and the mome raths outgrabe

electing strange perfections
in any stranger I choose

"Ah, the memories aren't all bad," Danta says, shifting to hop down off the cart, straightening out his shirt and brushing the dust off his pants. "As a region, I still love the place." And call it trauma nostalgia, but in those rare few hours after performing his duties, after being sated at last, the hot stone and dancing flames of The Climb were heaven to the Maverick. A place where he might let go, where he might indulge every sense and give in to every urge before returning, leashed at Morax's side.

"I just might," he informs Asta, of enlisting his help, and whilst his jacket doesn't require the neat folding that the other man gives it, Danta accepts it with gratitude nonetheless - before promptly shrugging back into it, of course. "Any time," he murmurs. And maybe he even means it.

Leading them to the steps that will take them down to The Last Whisper, the Maverick raises a brow and glances over his shoulder at Asta, offering him a fanged smile for his trouble. "I'm glad you think so," he says, descending into the belly of the Inner Quarter. "The Grounds was very bleak looking, when I first got here. Felt like something needed to change." And, you know, it's a brothel. So it's not like the aesthetic is out of place.

The brothel in question comes into view soon enough, Danta pushing open the doors and holding them open for Asta; within, of course he'll receive the typical reception of the Tall, Dark and Shirtless, and Danta has no intention of telling his workers - or his clientele - to look away.

Dantalion

you knew who I was
with every step that I ran to you