[SE] Unbe-bell-ievable

Deimos

you can be a comet tearing open the sky if you want
never say of course; never let them drain the river of your soul

Deimos nodded, anticipating the concentration of sketching might take a moment or two, and occupied himself by outfitting several other bells in different seasonal arrangements. While Astaroth presided over the necessary details, the Sword had concocted several configurations; including mistletoe and holly berry laden etchings and edges, a horse drawn sleigh, and laden hot springs, as if they might be advertisements for Halo itself. Amused by the sentiment, he eventually placed them aside when Astaroth’s paper came back into view.

His eyes studied and scrutinized the work – very similar to what he’d already contorted for Danta – with a few more proportions and necessities that made it Astaroth infused. “Feasible,” he joked with a glint of a grin, and as the Ancient shifted to accomplish his own works, Deimos set to his.

Taking in a long breath, he carefully orchestrated the sentiments from parchment to his mind. Elements settled beneath his skin suddenly pulsed and leapt all over again; the creative adornments fresh in gilded glows surrounding his palms. Within instances and frameworks, the trench coat began to form under his power, crimson, burgundy exterior much like wine or blood, fabric touched and scorched by the necessities and requirements of velvet and wool. Tilting his head as it came to fruition, he examined, before shaking it out and waiting to present it to the butcher.

--

Deimos has created:

Little Burgundy Trench Coat: This velvet and wool trench coat can sustain an Ancient in the cold for one IC post per thread.
Type: Light | Style: Other | Level: Basic | Cost: Other

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

Focusing on the bell while he’s in this form to get it coated in the dark soot of his fiery breath, it heats up the stall area only a fraction as the majority of the fire goes into the brazier. He shifts back into himself, plucking the piece of bone between his fingers despite the heat radiating off of it because he knows it won’t burn him – content to let it cool in his hands as he watches the Warden’s hands glow again and the jacket from the sketch comes to life.

Brows lifting in spite of himself, his grin brightens a touch as he sets the bone down in a cloth now that it’s cooled enough to not singe it. “Wow.” He breathes, at a loss of words for the moment as he cleans off his hands to take the jacket into his hands. It’s the perfect size, shape, and color – the fabric heavy but warm and would retain plenty of the heat he so desperately tries not to lose.

Running his hands over the velvet collar to feel the softness, the butcher’s tail twitches in a wag akin to the shift he’d just utilized as his dark gaze lifts to Deimos with a grin. “This is spectacular. Thank you so much.” He stands, testing it out as he slips it on, feeling the warmth sink into his bones and remain there against the cold. It’s a snug and perfectly comfortable fit, though he doesn’t wear it for much longer – not wishing to ruin it with all the soot he’s currently dealing with. “And just in time for the worst of this season.” He tacks on with a soft laugh, turning to hang it nearby so he wouldn’t forget it but also keep it out of the way enough he wouldn’t ruin it.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

Deimos

you can be a comet tearing open the sky if you want
never say of course; never let them drain the river of your soul

Steady and certain, Deimos still waited for the culmination of efforts to warrant a reaction. Once the initial breath seemed to unfurl, he relaxed, snorting inwardly and permitting another loose smile as the Ancient inspected the coat. As Idalia slumbered onward on his chest, wholly unbothered by it all, the tests and measures persisted, allowing himself a laugh at one of the last statements. “You are welcome – and I would tend to agree with you, if you are referencing LongNight,” as they headed in the direction of said scope of eternal twilight and all the past agonies.

Tilting his head a fraction, he took another steady breath. “Should last you a little while in the cold, and I can always upgrade it later.” As he’d done for Kiada, and could do the same for Danta. He supposed, since they couldn’t overheat, it could be a more permanent fixture, but that would be up to the butcher to determine said wardrobe. “We can trade improvements for information,” he added with another wrinkle to his nose.

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

“I am indeed.” The butcher replies with a warm and still grateful laugh. LongNight was often treacherous for Ancients in the Grounds if they strayed too far from the bonfire. It’s partially why the butcher and Danta skip away to Torchline for the fully dark week. That, and it has the added boon of additional warmth, parties, and staying at Flora’s to bide the time in a room she’s created just for them.

Nodding at the information that Deimos could upgrade it, the butcher returns to his seat and collects the bell and a rag – starting to swipe away the ash and soot stuck to the exterior of the bell. “That is good to know. Thank you again.” He offers with a wide, relieved and content smile. Swiping away the soot but leaving the marks in the carved etching, Asta spends the next few moments attaching the small wire with the tiny little bell clapper inside, before the butcher gives it a wiggle to hear it clink hollowly and a touch macabre compared to a usual metal bell.

Satisfied, his tail twitches in a small wag again. “Perfect. I can certainly manage that.” The butcher agrees, shooting Deimos a grin as he offers out the bell etched with evergreens for the Warden to take a look at if he wants to.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

Deimos

you can be a comet tearing open the sky if you want
never say of course; never let them drain the river of your soul

LongNight seemed to spell treachery for any number of citizens; though most was from the past, and any unfortunate crescendos thereafter could be likely be partially blamed on other scenarios. Still, it haunted just the same, and if the newfound coat made the endless evenings a little better, then so be it.

He arched his brow at the evergreen embedded bell, taking hold of the offering as Astaroth seemed to settle into other work (briefly glancing to see him altering and attaching a wire). “Thought you might,” he added with a ghost of humor; reputations preceded and all that. The Sword knew enough people to etch and carve his own means and measures into Caido; but he also didn’t mind acquiring information and wisdom from the more furtive exploits. Survival had different aspects; some were just far murkier and duplicitous than others. His attention meandered back to the objects though, and given the array, some choices would eventually have to be made. “Which one are you bringing to the Feast?”

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

The ghost of Deimos’ humor sparks amusement in the butcher’s face as he works with the bell. His tail twitches back and forth like a content feline’s, falling into the ease of working on the creation of the bell to add the final touches to it, cleaning it up with a rag and removing the vast majority of the soot that lingers in the ivory tones of the bone bell. He keeps the soot lingering in the etched design to give it that additional contrast of color.

Setting it down as he picks up another portion of bone to start to etch and carve, Asta glances over at Deimos with a small smile tugging on the corners of his lips. “More than likely the one that you just made.” His shark-tooth grin is bright as he gestures to the one with the aurora, finding it a lovely little piece to bring. “Do you have one in mind you intend to bring?” He asks, tilting his attention back toward the Warden.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

Deimos

you can be a comet tearing open the sky if you want
never say of course; never let them drain the river of your soul

The answer prompted another snort, though he was careful to muffle again; no intention of interrupting the youth’s nap. Instead, his eyes flickered over the remaining bounty of wares and bells they’d constructed. Efforts hadn’t been in vain, and he figured all of them could be sold or bartered for future endeavors, but he wasn’t certain if he wanted to choose any of those. The parts were all a greater whole – so his mind began to concoct and contort a new means.

Taking a deep breath, another bauble came to tangibility across his golden, glowing palms. Darker hued and silver toned, the bell looked almost chilling, as if pulled straight from the winter terrains and snow itself; glimmering portions aloft to look like falling snow drifting downwards, before a brief silhouette and outline conformed in the background, like the Citadel and all its historic entities were rising out of the ether. “Maybe this one,” he indicated, placing it downward for inspection and perusal – before adding a touch of different hues auroras and distant plains once again.

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

His question is answered with the quiet perusal of everything they’ve made so far. And without one that stuck out to the Warden, Asta watches in quiet amusement and silent awe once more as the golden glow returns to Deimos’ hands. He finally has time to settle now, too, his own hands slowing on his carving to watch the bell come to life. Dark and silver, cold like the stones at the bottom of the Sea of Glass, etched with the silhouette of the Citadel and everything else blooming out of it to wind around the bell itself.

When he sets it down to inspect, Asta can’t stop himself from leaning in, peering at the quiet colorful addition of the auroras and roaming flatlands that extend out of it. “Beautiful.” The butcher compliments, glancing up at Deimos with his dark gaze, bright as if nostalgic for all of these Halovian things he hasn’t seen in such a long time. “Is that what the Citadel looks like now?” He asks, having seen it in passing in illustrations and what not, but figuring he might as well ask the man himself who ruled it.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

Deimos

you can be a comet tearing open the sky if you want
never say of course; never let them drain the river of your soul

“Thank you,” he rumbled in return, narrowing his eyes to glance at the object again before placing it upon the table. The inquiry gave him pause; recalling that while Astaroth had once been sheltered within Halo’s grasp, it’d clearly been a long, long while since he’d placed his eyes upon the sanction. That world had changed many times over – and so he conjured little filaments within the air, pieces and portions of water to trace amongst the ether in front of them, like imagined scenes brought to life in tangible bits. The Sword was much more of a person to show, rather than tell. “Yes – though Halo has much more to offer now. We turned the Palace into an emergency shelter and storage area,” for neither he nor Evie would have sought to live in such an opulent, decadent threshold; not when it carried so many other harbingers of other lives. From there he let the image of the Citadel drift, altering the beacons into council buildings and hot springs. “Safrin helped us remake our springs,” with the dazzling hues and colorations he couldn’t possibly match.

He didn’t include the weaponry and defenses; some things were left to behold within the sanctity itself – but then he marched on into maps and roaming extensions. “And you must have heard of the Greenwing and the Hollowed Forest,” which he depicted in shape-shifting qualities along the ministrations and machinations; from lush fields and winding streams to the eerie, enigmatic dirges of the bracken-laden wood.

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

The question slips from the butcher’s lips, studying the bell and the differences in what he recalls from a Halo made centuries ago, the spaces he wouldn’t dare to find himself venturing to even back then but would often admire from afar. But Deimos takes it a step further, painting the pictures of everything into the air and Asta sits back to take in the show. “Beautiful.” Asta murmurs, the tip of his tail twitching as he watches the Citadel begin to fade, shifting to council buildings and the starlit hot springs.

He nods along with those, wondering if the hot springs healing might harbor the same star-tingling in one’s bones that Safrin’s healing had sparked in his not that terribly long ago, but the butcher keeps that question locked behind his sharpened teeth. “I have heard of them, yes.” He pauses, taking in the show. He wasn’t used to greenery when it came to Halo, such that he only knew when he’d passed Halo’s borders back then when he did find greenery at the edges of the permafrost of the region.

“My, it certainly has changed quite a bit, hasn’t it?” He asks, looking up at Deimos with a grin. "Perhaps with the help of the jacket, Danta and I may be able to come and witness it all for ourselves without becoming part of the decor." A low laugh leaves him with the comment, tail flicking contently behind him. "Are there still cultists within Halo's borders?" He doesn't ask about Whitebrim, already knowing the answer to that, but even back in Asta's time the cultists had been a rival of their own sort.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

Deimos

you can be a comet tearing open the sky if you want
never say of course; never let them drain the river of your soul

He let the images remain as they talked, flickering around in either aurora builds or shifting into Sea of Glass parameters, brow only arching slightly at the grin, before permitting one of his own to slip past a multitude of defenses. With a play of contortions he shifted the focus into barracks and then marketplaces, lays of land that had grown and changed within time too. “Hopefully – though I often surround Kiada with fire too,” as an alternative before any of them ran into brazier and fire-lit buildings.

The inquiry about cultists left him snorting outwardly. “None that I have seen,” or dared to bother – at least while he was around. “We had one that tried years before to come in during Deepfrost,” at which they’d denied him access. What happened to the individual thereafter was not his concern, though he presumed it’d either been imminent death from the cold or he’d spirited away elsewhere. “Were they quite prevalent in your time?”

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

“Of course, yes.” Asta says with a low accented chuckle at the idea of being wreathed in flame just in case. And between his and Danta’s mastery over fire (for the moment, anyway), he’s confident they could manage it if they ever did dare to try and broach Halo’s frozen tundras.

At his question over the cultists, though, Asta hears the snort that leaves the Warden, head tilting slightly as he nods his understanding. So either they had kept to themselves or had fully died out, the butcher is content to believe the latter, just as his own clans had.

Fair was fair at the end of the day. “Oh yes.” He answers Deimos’ inquiry with a snort of his own, dramatic and full of plenty of distaste. “Terribly arrogant, often attempted to poach anyone to their cause and if you did not agree it became a skirmish.” Sighing, he shoots Deimos a shark-tooth grin. “Good riddance, if you ask me.”

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

Deimos

you can be a comet tearing open the sky if you want
never say of course; never let them drain the river of your soul

Perhaps it was a given that should any newfound cultists appeared, Deimos would take no issue in ensuring they were either destroyed or disappeared. He could recall the brief interim of threats laden around Morgan’s time, but by then, they’d likely already been drifting into their own quiet annihilation. To hear of their decadence from well before, his eyes narrowed, taking in the notions of arrogance and poaching of individuals, likely trying to snag anyone into the semblances of their strange groups. Between cannibals and cultists, Halo certainly had a mixed history of interlopers and bizarre clans. “I can agree to that,” he wrinkled his nose. Caido had its own set of problems from time to time, but he would be content to leave the obsessive, fixated groups behind.

Glancing down at Idalia, who had begun to stir between the nuances of discussion, he gave another deep rumble, beginning to rise from the chair. “I should head out now, but thank you for the chat. Hopefully the bell and the coat are suitable,” and he granted a nod, ensuring his own artifact was back in his grasp – then it was back to Halovian forces and winds.

[FIN]