seven sins, don't let them in

// Greed won't rest 'til he's crowned as a king //

He does often have great ideas, but when it comes to the first item on the agenda of warming up, the butcher huffs a laugh as the warmth of the Dusklight starts to settle deep in his bones. “Well, that isn’t getting warmer if we are temporarily getting colder first.” He points out, petulantly and more brattish as his dark gaze slips toward his fiancé as they step toward the kitchens. “But it is necessary, I suppose.” He sighs, like he’s having this little argument in his head over whether or not it was worth it.

It was, of course. Because if Asta had a preference for the people he devoured, it was often the Attuned that made it to the top. But, either way, he wrinkles his nose to Danta’s glance toward his torn pantleg and the blood that has seeped into the sweaters and what not. “Yes, yes, I am unfortunately aware.” He sighs softly, all drama and honestly portraying a wet-dog kind of appearance before he perks up with the mention of liquor shots.

“Hmm, two shots of Halovian whiskey and I should be right as rain, darling.” He drawls to the blonde, his shark-tooth smile bright and only a smidge bloodstained as he turns back to the ice boxes to lower the bag of the body into the ice box before his hands are fully free to wind around Danta’s middle so they can hurry out of the cold, prompted quicker by the violent shiver that races down his spine and shakes his shoulders.

Astaroth

// From the land to the sea, he'll take all that he needs //

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

"Necessary unless you want all of your hard work to have been for nothing," Danta says with a challenging raise of his brows, glad to see that Asta is soon on board with their quick detour into the freezers. "Ah, now Halovian whiskey I can arrange." Grinning and able to feel the shiver that racks through his fiance, he rests a hand atop one of Asta's forearms and promptly leads them back out to the bar area.

"Come on, we'll have one now and take one for the road," he decides, and whether the butcher decides to remain attached to him or not, Danta makes his way behind the bar and reaches up (and up) for their top shelf whiskey, grabbing a couple of shot glasses to go along with it.

Pouring them each a measure with the sort of finesse that only comes with a lot of practice, Danta raises his shot in a toast. "To a warm Deepfrost and better behaved prisoners," he declares, chiming his glass against Asta's and shooting it back in a smooth motion. The whiskey flares and burns immediately at the back of his throat, drawing a line of fire down into his sternum where it spreads and smoulders deliciously.

"Gods, Halo really does know their whiskey," he mutters with an appreciative hiss of breath. "Do you ever miss it? The region, not the liquor." He realises he's never really asked in that way; they've delved into memories plenty of times (and occasionally literally) but he's never thought about Asta wanting to return there.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

// Greed won't rest 'til he's crowned as a king //

He doesn’t want all of his hard work to go to waste for nothing, all because he didn’t want to be cold for a short amount of time. But he’s still happy to be as dramatic and whiny as possible, even with the shiver that races down his spine. Danta’s hand is an added injection of warmth, though, drawing him closer into keeping himself as close to the Maverick as possible. And as they slip toward the bar, the butcher doesn’t let him stray far from him.

He’s less imposing than usual. With his glamour up, his horns are nowhere to be seen and no tail to be found. But it doesn’t stop the shadow that creeps along the back of the Dusklight’s bar as he leans against the counter and watches with open admiration in his dark gaze for Danta’s stretch to reach the Halovian Whiskey from the top shelf. “Perfect.” One to start to warm him up and one to keep him warm when they’re back in their room.

With the shot glass in hand shortly after, the butcher’s grin is no less sharp as he toasts his to Danta’s own little happy cheer, chuckling softly. “And to the fountain wine.” He tacks on, clinking his glass against his fiance’s before he downs the shot of sweet bourbon whiskey with the immediate pinch of fire against his throat. Exhaling a huff of approval, the butcher sets the shot glass down against the counter briefly, straightening up as he lets it infiltrate all the cold parts of him that the heat hasn’t quite reached yet. “There is a reason it is my favorite, darling.” He drawls with a liquor hoarse voice and a knowing look.

It pauses for a moment as Danta asks him if he missed it, blinking at him with a little bit of surprise. “I..” He clamps his lips shut, actually thinking about the answer rather than responding with his gut. “Truthfully? I do miss it at times. I do not miss the snow but I do miss the vastness of it. Sunrises and sunsets. The way the air smelled pure.” He could go on and on, but he finds himself pausing, sheepishly shooting Danta a smile and a nod of his head to the whiskey as he lifts his shot glass again for another pour.

Astaroth

// From the land to the sea, he'll take all that he needs //

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

Winking towards Asta and raising his empty glass at his addition to the toast, Danta will never hesitate to praise their hard-earned fountain or the magical wine it produces. He's started to hide flasks of it all over the Dusklight and their usual haunts within the Grounds, in fact, though Asta's response prevents him from getting too distracted by that train of thought.

"Oh?" It isn't that Danta had expected the butcher not to miss his home region, but more that he'd assumed he'd hide it with bluster or nonchalance. A smile kicks up the corner of his mouth as he reaches to pour them both another measure of whiskey, the Maverick nodding absently. "It seemed like a different world from what you showed me of it in the House of Midnight. I visited briefly once, when I went to see Deimos, but I was only outside for seconds at the most."

Not nearly enough time to be able to take in any changes; not that he'd been concerned with sight seeing so much as staying alive and moving.

"Maybe one day they'll make it more friendly for the likes of us," he says, gesturing for Asta to lead the way upstairs. "Until then, though, we can go back to King's End whenever you want, if you feel homesick."

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

// Greed won't rest 'til he's crowned as a king //

Glad for another shot in his glass, the butcher’s dark gaze flits up to his fiance’s face as he answers the butcher’s sudden nostalgia. “It is, from what I’ve gathered.” The butcher admits, smiling faintly now, reminiscing. “It would be nice if they did, though once I realized what I had been made, I simply just assumed it would be some place I never would go back to. Back then, however, it wasn’t something I wanted all that much. The likelihood of seeing someone I knew was quite high.” Because some of them had to survive for it to continue to be a problem for Halo up until recently.

Now, though, without the possibility of running into siblings or people from his clan, the butcher finds it much more appealing. He’s fairly certain he’s the last of his kind, anyway. But as Danta gestures for him to take the lead back to their room, the butcher gladly goes, slipping out from behind the bar toward the steps leading back toward their room. “I was considering asking if you may be interested in returning in Flowerbirth.” He admits, chuckling softly. “Apparently I am feeling a bit more nostalgic these days.” Drawling dramatically like it’s the liquor and not the fact that he’s been awake for years now in a world where Whitebrim had been wiped away and the realization he wouldn’t know anyone in Halo anymore.

Reaching their door, the butcher opens it and lets Danta slip in first before following him in, grateful already for the heat of their fireplace still roaring and filling the space with heat.

Astaroth

// From the land to the sea, he'll take all that he needs //

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

"Mm, funny how much difference a few centuries can make, no?" Danta smiles, ferrying his shot along with him and waving a farewell to the bartender and the regulars he knows in order to follow Asta up to their rooms. "I know what you mean, though. Even though we woke up in a different world, it's not like we were aware of the time passing. It only feels like I've been out of The Climb for a few years." Which is why he tries to give them both grace when it comes to those old traumas, to the nightmares that still feel far too close for comfort.

Tail flicking its interest as the butcher suggests returning to the House of Midnight, Danta nods readily and offers him a sunny smile as they slip in through the door of their bedroom. "I'd like that," he says. "Nothing wrong with a bit of nostalgia, especially given how little we've got around us from the old days."

Smoothly knocking back the second shot of liquor once he's inside, the Maverick sets down his empty glass and immediately turns to hold out his hands for the butcher so he can peel off his torn and bloody clothes.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

// Greed won't rest 'til he's crowned as a king //

It is and it isn’t funny, because on one hand the butcher would love nothing more than to forget and pretend it was still a similar time frame to what he’s used to, but he’s also faced with the differences more often than not. The star paths he would take to get around out and about were different now, nothing like what he’d recalled back in the day when he’d scouted, and when he was often alone in Halo and even the Climb, they had been their own little comfort. A friend, of sorts, and one that was no longer there. “Mm, yes.” He agrees with a wistful sigh, the corner of his lips twitching up. “Along those lines, it feels as though it has only been fifteen-ish years since I became an Ancient.” He hums.

Slipping into their room, the butcher closes the door behind them and locks it, hooking his cane beside it and knocks back his own second shot, relishing in the warmth that greets his skin and drips along his bones. Setting the glass down and looking up in time to see Danta’s hands extend toward him, he ignores everything else in order to reach his fiance, not unlike a moth to flame. “I hear the auroras are different than they were when I was there.” He admits of Halo, stilling in front of the Maverick, buzzed leaning toward being drunk, completely letting the other Ancient start to rid him of his rumpled, stained clothes as though he were a doll. “Supposedly they are more vibrant.”

Astaroth

// From the land to the sea, he'll take all that he needs //

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

Letting out a low whistle at that admission, Danta's expression is nevertheless quietly affectionate as he regards Asta. "You're still a baby, practically," he croons, catching him gently around the waist as he draws towards him. "Don't worry," he continues, playful as his fingers hook beneath the hem of his sweater, "I'll make sure I keep teaching you the ropes." He has just about enough time to wink to the other man before drawing the sweater over his head, checking it over for holes as well as bloodstains before setting it to the side.

"The auroras?" he echoes. "I think I saw them in your memory at the House of Midnight. Those bands of colour in the sky?" Danta's hands drop to the butcher's waist now, deftly unbuckling his belt and freeing it from the loops before unbuttoning his pants so he can kick them off. His own blood is also starting to sing with the whiskey, and he reaches almost automatically to fuss at Asta's ruffled hair.

"If we ever go and visit it again for real, you need to promise you won't want to move back there for good." He smirks.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

// Greed won't rest 'til he's crowned as a king //

The low whistle is met with a bark of a laugh – a surprised one, rich and low that escapes him as he’s caught by the waist. “Shut up.” The butcher whines in all his buzzed amusement, his typical pleasantries vanishing the more inebriated he gets. “What’re you going to teach me first?” He asks, though whether it’s heard is another story as the sweater blots out most of it, leaving it a mumble.

With it off his head, however, he straightens a touch, long hair falling around his face and against his shoulders in a dark curtain, messier with the absence of horns. He’s drawn a touch closer as the Maverick’s fingers find his belt, making quick work of removing it and the butcher steps out of them easily alongside his shoes, distracted immediately with the touch that ruffles his hair. “Yeah. The colors in the sky.” He agrees, eyes closing like a cat soaking up all of the attention.

Snorting with a slight shake of his head, his gaze opens half lidded to peer back at the Maverick’s face, taking in the other man’s sharp features, washed in the warmth orange of the fire from the hearth. “Mm, well, I am pretty sure I would not be allowed to live there whether I wanted to or not.” He bounces his brows playfully, lips quirking into a mischievous smirk.

Astaroth

// From the land to the sea, he'll take all that he needs //

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

"Am I shutting up or telling you what you're going to learn?" Danta inquires, petulant and amused as he grins up at the other man. "Seems like the first thing I need to teach you is how to make up your damn mind." Laughing softly, he finishes smoothing Asta's hair back from his face and lets his hands drop warmly against his bare shoulders, fingers working any tension from them like a gentle habit.

"You'll need to show me again when we go back to the House of Midnight," he decides of the aurora, guiding Asta closer for no other reason than to enjoy the heat rolling out from him. "And you think?" Curious now, the Maverick raises his eyebrows up at his lover. "There are no cannibals left in Whitebrim." It's not the first time he's said it, but suddenly it feels more relevant than ever.

"No one knows you as that, so why would they mind you living there, or at The Citadel, or anywhere else? Besides, I'm like Deimos's best friend, I could put in a good word." He winks. Never mind that Danta would never live up there - suddenly the option seems more important than the decision.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

// Greed won't rest 'til he's crowned as a king //

“Shutting up about me being a baby when last I checked I am older than you.” The butcher drawls, equally as petulant and amused as he indulges in the hands in his hair, before they land against his shoulders and the tension works itself out of him. It helps that it’s bolstered by the fire warming his belly, the way his veins feel as though they’re open and injected with little fireworks, helping as he snorts and rolls his eyes affectionately to Danta’s answer.

He nods to the mention of the aurora, ferried closer as he is to wrap his arms around Danta’s shoulders to keep him close and indulge in the head, fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt. To hear it out in the open that there are no cannibals in Whitebrim, the butcher inclines his head, nodding. “That’s correct, yes.” He hums, even as the realization sinks somewhere strange in the butcher’s gut thanks to the two shots of Halovian whiskey.

His dark brows lift, playfully impressed as Danta works ways around how the butcher could live in Whitebrim, and he politely waits until he’s done before his arms tighten around him a fraction and he leans in, pressing his forehead to the other Ancient’s own. “It implies that you would let me live there, Wasp.” The butcher playfully drawls, snatching a too short kiss. “Which, if it meant not having you there, I would not want it. Regardless of whether or not cannibals are allowed in Halo.” His lips brush against his fiance’s own before he withdraws slightly to give him a knowing look. “Besides, I may get nostalgic at times, but my home is you. I am only ever homesick when we are apart.”

Astaroth

// From the land to the sea, he'll take all that he needs //

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

"You can still be a baby, no matter how old you are," Danta informs the butcher, a sing-song cadence to his voice as he reaches up to playfully clasp and wiggle his jaw. "But yes, you are older than I am. And it's your birthday this season - don't think I forgot." Asta is out of danger when it comes to gigantic surprise parties now, but it doesn't mean that Danta isn't going to have something up his sleeve to celebrate the birth of his favourite person.

Ferried closer and without any complaints, Danta's hands drop from Asta's shoulders at last to draw gentle lines of fire down the length of his back, glancing up just in time for the other man to lean in. I would, he almost says as their foreheads touch. Because if it would make the other man happy he really would, despite what it would mean for their current situation.

But the butcher continues and Danta immediately feels his cheeks flush, silenced by the kiss Asta steals from his mouth. "Shut up." It's his turn to hiss out the words, the Maverick immediately nuzzling against the crook of Asta's neck as if to hide how flustered he is.

"You're home for me too," he mumbles, his voice muffled, arms squeezing around his lover. "C'mon, let's go to bed."

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

// Greed won't rest 'til he's crowned as a king //

Every retort is trapped behind sharp teeth, jostled gently by his fiancé’s hand as his jaw is cupped. An indignant huff leaves him, short and annoyed despite the amusement that lingers in his gaze that completely betrays the butcher’s internal thoughts. But as the mention of his birthday comes (grateful for the fact he does not have a partial shift otherwise his ears would be pinning), the butcher opts for sticking his tongue out briefly at his lover — as good a sign as any that he’s certainly not sober anymore — as he ferries him closer.

Because despite all of the fanfare and playful dramatics, the butcher is realistic. He’s also a romantic at heart, such that he keeps them close to drip his honeyed vows right against his fiancé’s waiting lips. The shut up echoed back at him has a low laugh escaping him, tucking him in close against where he’s chosen to hide his reddening face.

Content and curled in, the butcher thinks he could stay like this for quite a bit longer, but it seems Danta has other plans. “Mm, you are not allowed to get into bed until you’ve shed your attire, darling.” The butcher drawls, pulling away just enough to shoot him a wink before he’s snagging his wrists to tug him along toward the bed where he promptly sits, still without his glamour, and waits for Danta to shed his clothes. It’s only fair, he thinks.

Astaroth

// From the land to the sea, he'll take all that he needs //

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

Scoffing out a surprised laugh as Asta, of all things, pokes his tongue out at him, Danta is too charmed by it to offer any retort, instead finding himself ferried along towards the bed. "I am not allowed?" he echoes in a drawling tone as he watches the butcher slouch to sit down, leaving him standing before the other man. "It has been a long time since someone told me I wasn't allowed to do something," he informs him haughtily, already toeing off his shoes to nudge them aside.

"I suppose that means I better get right to it." And Asta is in the perfect position to watch (which, he suspects, is the entire point), Danta taking his sweet time unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging out of it, turning to hang it carefully - yes, carefully - on the back of a chair before turning back to his lover. "You are lucky I didn't decide to wear anything complicated today," he remarks, left standing before the butcher with his pants slung low on his hips, his belt doing its job only aesthetically.

Nevertheless, the Maverick unbuckles it with all the slow intention of a man in very little hurry, unthreading and coiling it neatly before setting it down on a side table. "How am I doing so far?"

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash