laps up the vice like a wolf in the night

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

"Ah," Danta says, having the decency to wince at the revelation, though he still apparently doesn't know the half of it. "I suppose I should have expected as much from Flora. I take she didn't respond well to your letting her down gently?" Because no part of the Maverick believes Asta would have actually engaged with the Doubletake's attempts. Not because Flora isn't smoking fucking hot and powerful in a way that Danta can absolutely appreciate, but because of the obvious implications when it comes to the butcher and his sexual appetites.

Sighing deeply and stepping into the room as the scorch mark and the bag become visible once more, Danta parts from Asta for no other reason than so he can stoke the fire with his magic and shrug out of the now tattered, bloodied and ruined scarlet robe. Tossing it into the flames, the Maverick is left covered in streaks of black and rust red, rubbing at his face and leaning back against the mantelpiece. Gods but he's exhausted, and far too sober now for any of this to feel remotely easy.

Dantalion