// sun comin' up on a dream come around //
Danta can certainly imagine - in quite unhappy detail, in fact - how bitingly cold it must have been to take even a few steps beyond the warm and inviting little space they find themselves in. "Were you ever snowed in?" he wonders idly, his mind conjuring images of Asta hunkering down in this burrow of a room with heavy ice and snow packed overhead, huddled close to a fire he could not yet touch without being burned.
Happily drawn snug against the butcher's side as he examines the beautifully engraved knife, the Maverick snorts and shrugs his shoulders. "Well," he says, "given that you no longer have to worry about nightmares, perhaps you can have some sweet dreams about me meeting your sister instead." Flashing a grin to Asta before his eyes drop once again to the knife and the blood springing to the surface of his fingertip, he surrenders his hand all too willingly to the other man.
"Just because you weren't called the butcher, doesn't mean you didn't play the part," he points out, carefully setting Asta's labour of love back among the other knives, flexing his fingers as his hand is returned to him and feeling grateful for the reasonably shallow cut from a blade that could undoubtedly do much worse damage. "And you were good for a deal more than that I bet," he scoffs, clearly not ready to believe that Asta's life as Ferox was quite so two-dimensional.
Prowling in Asta's wake to the bed and the bags he's set down there, Danta sinks down beside him and leans comfortably into his side to admire the wickedly sharp and arguably more practical bone knife. "Oh? Did you have to defend yourself in this place, then?" he wonders, casually resting his chin on the other man's shoulder as he peers down at the weapon. From others in the cannibal village, perhaps? Or worse things out in the snow?
Happily drawn snug against the butcher's side as he examines the beautifully engraved knife, the Maverick snorts and shrugs his shoulders. "Well," he says, "given that you no longer have to worry about nightmares, perhaps you can have some sweet dreams about me meeting your sister instead." Flashing a grin to Asta before his eyes drop once again to the knife and the blood springing to the surface of his fingertip, he surrenders his hand all too willingly to the other man.
"Just because you weren't called the butcher, doesn't mean you didn't play the part," he points out, carefully setting Asta's labour of love back among the other knives, flexing his fingers as his hand is returned to him and feeling grateful for the reasonably shallow cut from a blade that could undoubtedly do much worse damage. "And you were good for a deal more than that I bet," he scoffs, clearly not ready to believe that Asta's life as Ferox was quite so two-dimensional.
Prowling in Asta's wake to the bed and the bags he's set down there, Danta sinks down beside him and leans comfortably into his side to admire the wickedly sharp and arguably more practical bone knife. "Oh? Did you have to defend yourself in this place, then?" he wonders, casually resting his chin on the other man's shoulder as he peers down at the weapon. From others in the cannibal village, perhaps? Or worse things out in the snow?
Dantalion
// one hundred years from the empire now //
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
