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

“I’m trying,” he snarls, tail still fiddling as he expertly keeps his hands at Danta’s throat and far enough away from his mouth. He doesn’t squeeze or crush, he simply holds, winding his legs around Danta to flip them back, snagging the ribbon in the process as he holds Danta down with his forearm to his neck, trying to tie the ribbon around his wrist. It’s a well practiced motion, a reflection of the Climb days, only having to utilize his hands instead of the canes or broken ones.

There’s only one thought on his mind now, all the fire and fury of before vanishing in the face of trying to have a rational fucking conversation. He might even apologize for how he handled the beginning of this conversation with the comparison he’d made. Right now his goal is to restrain, get him up, and march his ass through the portal.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

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

Joke's on you, Asta - rational fucking conversations are for people who aren't Dantalion at this moment in time, and if anything, the refusal to do anything but hold and restrain only enrages the Maverick further. He's too drunk and tired (and yes, starving) to stand a chance at breaking free of the other man's grip, soon pinned down and in the process of being bound by his own gods damned robe. "Fuckin' stop it," he grates out, trying to swat at the butcher or to bite at the arm pinning him down.

And maybe there's something to be said for their tempers and how deeply they run, because Danta stops, considers, and does not shift into a gore crow, despite the parts of him that really, really want to. No, instead the Maverick still shifts infuriatingly out from Astaroth's grip, but it's into the small and searing form of a lava wyrm dripping obnoxiously onto the floorboards - and beginning to scorch straight through them towards the Dusklight below.

He doesn't have the Attuned bond, but the meaning ought to be pretty clear to Asta: haha, fuck you.

Dantalion

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

“Stop being a fucking asshole.” Astaroth grits out — and honestly, thank god the Ancient doesn’t shift into a gore crow. Thank god that he just shifts into a Lava Wyrm which haha fuck you in return, Danta because it’s a so much more portable option for the butcher.

Scowling as man is replaced by a tiny fiery worm mass of magma, Astaroth rolls his eyes in frustration and shifts to get onto his knees easier, scooping up the stupid asshole and collecting him under his arm like one might a football.

“We’re going to the Climb. Do not try me.” He hisses out, fully expecting the Maverick to try to shift back or do some other ridiculous shit. Instead; there’s no burning of his skin where he picks him up, but instead the unfortunate side effect that wherever Danta’s mouth is likely lines up with a spot on the butcher.

Not that he cares as he marches right out the door and down the steps toward the portal.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

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

What noises do lava wyms make? You're about to find out.

Writhing and oozing and trying to drip his way right out of Asta's arm, the butcher will, at first, have to consistently try to keep Danta from melting right back onto the scorched floorboards. Once he's figured out a way to keep the wyrm in a shape that can't so easily slip away, only then will he be treated to the keening shriek of something tiny and furious and - yes, that's right Asta - very close to some biteable flesh.

The patrons of the Dusklight have a lot to look at in a very short period of time, and Danta's furious howling as a lava wyrm eliminates any chance of Asta's being subtle. By the time they're outside, at least, he's noticed the warm flesh of the butcher's bicep, and the taller Ancient will be absolutely covered in bites and scratches within mere moments.

Dantalion

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

It’s a fucking challenge, to say the least, but at least there’s quiet from words he can understand even if the tiniest shrieks feel like they reverberate against his bones. Jaw clenched tight, telling the workers that everything was fine, despite the fact he’s in shorts that have a few scorched holes into them and he’s shirtless for the second time in the middle of the Dusklight theatrics with a screaming housecat of lava goo he holds, well…

Things definitely aren’t alright.

Hissing and gritting his teeth against the bites and scratches, he marches them right to the Climb portal, parting the flames enough to keep his shorts mostly intact, he marches through it too, and ends up on the other side.

Now, just a bit further to get to where the wildlife sit, he spots a few rock sliders and something that could potentially be those sheep creatures Danta had mentioned previously, and with hands full of the lava when that is the Maverick, he tries to unlatch his mouth from his skin like a leech might be removed to hold him out toward them as if to say go get them instead of me.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

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

It's almost a shame that Danta is as rabid as he is currently, because he'd have quite enjoyed being in his right mind and making a scene like the one that greets the Dusklight as Asta tries to wrestle him out of the building and towards the square and the bonfire. Alas, he's focused on trying to slowly detatch the butcher's arm from the rest of his body as he's marched, hissing and writhing through the portal, and even the heat of the Climb isn't enough to bring him around.

No, only as Asta manhandles his little jaws away from his flesh and towards whatever creatures are nearby does Danta refocus; granted, the butcher might have to helpfully fling him towards the Climb natives, but as soon as he's free the Maverick is back on two feet, a blur of scarlet silk and hopelessly tousled blond that soon disappears after one of the pyrina. And the sheep-like creatures might be stubborn and stupid, but they also know a predator when they see one.

Unfortunately, it doesn't really help them in the long run.

It takes a grand total of about fifteen minutes for Danta to catch, kill, and tear his prey to pieces, and whilst it's true that he's eaten enough to more than sate his bloodlust, the needless brutality of the kill tells another story entirely. Left panting and bloodied and on his knees around the carcass of the pyrina, Danta reaches up a hand to wipe at his face for all the good that it will do.

Dantalion

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

He does manage to fling Danta toward them if only to keep him from biting down into his flesh again or stealing a finger for the trouble, and only once Danta’s back as his human self and goes hard on the creatures, does Astaroth really think about what happened. Everything was a blur and the day was far too fucking long, and he stands there silently while Danta goes on his fifteen minute long rampage, inspecting the wounds that have circled his bicep, the one on his shoulder that has clotted, and he sighs heavily as more and more regret start to spill in his stomach.

Maybe he was better off alone where he couldn’t continue to hurt people; by either not being what they wanted him to be or being too much of one thing. He’d reverted back into the words that hurt, reverted back into slicing Danta with them in turn when he’d had no physical objects to fight him with.

And with the obvious, very obvious bloodlust Danta needed, he’d not even paid attention to when the last time he’d eaten was.

His jaw is set tight when he looks up to see Danta relax finally in the remains of the pyrina, and only then does the butcher step forward to meet him – dark eyes tracking him but not touching, not sure if the Maverick even wants his touch. Instead, he casts a shadow, horned head angled down toward the kneeling Theocrat as his voice returns to that traditional regality (albeit, quieter) with the deep breath he takes to start it. “I am so, so sorry, Danta.” Dark eyes scan his bloodied face, needing to get the apology out first and foremost. “I did not mean what I said.”

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

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

The shadow falls over him and Danta is already casting his eyes down as if in fear of some sort of punishment, before the world catches up to him and he realises that, whilst they are in The Climb, it isn't the one of their memory. Mostly, anyway; he and Astaroth have proven in only the past hour that for all their posturing, for all their we are not the men we were, whatever The Climb has made of them still lurks not so far beneath the surface.

Holding up a hand as if to stay the butcher's apology and still unable to meet his eyes, the Maverick picks himself up onto wobbly feet. Covered in gore and viscera as he is, someone has even stolen the ribbon from his robe, leaving it open unless he snatches it shut like some maiden caught undressing. "Thanks for bringing me out here," he mutters, his voice a little hollow, and he gestures to the pyrina as if for context (not that it's needed).

"And I'm sorry that I struck you." Rolling tense shoulders, he picks around the carcass on bare feet and steps by Astaroth, leaving a polite amount of distance between them. Only as he's halfway to the entrance of The Burrows does he glance over his shoulder, blue eyes tired and dark with the shadow of some deep pain.

"I am not her," he says stiffly. "You aren't a prisoner, or property. You can go wherever you please, for however long you please. I won't wait on you, or ask you about it again."

Dantalion

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

Look at me, he nearly pleads the second those eyes cast downward, because he’s seen that look before, he’s seen the way Danta would react under Morax’s spell. And it feels oily in the butcher’s gut. The hand comes up to ward away his apology and the butcher really can’t help himself when he clenches his jaw so much that it snatches a piece of his cheek on the inside, drawing blood that he promptly swallows down and silently marches after the Theocrat when he passes by him at a polite distance. “I was out of line.” He admits to Danta’s back as he walks away a fair distance.

A too far distance.

And suddenly he realizes he has pushed everyone away today. Flora, leaving in tears, Danta wanting absolutely nothing to do with him.

His head hangs low and his tail winds around his leg as he folds his arms across his scarred chest, a protective measure as anything else is. And when the portal comes into view and Danta’s words reach him, dark gaze lifting to see his face and the tired blue eyes. Jaw working again, he drifts a little closer should the blonde let him. “No I know, that’s not — I know I’m not.” Failing for words, he sighs and looks down toward Danta’s feet. “I picked a terrible choice to prod at you. I didn’t realize…” Sighing, he shakes his head. “How long it had been for you. Please don’t — don’t push me away. Not tonight. I know I deserve it, but..” Lost again, words failing, he doesn’t know where to go from here. “Please.”

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

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

Don't, Danta nearly says as Asta draws closer, craving the safety of solitude previously only afforded to him in small doses in The Climb. But they won't be in The Climb for much longer, and the Maverick fidgets with one of his scarlet sleeves, finding a loose thread to yank at and unravel as his blue eyes try to focus anywhere but on the butcher's face. "Me neither," he admits of his bloodlust. "Things... kept coming up." Longnight, Maea, the Levinsward, Maea again, the wicker woman, this...

Raking a bloody hand back through bloodier hair, Danta feels his throat close around the words he wants to say. It hurts being around you right now or I can't do this or I didn't tell you those things about me so you could hurt me with them. But, and although neither man is likely aware of it, Asta's pleas form the perfect storm of guilty manipulation guaranteed to bring the Maverick to heel in his current state,, and his shoulders slump almost in defeat as he turns back to face the other man.

"Not tonight, then," he whispers, trailing back towards him to close the distance between them. What tomorrow brings is another story, but for tonight Danta's hands are firm but gentle as he tries to ease Asta's arms down away from his chest so he might replace them with himself.

Dantalion

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

He makes it a point, even if it isn’t his business anymore, not when tomorrow rolls around, to try and keep an eye on it — to try and make sure that the second Danta starts preferring things rare that they needed to get him to hunt. He should have known that Danta wouldn’t recognize when he was hungry. The Theocrat had told him so many times that was the case and he didn’t listen.

That was his problem, wasn’t it? Unable to read between the lines and listen when it really mattered, instead taking words said in confidence and sharpening them like knives in the recesses of his mind to bring out when all else failed.

If he knew what he was doing was manipulative, he’d recoil back from Danta with the realization. He might even stay a few nights here in the Climb to try and get his mind back together, to try and realize where the wires got crossed wrong and maybe do something about it.

But selfishly, so selfishly, the second Danta steps toward him and agrees, even on a whisper and his bloodied hands fight at the arms folded too tight against his chest, Astaroth immediately drops them to envelop him, all blood and viscera spreading between them, forgotten by the butcher as he pulls Danta in tight and presses his bearded cheek to the Maverick’s blood coated one, and he’s trembling, so very unlike the man he had been in the Climb. “I will leave you alone tomorrow.” He quietly vows, a whisper for Danta’s ears only. “I’m so sorry.”

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

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

It's traitorous, the way Danta feels himself relax in the other man's grip, even as the words he'd thrown - have you become my version of Morax? - continue to bounce around in his mind like loose change. He wants this and hates this, craves it and resents it, and it only has his arms tightening further around Astaroth as if he might squeeze the past hour out of him and let them start again. But of course that's not how things work, and only as he lets a hand stroke down the length of the butcher's spine - hearing his words if not responding to them - does he speak again.

"You're shaking," he whispers, nosing against his cheek and reaching up with his free hand to run warm fingers against the strong line of his jaw, as if to look at him properly now that the decision - until tomorrow - has been spoken aloud. "What happened?" And only now that the haze of bloodlust has evaporated does he properly see the butcher's state of undress, the bare feet, the residual oil shining against his olive skin.

Dantalion

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

The arms around him tighten and his do the same to the blonde, cheek to cheek, warm blood to bare skin, selfishly craving that soothing touch the Maverick can provide with the trail of his hand down his spine. He knows he doesn’t deserve it after that comment, but he cherishes it even more so because of it. His own arms squeeze around Danta’s shoulders, one hand lifted to brush back blood soaked blonde from sticking to the cheek that isn’t pressed against the butcher’s bearded one, soft and tender and gentle in lieu of the harshness just an hour before.

“I know.” He says unhelpfully, leaning back a little when Danta’s hand caresses his jaw, letting him take a good look at him. He doesn’t want to be looked at right now, but it’s the least he can do for everything he’s done so far. Shaking his head immediately when the question drops his lips, he moves to try and take Danta’s hand, to walk them back toward the portal. “It doesn’t matter now.” He says a touch honestly, wearily.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line

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

"It matters a lot," Danta objects, closing his eyes for a moment against the warm hand that smooths against his cheek, preventing bloody hair from sticking to his face, before he's suddenly being ferried back towards the portal. He's never been one to pry, though, not when Asta doesn't want to talk about something; not his past, his feelings, his nightmares, or anything else that might be prickling at him.

And so he follows easily enough, waiting for the other man to either change the subject, spill the beans or continue on in silence - whatever he prefers. Either way, Danta steps up to tuck himself back against Asta's side as the portal comes upon them, the Maverick using his magic to keep the fire at bay enough not to burn off what little clothes they are wearing. The close heat of The Climb is soon replaced by darkness and general merriment, because the bonfire always draws a fair amount of people no matter the day.

"I feel as though we should have cleaned ourselves up first," Danta mutters.

Dantalion