly fast and nips at the butcher’s hand before he can quickly remove it. It’s with a hiss and a bark of surprised laughter all in the same breath that he withdraws to stand, inspecting his finger that’s bubbling blood from a single puncture wound in his index finger, still incapable of keeping the huffs of laughter from escaping him, dark eyes finding the ash ferret as it stands before its burrow with a whole stance of squaring up with him.

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"Sheep," Danta confirms, his grin broad and fanged and ever so pleased with itself. "You haven't seen them? Gods, I will have to show you before we go back through the portal. Their wool is flameproof - you might want to add it to your ideas for new outfits, because I bet a sweater like that would be a good addition." Especially if they are going to be swanning to and from The Climb by virtue of their fancy new portal - you know, the one that begins and/or ends by way of a literal bonfire.

To see the little ferret so full of fire even as Asta releases it - and receives a bite for his trouble - also has Danta laughing, and he steps forward to nudge at the butcher as if unsure if he's actually seeing it. "Man, this thing reminds me of me," he admits, though he does snag Asta's hand, leaning in to press his lips to the blood bubbling against his index finger, as if to clean it off.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

“I have not.” He responds easily to the idea of sheep, though amusement lingers within him as Danta starts to crow about their flameproof wool and other uses for such a material – it has him somewhat surprised given how much thought the Theocrat has put into it. “Ah, I am shocked to learn that you have already thought of what outfits could be crafted from it.” Perhaps the butcher’s style is rubbing off in subtle ways – not that he would ever complain, mind you.

He very much enjoyed unhooking Danta from that corset after the ball. Anyway…

The ferret takes its bite and squares up and Astaroth stands, inspecting his finger and the blood pooling to the surface, sighing despite the grin that still sicks to his face. “It does.” He agrees, keeping his hand precisely where Danta can lean in to press his lips to it, painting his lips in a deep crimson like iron tinged lipstick. “It is also a small bastard.” He teases, moving that hand to return to earlier, where he’d cupped the blonde’s jaw and cheek – only this time smearing a small amount of the blood. Angling the Maverick’s head up slightly, Astaroth leans in to steal a kiss, aiming to snag some of the blood from his lips in the process.

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"Well, I have heard that sheep are only really used for their wool and their milk," Danta reasons with a shrug - and their meat, he supposes, but that's a given. "I'm not sure what else I would be expected to use them for." As if he hadn't been utterly delighted with their ability (and willingness) to headbutt anything and everything that came close - which he had - and the amusement is still writ plain in his expression.

An expression which wilts into amused outrage, Danta's brows raised as he withdraws from the butcher's hand with bloodied lips and a retort ready on his tongue. A tongue that is rapidly silenced, evidently, because Astaroth leans in not a moment too soon. The ferret takes its leave, not that either Ancient has noticed, and it's with a soft moan of approval that the Maverick leans into the kiss, one arm reaching out to snag Asta around the waist to draw him closer.

"I may be a bastard," he mumbles against his lips, "but you know better than most that I am far from small."

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

“In most cases you would have disregarded something by the fact that their main use would be clothing.” Given how many times Astaroth was positive if Danta didn’t have to wear clothes, he simply wouldn’t. But that’s beside the point, because not before too long is blood shared from finger to lips, then returned to coat the butcher’s own in the kiss pressed to the other man’s lips, silencing any outrage his teasing comment might have sparked.

Easily pulled closer at least, the hand tilting his jaw up slips back into Danta’s blonde, soaking in the sound of the soft moan that escapes the other Ancient before the mumble is heard when they part and Astaroth’s chuckle breaks the very small distance between them. His other hand loops around Danta’s shoulders and he leans back ever so slightly to let his dark gaze take a good look at him – even with how the teasing smirk remains on blood painted lips. “Big things come in small packages, isn’t that the typical saying?” Doubling down on the teasing, Astaroth’s grin grows again, equally sharp and taunting and playful.

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

More than happy to abandon both ferret and crystal hunting (the latter of which has already been completed, thankfully) in lieu of the taste of Asta's lips, Danta is left humming his objection to the other man's parting leaning back into the butcher's touch and raising his eyebrows at him in challenge. "And what would you say constitutes a small package?" he wonders, leaning in to brush his nose against the other man's, before abruptly ducking away to saunter back towards the cart.

"Because I don't know if you have noticed, Asta, but neither of us are particularly short." It's true that Danta does fall a few inches short of the butcher's height - and doesn't he fucking know it - but both men reasonably tower above the average. "Must I get myself a stepladder for our future conversations, so that I know we are on an even footing?"

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

The grin remains, even as Danta questions what constitutes a small package, already partially forming a response as their noses brush and he half leans in to try and snatch another kiss before Danta’s departing so abruptly, that any retort dies on his tongue with the “hey,” that escapes him breathily. Following after Danta toward the cart, Astaroth’s hands splay through his hair, brushing it back and into place behind his horns once more. “We are not. However, my horns grant me at least a few more inches than my standard height.” Comes more of that playful teasing, even if the playful fire is slowly burning out.

Reaching the side of the cart, Astaroth moves to pick up the handle so that they might be able to step out of this cavern and hopefully find some of those sheep Danta had mentioned earlier. “A stepladder is not necessary, darling.” He comments idly, beginning to push the heavy cart before he flashes a small smirk toward the Maverick. “Heels, however…” A part of him wonders why Danta hasn’t already started wearing them, if only to continue to tower over everyone else. That, and he's positive it would suit the other man's fashion sense, whether it be tall combat boots or stiletto sharp heels.

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"Oh, I wasn't aware we were counting horns when it comes to our height," Danta says with a playful roll of his eyes. Settling in beside Asta as they begin to push the cart back in the direction they'd come, it's only when the butcher mentions heels that the Maverick has to bark out a laugh. Without missing a beat, he hops up onto the cart beside where the other an is still pushing it, if for no other reason than it allows him to pointedly look down at him.

"Are you saying that you'd like me to strut around the Dusklight for you? Because if you are so keen, you don't need to be so subtle about it?" Smirking and leaning back on one hand, he clearly has no intention of helping Asta get them out of Soulfire Reach. Why should he? Clearly he's the shorter man - inferior, unless wearing his heels to make himself dominant.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

“Any advantage is worth noting.” Astaroth hums positively, pushing the cart down the cavern back toward the main hall of Soulfire Reach when his comment is met with a bark of laughter and the sudden drop of any help pushing the cart he had causing him to lurch forward and smack his chest into the edge of the cart with a loud oomph, blinking up at Danta from this position.

His nose wrinkles, but aside from that it sparks a strange myriad of other feelings within him he doesn’t know how to place, so he huffs and braces his arms on the edge of the cart, right next to Danta’s thigh as he cocks his horned head up at him and replaces any prior outrage with a sharp yet sultry and playful smile. “I am saying that you have options to make yourself taller than me and you have not taken them. So I believe you prefer me being the tallest between the two of us.” He raises a dark brow for emphasis, dark eyes glued to the Maverick as if nothing else around them matters.

Which, lets be honest, it truly doesn't to him.

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

Scoffing out a laugh as Asta is sent bumping into the cart as a result of his actions, Danta swings his legs absently and tilts his head as he considers the other man's remarks. 

"You know," he drawls, reaching out with his free hand to let it whisper along the strong line of the butcher's jaw, "I think you're absolutely right. I've never had a tall, strong man to take care of me in my hard, rough life. Why wouldn't I want to take advantage of that now?" His smile is honey-sweet, his fingers soft, at least until the claps Asta a couple of times on the cheek as if to tell him to chop chop.

"So I suppose that means you ought to really pick up the pace pushing this cart, doesn't it? Don't worry - I'll be sitting right here so I won't get in your way." Smug? Danta? Never.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

A brow lifts toward Danta even as the butcher remains in place, arms propped on the edge of the cart, blinking up at him as the Maverick’s hand ghosts and traces along the edge of his jaw. Hearing the meaning of the words and feeling the light smacks against his cheek, Asta huffs a laugh, sharp teeth on display in a grin as he rolls his eyes. “Tallest, does not the strongest, make.” He drawls before he snaps his sharp teeth toward the hand that has just been smacking his cheek.

He withdraws more fully, though, arms lowering to grab the handles of the cart again, teeth gritting as he starts to push the cart again, much slower going due to the weight of both the slab of obsidian and the Maverick on the cart. He pauses after a few minutes, stopping to catch his breath and pin the Theocrat with a raised brow. “What do I receive out of this deal?” He asks with a tilt to his head and a saccharine and sharp smirk.

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"Mmm, I'm not sure that's how you phrased it though," Danta says with an entirely too satisfied smile. "There was definitely an air of victory attached to being the tallest, so that must mean you're superior in most other ways too. Far be it for me to challenge you on that - I wouldn't want to embarrass myself." And besides, it's very enjoyable to watch Asta heft the cart through Soulfire Reach out of pure stubbornness - and the view isn't bad either, okay?

They're almost at the incline to get them back up to the Burrows when the butcher stops for a break, Danta glancing over his shoulder curiously, as if wondering why big strong Astaroth is in need of one. "I thought it was obvious. You get the obsidian and the gemstones back to the Grounds for the shrine, and you get to lord it over me, how tall and mighty you are." He grins.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am

Rolling his eyes again, the butcher hisses out a little sound, trying not to just concede to the Maverick and ruin his own pride. His ego battles with himself even as pushing the cart proves challenging with the added weight. “The air of victory is due to simply being able to look down upon most of the populace. Not because of other reasons.” He admits, even if it burns a little to say it aloud.

His break has him panting, looking up with a dark gaze to pin on Danta with the smirk, only to completely get the wind out of his sails. His smile remains even as he seems to buffer for a second, stepping back from the cart to fold his arms across his chest, “I have been lording it over you for years, darling, I have nothing more to prove.” He says stubbornly, inspecting his hand shortly after to see the stain of blood behind from the ferret and the ash mixed into the pads of his fingertips from the work.

Astaroth

i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"Oh, I see, I see," Danta croons, leaning an elbow against his knee and cupping his chin as if Asta is teaching him some profound lesson which, at its core, still seems to suggest to the Maverick that the other man was... wrong? about something? Perish the thought, it couldn't possibly be. Cold eyes flick up to the butcher, catlike, as he steps back and folds his arms so stubbornly across his chest, and Danta can't help the laugh that rumbles up in his throat.

Humming to himself as if considering the point, eventually Danta shrugs and he hops back down from the cart as if it's as easy as that. "Very well," he says. "I suppose that means I never need to hear you make another remark about it, if you've nothing left to prove. I, on the other hand, clearly still have a chip on my shoulder, so I'll be sure to make it my personal mission to keep lording it over you whenever I can."

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //