laps up the vice like a wolf in the night

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

It’s a fyrhund that makes most of the trek back to the Grounds, the portal ignored for sheer fact of needing time to think, the bag carried in a too sharp maw. Only when he’s shuffled through the door of the Dusklight do people realize who has arrived, giving him a wide berth and a long side look. Pointed to where Danta is, and once again he’s reminded he’s taken too long, that he could’ve taken the portal back when it was done, and goddamnit Asta you’re so fucking stupid.

The fyrhund stops outside the door, the bag dropping heavily, and he shifts back into himself, shirtless with shorts that have splotches of dried blood. Shirtless, because Flora had taken his shirt back with her. At least most of the blood is gone from his face when he raps his knuckles across the door. “Danta, I’m back. I am sorry it took so long. May I come in?” Comes the accented request from the other side of the door.

The taller Ancient sounds tired.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Gods damn it Asta, you really are so fucking stupid.

One might expect Danta to be used to this sort of thing by now; waiting, keeping himself busy, doing the whole Theocrat thing and pretending that one person's presence or absence doesn't make a difference. He probably should be used to it by now, given the number of collective hours he's spent these past few seasons wondering if Astaroth is alive or dead or just out somewhere not giving a fuck.

Settling on this last idea over all the others (it's easier to swallow down), the Maverick decides that he, too, does not give a fuck. So he's trained with his guards, teamwork be damned, he's installed a stupid little bell and a silly little tasselled rope in his rooms, and he's taken full advantage of having liquor and wine brought to him with every gentle tug of it.

He's deep into his cups by the time Asta arrives home at... well, at some point, having been lounging in his blankets making paper crows and considering heading downstairs to stir up trouble when a familiar rumbling voice echoes through the door.

On his feet before he can remind himself he doesn't care (gods, Danta, be cool you pathetic fuck), the Maverick who answers the door also looks tired. And drunk. And a bit of a mess, to be frank, dressed in nothing but a red silk robe that is falling off one shoulder and with cold blue eyes narrowed up at Asta in his... his swim shorts. Okay, whatever.

Before a reply can form on his lips Danta is already stepping forward of his own accord, his hand lifting before his mind has the chance to make the connection in a slap across the butcher's face, the noise echoing brightly around the room. "No you may not," he hisses.

Dantalion

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

He waits for the answer, for the yes or no or just a sec!, when none of them come. Perhaps the bartender had pointed wrong. Perhaps he’d misread that situation too. So he picks up the bag, holding it in one hand and a glimmer of surprise when the door opens and he has just enough time to scan the blonde, to see the appearance of the beautifully scarlet robe that hangs off one shoulder, the haze of his eyes that look quite upset but also drunk. That’s about all he gets before the hand rises with expert precision to slap him across the face.

Stunned briefly, because he both felt like he did and didn’t deserve that, he blinks as his cheek blooms red from a different reason. “I am not doing this right now.” He decides suddenly, a moment of anger flaring because first of all — Danta had bargained the date. And it was Danta always upset that he never returned precisely on time.

Which, in a moment of his frustration, he works his jaw and decides if Danta doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to let him in, then he’s not going to pursue it.

Turning on his heel, the butcher’s tail winds tightly around his leg, and he aims to step back down his stairs in a complete trajectory to his office.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

"Oh, are you not?" There's something a touch wild in the Maverick's eyes as he slinks to lean against the open door (twice, he has to try, because he misses the frame the first time). "Guess I'll see you in another few days then, shall I?" Scowling out after Asta but not running off in his wake this time to follow him, Danta stumbles back into the wine soaked confines of the room.

"Makes sense, I fuckin' guess," he continues, his voice loud enough to carry as he swipes the mostly empty wine bottle from a side table and has to concentrate a great deal to try and pour the remainder of it into a cup. "Nice to know your word means shit, though." I won't do it again, Danta. I'll make sure I write next time, Danta. You don't have to worry about me, Danta. Bullshit.

Dantalion

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

Godsdamnit.

It’s the one running thought through the butchers head as he steps away, halted by the way Danta’s words pierce and cut. Enough that his horned head and tousled hair hunches between his shoulders. Gnashing his teeth together, his grip tightens on the bag, white knuckled as Danta leaves his door open, as the words continue to barb and poke.

He finds his feet carrying him back before he has a moment to think about it. Lingering by the doorframe, dark eyes pinpoint the Maverick back in the bed with the empty bottle of wine. “Why does it matter, Dantalion?” The full term used not to shift the mood but to simply return to older ways, of barbs and frustration back. “You bargained a date for me, and are upset that I did not return on time? A date?” Pausing because his sharp teeth click with each word that passes by his lips, each T punctuated too sharp.

He steps in and drops the bag and closes the door behind him. “Knowing what you know about me and now you are more fucking upset I didn’t send a letter? Not that, oh I don’t know, I could have potentially killed her? I didn’t, by the way. If it fucking matters to you at all.” The words flood from him in that grittier, Ferox Whitebrim accent, and he tears his gaze away to stare at the ceiling, cheek blooming red from a handprint marked into olive skin.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

"Keep my name out of your fucking mouth," Danta snaps, glaring around at the butcher and already on his feet as the other man pops back up in his doorway. "I didn't realise a date was gonna have you losin' your mind at the drop of a hat. You can always say no, Mr. Always In Control, or did you forget about that?" he drawls. "Don't pin any of this shit on me because you're not as clever at restraining yourself as you think."

The words drip with venom that Danta doesn't try and hide, his tail lashing angrily behind him, and as Asta steps into the room and clicks the door shut, all of a sudden it's as though the butcher has invited himself in for a fight, something the Maverick is all too eager to provide. "Sorry, do you want praise for managin' somethin' anyone else can do every day without issue? Y'know, not killing the Queen of Torchline?" He barks out a laugh.

"You're fucking pathetic." He isn't. Danta is pathetic. But here they are.

Dantalion

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

Lips twitching as his he sets tight, sharpened teeth perfectly fitting together as he glares at the blonde. “I never thought I was clever at restraining myself in that way.” He snaps, before some petulant part of him wants to chant Dantalion, Dantalion, Dantalion, like adding the name over and over again might simply spark more of whatever this was.

It isn’t fair. For either of them. But rationale has fallen from his mind. “I’m sorry, have you become my version of Morax?” He snaps, head cocking as he steps off the door, abandoning the bag, still shirtless and in shorts, scars still shining with left behind ointment. “Have I become your prisoner? Your property? That I must tell you exactly where I am every second I exist, Dantalion?” He takes a step toward Danta then, inviting the fight, because gods if he doesn’t feel the frustration and anger of himself from the Climb and Flora, face to face with coming home to this.

“You do not get to stand here and pretend like I’m the pathetic one if my absence for a day longer than anticipated drives you to this.” His arm flings out, gesturing aggressively toward the blonde.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Danta could lie and say he doesn't know which comment in particular makes him see red, but they both know which it is, and the comparison to his lifelong tormentor has the colour rising high in his cheeks and tension rippling through his body from head to toe. "Oh, fuck you," he snarls, and the second Asta steps forward Danta is already there meeting him. He doesn't know if it's a shove or a tackle that he intends at first - he's too drunk, truthfully, to be able to say - only that he throws himself at the other man with fire at his fingertips and fangs bared.

However they first connect, whether Danta is able to grapple the butcher into the closed door or whether he ends up careening into it himself, the sound of the squabble will thankfully be swallowed up by the noise of the Dusklight downstairs. Not that it matters - the Maverick would fight just as viciously whether people could hear them or not, and it's with snapping teeth and closed fists that he settles into a rhythm as comfortable as it is toxic between himself and the butcher.

Dantalion

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

A sharp, humorless laugh leaves the butcher’s lips as Danta’s voice leaves him — he knows what he’s done, maybe he did it intentionally, maybe he didn’t. It’s hard to say. What he does know is that Danta is immediately on him and gods if it doesn’t feel like how things once had been.

Only this time the floors are made of wood and the door and walls aren’t made of rock, but the results are the same. He is shoved back, his back hitting the door with a loud thud that certainly doesn’t seem to scream anything differently than the other doors below them. He doesn’t have his cane, either, an unfortunate side effect as Danta’s hands collide with skin rather than clothing, as do his teeth, sparking a drop of blood to bead to the surface of his shoulder where he’d been pinned.

“Get off of me.” Hissing, his arms come up to brace, tail winding around Danta’s leg and tugging to throw him off balance, paired with the shove against the other man’s chest, snagging the fire he’s brought to the fight and promptly flaring it back at him in a haze of sparks.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Things are how they had once been, and in more ways than Asta might expect, though it depends on how much the butcher is paying attention as to whether he notices the feral way Danta snaps after the beads of blood against the other man's shoulder. Like a man starved, the Maverick cares little for himself if it means getting more of what he craves, and so he's paying little attention as Asta shoves and trips him.

Snarling something under his breath and clawing at the air as fire sparks in his eyes, Danta goes down hard, but he's already twisting to try and grab at the butcher's ankle. If he's able to get any sort of grip on it he'll twist for all he's worth, aiming to snap the fragile bones and cartilage entirely. Whatever gets Asta down and easier to pin.

Dantalion

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

It starts to bead and drip and smear with the frantic mess Danta chases after it, and yes — it should click, but it doesn’t right now in his frustration. Instead, the butcher grits his teeth as Danta drops to the ground with a thud. Working his jaw, Astaroth steps off from the door, swiping at the wound with little care as the fire fades and the butcher steps forward in an attempt to try and push him down and keep him down.

Only, it makes for the perfect opportunity for the Maverick to grab his ankle — not a clear, strong grip, due to his inebriation — but it’s enough to throw him off balance too because the other foot has lifted to try and press against the other man’s side, to try and twist him back over.

It only works to have the butcher drop — out of practice, unfortunately, but enough that he lands on top of the blonde Ancient, legs on either side of him despite the full weight of him colliding. Immediately his hands move to push down on his arms, trying to pin him where he is, blood dripping from his shoulder onto the man below him.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

It's a messy fight - a far cry, in truth, from some of their dalliances in the past. Those fights would have garnered audiences, would have brought raucous cheers or hisses of surprise to the gathered crowds. This, though, is a mockery of that sort of thing, especially as Danta finds himself unceremoniously pinned by the butcher, his hands and wrists flexing viciously as he tries to free himself. He snaps at the blood that drips from Asta's shoulder, flecking his cheek and filling his nose with the metallic scent of it.

"I'll fucking kill you--" Danta snarls, and it's with overbright eyes that see nothing of the man above him other than meat and sinew that he drives his knee up and between Asta's legs, fighting to roll them over and reverse their positions. The world around him has reduced to the drip of crimson from Asta's shoulder and the immediate objects around him that he might be able to use; fire poker, table leg, wine bottle. Nothing else matters.

Dantalion

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

“No you fucking won’t.” He growls out, looking for anything that might help him restrain and bind him. In his frantic looking, Danta manages to get that knee driven into him, hunching him forward with a barked out curse, blood dropping further onto him with those snapping teeth.

This is when he realizes it, when he withdraws with a hiss as Danta twists them, only he’s not drunk and he’s still strong in comparison to how he’d been right when he’d gotten out of stone, so the grip the Maverick tries to get on his wrists is flimsy at best, allowing for his hands to rise to grip the Maverick’s throat, teeth bared sharply.

His tail flails out, pulling at the ribbon that keeps it tied closed, trying to slide it out of the loops so that he might be able to tie Danta’s wrists together.

If he has to drag him to the fucking Climb to eat something, he will.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Wanna bet? Danta might have sneered as he fights to get Asta pinned beneath him, the butcher's blood smeared across his cheek and his numb fingers trying and failing to keep the other man's hands down. A growl tears from his throat just before Asta seizes him by it, and Flora won't be the only one with tell-tale bruises by the end of this encounter, though it's a very different mood, evidently.

"Finish it then, you fucking coward," he spits out, clearly expecting Asta to squeeze and crush his windpipe even as Danta abandons his attempts to try and claw the other man's fingers away from his throat. It's a good distraction, clearly, because the Maverick has no idea what shenanigans Asta's tail is causing with the ribbon of his robe, and he isn't interested in them either.

Granted, if his fingers get too close to Danta's mouth in the attempts to bind his hands, the Maverick can't guarantee he'll leave with all of them attached.

Dantalion