I told you, you were brave

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

Dark brows lift at Danta’s comment, shaking his head slightly but not enough to jostle the hand threading through his hair nor to make his world spin a bit faster, the butcher’s smile remains. “That is far less fun.” Though he wouldn’t know, because it isn’t like he’s let Danta pet him as a fyrhund. Flora has, but it had been in moments of anxiety, discomfort. Here, he’s just drunk with a healing heart from feeling wounded mere hours ago.

Content to drift toward the cocoa stand, the butcher can both see and scent the toppings and additions, and it merely has his arm tightening around Danta before loosening so that he can order, all while the taller Ancient looks no better than a child in a candy store.

When the mug is handed to him, he clasps it without fear of the cup burning him, scenting the peppermint with a glimmer of glee enveloping him, unable to keep it behind a usually well crafted mask. “Do you think it gets much business during Longheat?” Aside from the Ancients, of course. But it’s a question nearly whispered as he drifts away from the stand to claim a bench seat at a table with enough room for Danta to sit beside him. Which he entirely encourages, by the way, tugging the Maverick along with him to settle before he takes a sip and hums a very content sound of relief. “It’s perfect.”

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

"If you say so," Danta quips back in a sing-song voice, smirking and glancing back periodically at Asta as he orders their drinks, as if trying to commit his carefree expression to memory. Once they've claimed their cocoa and he finds himself ferried into a seat next to the butcher, the Maverick sits himself down all too willingly, letting his hand settle comfortably atop Asta's knee beneath the table.

"Mm, I think they did iced cocoa as well," he says, glancing back to where one of the assistants at the stall - an Abandoned, it looks like - is creating ice to crush up. "So maybe more business than we think. Still, it's probably only the likes of us ordering it hot." Us being Ancients of course, Danta falling quiet to sip at his own drink.

Smirking around it to hear the butcher's open praise, he scoots to sit a little closer and lean casually against him. "Good. Maybe I'll start offering it at the Dusklight." Though it will probably be spiked, of course.

Dantalion

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

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

Affectionately rolling his eyes, the butcher has to do it slowly in order not to lose his balance, but the idea of it is still there. Even so, it’s all long forgotten in the face of the peppermint cocoa that warms his hands as he cradles the mug and ferries Danta over toward the bench seat. Setting the cup down after taking his sip, he relishes in the warmth that rests against his knee, and especially Danta as he sidles closer.

His arm slips up and around his shoulders to tuck him in closer. “Iced cocoa..?” He repeats, squinting across a short distance to see the ice being made. “I feel like it defeats the purpose.” But maybe it was just another one of those things that he doesn’t understand because it wasn’t really a thing before. Or if it were, was never advertised to an Ancient so he was ignorant of the truth.

Lifting the mug to take another sip, he relishes in the sharpness of the peppermint as it races down his throat, sickly sweet which was precisely what his sharp sweet tooth wanted. “If you do, you should order extra so that I do not have to feel bad for indulging in half of the product.” He flashes a toothy too sharp smile down toward Danta before impulse takes over again and he leans in to press his bearded cheek to Danta’s temple.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

Unable not to laugh at that, Danta gestures around with his free hand at the people milling through the Inner Quarter who are quite obviously not Ancients. "I imagine there are people who exist who have a sweet tooth like you, but who also don't have the benefit of being heat-proof?" He grins. "So an iced chocolate would really hit the spot, don't you think?" Given that Asta's stubborn streak runs a mile deep, he expects the butcher will have a plethora of objections, but so be it.

Sipping at his own drink only to find the other man nuzzling against him, a smile curls across Danta's lips and he sets his cup back down to give Asta's knee a gentle squeeze. "I'll order extra and keep you a small private stash," he promises, nodding to the stall. "Maybe we can even do  business with them directly." For now, though, it remains a hypothetical, the Maverick letting out a slow, content sigh as he turns his head to nose against the butcher's throat.

Dantalion

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

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

He doesn’t agree, because in that instance an iced tea would be more preferable — but he is biased, and he is from a multitude of regions that really swing on the opposite sides of the pendulum. Halo was the epitome of cold, the Climb was the epitome of hot. But by the time he’d reached the Climb and actually had a chance to live again after the trauma that brought him there, the last thing he cared about was the heat.

“Why not get an iced tea?” He suggests, because to him, the cocoa was certainly less sweet with the idea of ice included. That was part of the charm of it for him.

But then he’s nuzzling in and he relishes in the light squeeze of his knee, huffing a small laugh as he lifts his head up to speak, keeping himself precisely in a perfect spot for Danta to nose into his neck. “How many private stashes do I have now? Two?” The mulled wine comes to mind, but in combination with this, he thinks he should be set for life. “They would likely appreciate the business.” He muses, glancing back over toward the stall. At least it seems like he is sobering up — between the cocoa and the water.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

Danta's grin all but screams yep, there it is the second Asta mentions the iced tea, and it's with a warm laugh that he leans against the other man. "Some people don't like tea. They like iced cocoa," he explains, peering up at him with raised eyebrows. "People are allowed to like what they like, Asta." You know, in case the control freak sitting beside him had forgotten as much.

"Oh, at least two," Danta confirms with an easy nod. "Perhaps a couple of others I forgot I started for you. I'm sure i'll remember when I open a drawer or a cupboard and find them." Sedatives, tea, candy - how could the Maverick possibly know when his ideas come and go like the rising and setting of the sun?

"Mm, they probably would. I'll send one of the bar staff out tomorrow to get some details," he decides, taking another indulgent sip of his drink before giving Asta a nudge. "Back to the bonfire? Or back home?" he asks.

Dantalion

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

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

His nose immediately wrinkles as the Maverick looks up at him, the butcher clearly not liking the answer he hears. Who doesn’t like tea, in whatever form? But when the subsequent people can like what they like, the butcher’s huffing a laugh and nodding. “Objectively, yes, but that does not make it the right answer, darling.” He protests, because while he’s absolutely right, the butcher’s also sure that it’s the wrong choice to make when given the chance.

“Do let me know, won’t you?” He asks, lifting the cup back to his lips to take a healthy sip of the hot cocoa, feeling the warmth as it spreads outward from within him. He relishes in the sensation enough to take another long sip, nodding as he swallows for the confirmation that Danta would send someone to look into it.

And then he’s nudged and he straightens up, blinking dark eyes back over to the blonde as his tail whips a touch offended (playfully, of course). “Back home, I think. I want to curl up with you.” He admits a touch quieter, letting the smile sneak across his face again.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

Not for the first time finding the butcher's laughter entirely contagious, Danta can't help but join in, unable to find a suitable counter-argument to his point. "I see," he says through a chuckle. "I suppose it's all the more important that I help this stall with their business, then, if we're going to be calling out anyone trying to drink iced cocoa during Longheat." Sipping once more at his own drink in the wake of seeing Asta do the same, the whiskey as much as the cocoa serves to warm him through, though with the kick of coffee he ought to be able to get them home at least.

Because home is what Asta chooses, and Danta couldn't be more in agreement. His tail flicks out, linking casually against the end of the butcher's, and he rises to his feet away from the bench and holds out a hand to help Asta up too. "I can't think of anything I'd like more," he says with a smile, guiding them away from the table and the stall and away from the bonfire, back towards the steps down into The Last Whisper.

"Hey," he says suddenly, a somewhat sly curl to his lips. "Can I take you on a date one of these days?"

Dantalion

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

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

“That’s correct.” Astaroth practically purrs with the idea of it – because the butcher is opinionated and nine out of ten times, he’ll let you know about it (once he’s done observing of course). But he relishes in the meantime of the heat outside along with the heat from the cocoa, choosing home because he’s gotten what he wanted out of this rendezvous. His mood has improved, he’d gotten the streak of chaos out in the face of the burnt shirt cuff, and he feels far less likely to go on a murder rampage when he has Danta at his side.

It's the perfect balm to the anger that had encroached in, closing like a cage around his throat, mind, and heart. And for a man who has only just opened up to the idea of wearing a muzzle, a cage of anger poking and prodding him is the last thing he wants. “Good.” Asta hums, gladly taking Danta’s hand for the help up. He’s steadier now when he stands (not by much, but enough to make it work), but that doesn’t mean he fully intends on keeping an inch of separation between them, made easier with how Danta’s tail curls and intertwines with his own. Call it protectiveness, call it petty jealousy from earlier, but a part of him is more than happy to flaunt being the shining ruby in the Maverick’s clutches.

The walk is easier and he doesn’t feel like his lungs are going to fall into his stomach, and thankfully the stairs go down rather than up (a balm to his old bones), but it’s enough to distract him in ensuring that he can walk better than before, mug still in hand, as he hears Danta’s voice. Immediately capturing his gaze, the smile that blooms on Danta’s lips is one reflected in the butcher’s own – wider, offering a grin, but sly nonetheless. “Of course you can, darling. I would love to do that.” He'd be lying if he wasn’t curious to see what Danta could do. Yet something tells him that he won’t be able to outdo himself from the Sparkbird’s Nest, even if their feelings were actually said out loud these days, even if the Sparkbird’s Nest had been everything but a date.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

The stairs might go down but that means Danta is forced to abandon his drink early so he might rest a steadying hand against Asta's chest as they go, preventing any head-over-heels accidents. (If he were feeling more poetic he might realise they'd already had one of those in falling in love with one another, but there we are). Still, they at least manage to get back to the covered cobblestones of The Last Whisper, the Maverick leaning happily against the other man as they stroll back towards home.

Having no idea how high Asta holds their time in the Sparkbird's Nest, Danta isn't thinking quite that far ahead, but the butcher's agreement is enough for him to flash him a cheerful, fanged grin, nodding. "I'll surprise you," he decides. "All I'll say is that we'll wait until Leafchange, get this shrine and the rage room out of the way first."

Feeling very pleased with himself just at the prospect of organising a date with Asta, by the time the Dusklight comes upon them Danta doesn't hesitate in opening the door for them to swan in together, tails linked, his arm wound around the other man's waist in a way that's far more than companionable. And he doesn't care who sees, not with the nature of their argument before heading out, and he offers a nod to the bartender who offers them a knowing glance in return. "Figure they've got the fort held here. Let's go," he purrs to Asta.

Heading straight upstairs to his rooms, the Maverick is already feeling better even than he had when he'd been flirting with the tourist those few hours before, smiling up at the other man and distractedly clicking open his door.

Dantalion

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

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

Despite the trek back down has Danta abandoning his mug, the butcher’s quite content having the Maverick’s hand pressed against his chest. And while he’s more confident with the stairs this go around, it doesn’t keep him from clutching Danta close for both the assistance he offers and because he’s exceptionally clingy right now.

The cobblestones are upon them quickly, and the grin that remains on his face surprisingly soft as he’s guided toward the Dusklight, tail wound with Danta’s, arms slipped around one another. “Should nearly be done with the shrine. I believe all that is left is the final build of it.” He hums, voice dropping a touch as he focuses on entering the Dusklight without tripping.

And for the moment, he’s quite charmed to see the way Danta doesn’t shy away from the way they very openly cling to each other, the way they look like they’re together, and he finds himself with the whiplash before, suddenly happy. And the look he gives the bartender says just as much.

Ferried along to the door, it’s when it clicks open that his arm tightens around Danta’s middle, pulling him in and keeping his arm tight around him lest he decide to try and get away. “Would you like to dance with me?” It’s another impulsive thought that’s aired, one that has the butcher looking over to Danta with brighter honey dark eyes.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

"Now that's exciting. I'll keep an eye out for my invite to go to work on it," Danta purrs, clearly pleased that they'll have a new place to go and worship their goddess by the time Deepfrost rolls around. No one had enjoyed the trek out to the Black Lake in the colder months, he knows, even if being in Dygra's presence had been more than worth it.

For tonight, though, he's very content to be clung to, as it happens; as such as they swan through the door, Danta barely has time to nudge it shut again before Asta is drawing him close, and he has neither the means nor the motivation to free himself from the other man's grip. "To dance with you?" He grins back, relaxing in the butcher's grip.

"But of course. I have to mention, though, that there isn't actually any music playing." You know, just in case Asta has strayed out of tipsy and into blackout drunk territory.

Dantalion

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

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

“I will be sure to send one.” He purrs playfully, content to let the conversation end there as he steps into their room (he’s claiming his portion already, given how little he sees his own room these days). He keeps his arm around Danta and keeps him close, feeling the way the Maverick relaxes.

Nodding enough that a lock of hair falls from where it’s tucked neatly behind the horns of his, his sharp smile is on display for Danta, growing wider with the answer. Only, a huff of laughter rakes through him as he loosens his grip enough to take the blonde’s hand, to untangle his tail from his, and to let the other rest around the small of his back. “No, there isn’t. But that’s okay.” And it is, in his mind.

Because he drags the firelight low enough to let the moonlight cascade into the room, his accented voice deeper as he starts to hum a song from centuries past — something slow and gentle, and he begins to start to lead them into the dance, humming the song through the beginning verses.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

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

Just as happy to let their 'work' conversation die at the door, Danta's eyebrows raise in surprise to feel the butcher grasp him close, his limbs growing loose enough to allow Asta to manoeuvre him however he pleases. "It is?" he has time - just about - to question, before the lights are being drawn low and he's very much being led into a dance.

As distinguished as the other man might be, the Maverick is likely rough in equal amounts, such that his feet are a little unsure at first as they go, before he simply melts into Asta's lead and the rhythm offered by the music that rumbles through the other man's chest and throat. It's enough to surprise Danta into silence, leaving him with a soft frown on his face that's much more thoughtful than it is negative.

"This is really nice." He mutters the admission, stepping a little closer to tilt his head to rest against Asta's shoulder, hoping to feel the song as well as to hear it.

Dantalion

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