I told you, you were brave

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

More than happy to be the steadying presence that stops Asta from taking a full tumble into the bonfire (he doesn't think the butcher will care about being naked, but completely ruining his outfit might irk him), Danta leans further against the other man. "Oh, dozens, I imagine. Isn't that all the more reason to hope they would have built one?" He grins up at the butcher, aware of the tail winding around his leg and caring very little, tonight, for who might see or what assumptions (correct ones, as it happens) they might make.

Watching with the lazy eyes of a predator as Asta reaches out to plunge his hand into the flames, he's proven quite pleasantly wrong about the butcher and his clothes. Where someone else might have reached out to rescue the rolled shirtsleeve, Danta merely watches the fabric singe and twist, threads disappearing under the kiss of fire. "You'll be catching fire soon if you're not careful," he murmurs, smirking.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //