electing strange perfections
in any stranger I choose
in any stranger I choose
"I hate it," Danta informs Astaroth, not for the first time, about the snow. Even under his sleek leather gloves his fingers are cold, and his complaints are muffled by the layers he wears and the scarf(ves) around his neck. Trudging at the taller man's side, if it weren't for the vast amount of work put into the Grounds to get it how he likes it, Danta would honestly consider abandoning his place for this Deepfrost bullshit.
Still, they're almost at the bonfire, so he supposes he can survive (and keep complaining) until then. Glancing up at the weight of something warm and furred dropping around his shoulder, he raises an eyebrow at Asta and smirks. "No," he says, "but maybe there's something else you can do about tha--"
His flirtations are rudely interrupted by being under fire, Danta flinching a little at the powdery snowball that smacks against Asta's side, before rage naturally takes over. "Absolutely fucking not," he grumbles, turning and crouching to scoop up some ammo of his own, launching it at the literal children giggling at them nearby.
Still, they're almost at the bonfire, so he supposes he can survive (and keep complaining) until then. Glancing up at the weight of something warm and furred dropping around his shoulder, he raises an eyebrow at Asta and smirks. "No," he says, "but maybe there's something else you can do about tha--"
His flirtations are rudely interrupted by being under fire, Danta flinching a little at the powdery snowball that smacks against Asta's side, before rage naturally takes over. "Absolutely fucking not," he grumbles, turning and crouching to scoop up some ammo of his own, launching it at the literal children giggling at them nearby.
Dantalion
you knew who I was
with every step that I ran to you
with every step that I ran to you
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
