you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god
Gods damn it Asta, you really are so fucking stupid.
One might expect Danta to be used to this sort of thing by now; waiting, keeping himself busy, doing the whole Theocrat thing and pretending that one person's presence or absence doesn't make a difference. He probably should be used to it by now, given the number of collective hours he's spent these past few seasons wondering if Astaroth is alive or dead or just out somewhere not giving a fuck.
Settling on this last idea over all the others (it's easier to swallow down), the Maverick decides that he, too, does not give a fuck. So he's trained with his guards, teamwork be damned, he's installed a stupid little bell and a silly little tasselled rope in his rooms, and he's taken full advantage of having liquor and wine brought to him with every gentle tug of it.
He's deep into his cups by the time Asta arrives home at... well, at some point, having been lounging in his blankets making paper crows and considering heading downstairs to stir up trouble when a familiar rumbling voice echoes through the door.
On his feet before he can remind himself he doesn't care (gods, Danta, be cool you pathetic fuck), the Maverick who answers the door also looks tired. And drunk. And a bit of a mess, to be frank, dressed in nothing but a red silk robe that is falling off one shoulder and with cold blue eyes narrowed up at Asta in his... his swim shorts. Okay, whatever.
Before a reply can form on his lips Danta is already stepping forward of his own accord, his hand lifting before his mind has the chance to make the connection in a slap across the butcher's face, the noise echoing brightly around the room. "No you may not," he hisses.
One might expect Danta to be used to this sort of thing by now; waiting, keeping himself busy, doing the whole Theocrat thing and pretending that one person's presence or absence doesn't make a difference. He probably should be used to it by now, given the number of collective hours he's spent these past few seasons wondering if Astaroth is alive or dead or just out somewhere not giving a fuck.
Settling on this last idea over all the others (it's easier to swallow down), the Maverick decides that he, too, does not give a fuck. So he's trained with his guards, teamwork be damned, he's installed a stupid little bell and a silly little tasselled rope in his rooms, and he's taken full advantage of having liquor and wine brought to him with every gentle tug of it.
He's deep into his cups by the time Asta arrives home at... well, at some point, having been lounging in his blankets making paper crows and considering heading downstairs to stir up trouble when a familiar rumbling voice echoes through the door.
On his feet before he can remind himself he doesn't care (gods, Danta, be cool you pathetic fuck), the Maverick who answers the door also looks tired. And drunk. And a bit of a mess, to be frank, dressed in nothing but a red silk robe that is falling off one shoulder and with cold blue eyes narrowed up at Asta in his... his swim shorts. Okay, whatever.
Before a reply can form on his lips Danta is already stepping forward of his own accord, his hand lifting before his mind has the chance to make the connection in a slap across the butcher's face, the noise echoing brightly around the room. "No you may not," he hisses.
Dantalion
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
