don't need love when it comes in a bottle

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

It's late enough that even the Last Whisper has quietened down but for the hiss of the rain on the cobblestones. The majority of the businesses had closed early for the Blood Moon Festival anyway, and that suits Danta just fine. He has no interest in being inside right now - and especially nowhere near the Dusklight - not until he's managed to stitch his frayed nerves back together. He can go home when he knows he can face the world as something other than an embarrassing fucking mess.

The night finds him sitting on a low wall in a quirky little courtyard of boutiques, the buildings clustered and leaning together around it to cast wicked shadows in the guttering lamplight. He's soaked to the bone and feeling none of it, grey tipped fingers clutching at a nearly empty bottle of wine, elbows braced on his knees, the toe of his boot tapping restlessly into a puddle.

Every time he thinks he might be ready to get up and turn for the Dusklight, the ghoulish image of Asta's haunt flashes suddenly to the forefront of his mind; stretched tall and backlit by the fire, impossibly gaunt and sharp and cloaked in flame and shadow. It's enough to make him thirsty again, enough to make certain scars on his body itch and sting, and so he gives up on it, squeezing the neck of the wine bottle like it might give him courage.

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now

// go get your gun, get your gun //

The party has long since simmered down, enough that the butcher — having felt the absence of the Maverick the entirety of it — had gone on a search. Giving him space because he’s sure he’s the last one that Danta wants to see right now. But when he finds that his lover hadn’t made it back home yet, the butcher’s stomach sinks.

A precursory search yields nothing for him, but it at least grants him time for yet another apology. And when he’s wandered around in circles enough to be soaking wet, he completely gives up on continuing to look for Danta on his own two feet.

Shifting into his fyrhund shift, the butcher’s nose drops to the cobblestones, orange eyes looking ahead when he catches his scent and starts to head in the direction of his lover. He’s quick about it until he can see Danta’s frame in the distance, slowing down on his approach with his tail hanging low, ears perked initially before sagging in silent apology.

He doesn’t hesitate, though, to make his way toward Danta, smoke escaping his maw as he offers a quiet whine and a hung head as he draws close enough to touch but refrains until Danta (hopefully) reaches out for him.

Astaroth

// and lets find out what it does //

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

Sweeping his soaked hair back out of his face and behind his horns, Danta is just uselessly turning the wine bottle upside down to find it empty but for a trickle of rainwater when he senses, more than he sees, the approach of something nearby. Bristling immediately, his tail lashing out like a whipcrack, it's only when he spots the shape of a fyrhund and the way the rain hisses off its body that he relaxes. It can only be one man, and as Asta approaches the Maverick's hand raises immediately to scritch behind one craggy ear with stiff fingers.

"You're all wet," he slurs, voice low and apologetic as if this is another thing he's caused tonight by not managing to keep himself under control. "You din't have to come find me," he continues quietly, letting out a long and shuddering sigh. "M'glad you did, though. I dunno what to do, Asta," he admits, the bottle slipping from his free hand to clink to the cobbles. "I wanna go home, but I..."

Sitting up(ish), he scrubs both hands across his wet face and huffs out another shivery breath. "Lately I feel like it's a place where I only ever feel bad about shit. An' I don't wanna go there like this again."

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

Steam hisses from the exposed flame within the cracked plates of the fyrhund’s exterior. Orange eyes see the way he relaxes and as he lifts a hand to scratch behind the canine’s ear, Asta leans into the touch easily, the tip of his tail twitching as he tries to repress the wagging. It’s not something he has to suppress for long, though, given that Danta’s hand falls away and the bottle falls from his other hand to the ground.

When his hands leave him completely, the butcher nudges his head in gently against the side of Danta’s leg, a low rumble leaving him of understanding. He watches him for a moment before he pushes himself up beside Danta, able to get his head in Danta’s space, nosing at a hidden cheek with a warm wet nose, even if it is made out of rock.

It only takes a few seconds longer before the butcher shifts back into himself, sitting beside Danta on the little fenceline. “Let us go somewhere else, then?” He asks softly, head tilting toward Danta. No smiles, no hidden motives, just absolute openness from eyes made black by the darkness around them. “I know with the Blood Moon the other inns are likely busy, but I am sure they have some openings. The Dusklight will manage itself and we can go back later..?” The Dusklight wasn’t home for the butcher as much as it was for Danta. Sure, his things and treasures he coveted were there, but home was the man beside him. The one he’s inadvertently made feel like his home wasn’t his home anymore.

Which, as it turns out, has not changed over the centuries even if Asta's intentions were different now than they were back then.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

With the Hollowed Grounds’ alterations in landscape, some of the animals have grown a bit wilder. A bit bolder.

So while it may surprise some, and others not at all, a crow swoops down, snatching at clothing and bags with sharp, irritating, and annoying talons. Maybe you just lost a piece of bread, or a valuable keepsake!

Whoops. Best go try to get it back!

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

Unable not to scoff out a quiet laugh at the rocky nose that comes invading his space, Danta relents and drops one of his hands enough to glance towards the fyrhund, watching as canine becomes man in one fluid movement a second later. He doesn't expect the initial shift to have been as comforting as it was, but when it drops away he feels more relaxed in the butcher's presence than he might have done otherwise.

"Somewhere else...?" He tilts his head, uncomprehending at first, and before Asta can quite explain they're being divebombed by a fucking crow. Danta has no right to be as quick as he is given how drunk he is, but call it an avian reflex in this instance. Either way, his hand snatches out to straight up grab the corvid in his fist, lip curling in a snarl. "Not. Tonight," he hisses, before releasing the spooked creature to flap away into the rain.

Watchng it for a couple of moments after as if wondering if he'd hallucinated the entire thing, eventually Danta frogblinks and gazes back towards Asta. "...Yeah," he decides. The butcher has made it sound absurdly easy, so, "Yeah. Let's go."

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

“Ye-” The butcher’s cut off abruptly as a crow dives down toward them. He doesn’t have time to react aside from a spark of flame escaping his mouth and fingertips, itching before lets it drop as Danta snatches the corvid immediately out of thin air. Exhaling smoke and watching sluggishly as the corvid flaps away, spooked and jagged in its flight, it disappears in the dark alongside the rest of the alley they’ve found themselves in.

His attention returns to Danta immediately after, meeting his gaze as he looses the hardened expression of the crow’s interruption. “Do you have a preference for the inn, darling?” He asks softly, standing from the half fence and shakes out his shoulders, as if losing every ounce of tension that the corvid had sparked.

Turning back to Danta, he ensures his movements are careful and easy for him to notice – nothing quick, nothing threatening – but he does aim to scoop up his lover into his arms to press against his chest, happy to carry the Maverick wherever it was he wished to go – so long as he could come with.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

Watching through hazy eyes as Asta draws to his feet, Danta does automatically lean away from the butcher as his arms close around him, but although two sides of himself are at war with how to react, ultimately he's too cold and wet and tired to do anything but fold into his embrace. "I like the voodoo one," he mumbles into the side of Asta's neck.

He's referring to a small, ramshackle little inn tucked right in the deepest corner of the Last Whisper; one they've never been to, admittedly, but one Danta comments on every time they pass. It looks like it's been squeezed to fit between larger buildings, none of the proportions quite making sense, and there's always an array of voodoo dolls hanging just inside the window. One of them, Danta swears each time they lay eyes on it, is the spitting image of his lover.

"M'sorry for leavin'," he mumbles absently, essentially a dead weight in Asta's arms - even more so given how much of him is trying to turn to stone.

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

He can feel the war that Danta has with himself, the way he both wants to not be touched and to fold into his embrace. He’s glad when ultimately he sinks in and Asta draws him in close, trying to offer whatever kind of heat he can in the passing moments as they decide where they’re heading. As the mumble is pressed into the side of his neck, his arms tighten a little with understanding – recalling the unique little inn that very likely does not have too many visitors given its spooky nature, but one that the butcher is quite a fan of.

So, picking the path so that the Talism-Inn is their destination, the butcher spends the time it takes them to get there making sure that Danta doesn’t get soaked through with more rain. “Oh my love, I am sorry for not thinking better about using it.” Comes his own apology, shifting his head slightly so that he can press a kiss to the blonde crown of his head and try to inject some flame into his lover without it sparking his soaked clothes.

“You never have to apologize to me if it becomes too much.” He adds in a lower whisper. “I will always understand.” And he always will, even if his own nightmares had been perfectly encapsulated in the corvid bracelet around his wrist, exposed at the moment to the elements as he carries Danta toward the inn in the distance – it’s gloomy, green lighting emitting brightly amongst the rest of the darkly lit alleyway, a beacon for those like them for solace.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

Talism-Inn GET OUT LOL.

"No, you..." Having to pause to think of the right words, especially now that he's gathered into the warmth of the other man's arms and Asta is calling him my love like everything is right in the world, Danta lets his head loll against the butcher's shoulder and stares blankly out into the rain. "S'part of you. Part that you like. Shouldn't matter how I feel 'bout it."

He's far too drunk to properly articulate what he wants to say, his eyes slipping shut to feel the fiery warmth of the kiss pressed to his wet hair. The injection of heat is enough to spark a shiver through his body, Danta automatically cringing further against Asta, as if he might be a poorly disguised fireplace he can climb into and ward off the cold.

"I'm just tired of myself tonight," is what he settles on eventually, trying to rub some warmth into his grey fingertips, blinking his eyes back open as he senses the ghoulish green glow approaching. "I hope the rooms are full of ancient curses," he whispers. "That'd be really cool."

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

IM GLAD YOU LIKED IT LMAO

He draws quiet while he continues to step toward the Talism-Inn, his dark gaze flitting from the Maverick in his arms to the path to ensure he doesn’t step into too many puddles. He feels the weight of the blonde Ancient’s head as it rests heavily against his shoulder, trying to parse his thoughts to try and get his meaning across. And the butcher is patient, always willing to let Danta figure out just what to say. “It does matter, love, just as it mattered when you would refrain from using your gore crow shift before I got my item.” He offers quietly – one in the same.

Trauma for trauma, only Asta had that bracelet to help keep his reined in. But he presses that fiery kiss to his lover and letting him try to warm up wherever he can, even going so far as to blow some flame onto hands turning grey while they walk. There’s a low hum of understanding granted to Danta’s comment, however, because if anyone understood what it was like to be tired of ones self it was definitely the butcher.

“If they are not, I am sure we could make up our own.” He offers, only forced to jostle Danta slightly once they reach the door so he can open it. Slipping inside, they’re met with immediate warmth, the ghoulish green, and symbols of long since past (or made up) histories etched into the exposed wood on the interior. The little dolls swing from the ceiling with the brief gust of wind from the door opening, the chime a haunting note to announce their arrival. And the woman behind the counter looks every ounce the herbalist witch one might imagine – long curly dark hair with streaks of grey and a bright smile to greet them – even going so far as to glance toward that doll in the window that looks a little too much like the butcher, before studying the Theocrat in the taller Ancient’s arms as if she might be considering making one of their leader as well.

It's a quick exchange, one to snag the keys for a room – the best in the space as it turns out. The largest with a view over the Last Whisper’s alleyway, not unlike their room in the Dusklight. The key dangles from his finger as he takes the stairs with surprising ease, opening the door of the largest suite they have to offer. Inside, the room smells similarly to how it had downstairs – with a certain unique mixture of spices and herbs and smoke, and before the butcher has a chance to comment on it, he’s setting the Maverick down on the edge of the bed closest to the fireplace, sparking the flame to let it soak through any greyed joints the other Ancient might have. And in the mean time, he heads toward the large expanse of windows, opening the emerald and golden curtains to reveal the peppering of lights down the wet alley.

And as it turns out, it does seem to have little curses within - not only the etchings continue, but the second the butcher steps away from the curtains he's opened, one slams shut as if saying NO.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

Danta hears Asta's words, hears the comfort they're meant to give, and while he wants nothing more than to reach out for it, still something bitter and shameful curls tight in the pit of his stomach. "I thought I was getting better," he mutters to the butcher, brows drawn into a deep frown. He could deal with the other man's shadowy tendrils playing across the floor and the walls, the way the shadow he casts always has a smile for him, the creeping expanse of obsidian tines when the butcher is particularly displeased.

Evidently, though, Danta still has a very long way to go.

"Thanks," he says as flame comes to kiss his fingers, blooming life and a bit of colour back into his hands, and as they approach the ghoulish little inn he tucks them into his sleeves and closes his eyes, too wrung out to even try for a greeting to the hostess who comes to see them. It means he misses the interest in using him for a voodoo doll too, alas, but he'll absolutely notice if one of him appears in the window in future.

Focusing only on the steady thud of Asta's footsteps and the searing warmth of him against his cheek, Danta waits until he's being set down on the edge of the bed before blinking his eyes back open and around at the room. "Looks cursed as fuck," he says approvingly, toppling back to his feet if only to peel off his sodden clothes. Tossing each garment away when he's done, it's nothing short of a miracle that nothing ends up directly in the fire, and eventually Danta drops to sit back on the bed, tail flitting restlessly behind him.

"Oh," he says as the curtain makes its opinions known, the Maverick drawn, for a second, back to Flora and her house. But thinking of Flora makes him think of Kaisel, and that leads him straight back to the festival and all that had happened during.

"Will you come and hold me, for a while?" he whispers, the words hesitant and spoken more to the ground where Danta is staring. The room feels both too big and too crowded all of a sudden, and his wine soaked mind is threatening to buckle under the overwhelm.

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

“I know, my love. And you are.” He murmurs softly into the soft space between them once they reach the inn. There would be set backs, as there were when the butcher had his exposure to the corvids, and it had been the first time he’d been in Danta’s vicinity and let it fully come unleashed since the day it returned and they realized that he couldn’t handle it. The shadows were only a part of it, however more comfortable Danta has gotten with it. The full expanse of the fiery wendigo was something else entirely.

As Danta sheds his clothes while the butcher draws up the fire and the curtains – he hums a note of agreement that’s cut off with one side of the curtain slamming closed. Used to Flora’s own spirits, he snorts a soft sound under his breath. “Apologies.” He says to whatever spirit has taken their room, turning back to glance back at Danta as he doesn’t interfere with that emerald curtain any longer.

Already he’s shedding his damp clothes, too, boots kicked off and ignored. His tail flits in a smooth sweeping motion as he draws his shadows completely and entirely back into himself, hearing the whisper as he approaches and the weight of the taller Ancient makes the bed creak when he kneels onto the bed. “I cannot imagine any place I would rather be.” He murmurs back with complete and utter confidence, drawing the dark blankets back – silken and smooth and absent of their furs aside from one that looks like a wolf pelt.

Reaching for Danta, he draws him in against his chest, curling around him and holding him close to inject what heat he can, tugging the blankets up and over them to essentially craft a little makeshift fort of blankets for them to ignore the rest of the world outside, even the light pattering of the rain that hits the windows over the crackle of the hearth. "How is this?" He asks softly into the Maverick's crown of gold.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

Maybe he'll feel like he's gotten better later - probably about the time he's more sober and feeling better in general - but for now all Danta can do is offer a morose little nod, letting the heat from the fire start to leech away the cold from his pallid skin. He's still fidgeting with one of the rings on his fingers when he feels Asta's weight sink onto the bed, the Maverick glancing up in time to see the other man draw back the blankets, and the spike of relief that shatters through him is almost enough to make his eyes sting.

Pulling up his glamour with a small shiver of effort, he crawls right into the butcher's arms the second he's reaching for him, burying his face in his scarred chest. "Thank you," he whispers, letting Asta adjust the pillows and blankets and the two of them until he's satisfied. For Danta it doesn't matter so long as the other man is there, his arms winding around his lover and real warmth finally starting to sink into the core of him.

"This is good," he confirms, his lips leaving quiet kisses wherever they brush across the butcher's skin. "...What happened back at the festival?"

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now