all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach
"Ah, well. Yes," Danta concedes with a wince as he considers the repercussions of Asta finding out about any rendezvous they might plan. "Though you make a good point about the rage room. I should smell exactly as I did when I walked in, I imagine." Bouncing his eyebrows at Flora, he gestures just ahead where the smoulder blossoms adorn an otherwise innocuous looking door. "It's just there if ever you want to give it a go." He winks.
Some of the amusement fades, however, as she mentions the butcher's newest recovered ability; no matter how exposure therapy is going, his immediate reaction is still tension and wariness. "Ah, you heard about that, I see. The less spooky we provoke in him this season the better, in my opinion."
But then the shrine is upon him, and at Flora's poke to his chest Danta can't help but scoff out a laugh. "I will take all the blame," he assures her, "but between you and I, my money's on Dygra." Without further ado he opens the door and steps inside, holding it open for the Doubletake to enter.
The room is orchid-house warm, torches burning softly in their sconces, and the iron heavy scent of old blood laces through the air. Not a solemn man by nature, the change in the Maverick is nonetheless immediate, and it's in respectful silence that he shrugs out of his cardigan to hang it on a nearby hook and approaches the altar. The enormous slab of obsidian - smooth, sleek order descending into jagged chaos in an instant - shimmers gently in the light of the flame, as if listening.
"Hello, dark lady," Danta purrs. "I've brought someone quite exceptional with me today. May I present the Queen of Torchline herself."
Some of the amusement fades, however, as she mentions the butcher's newest recovered ability; no matter how exposure therapy is going, his immediate reaction is still tension and wariness. "Ah, you heard about that, I see. The less spooky we provoke in him this season the better, in my opinion."
But then the shrine is upon him, and at Flora's poke to his chest Danta can't help but scoff out a laugh. "I will take all the blame," he assures her, "but between you and I, my money's on Dygra." Without further ado he opens the door and steps inside, holding it open for the Doubletake to enter.
The room is orchid-house warm, torches burning softly in their sconces, and the iron heavy scent of old blood laces through the air. Not a solemn man by nature, the change in the Maverick is nonetheless immediate, and it's in respectful silence that he shrugs out of his cardigan to hang it on a nearby hook and approaches the altar. The enormous slab of obsidian - smooth, sleek order descending into jagged chaos in an instant - shimmers gently in the light of the flame, as if listening.
"Hello, dark lady," Danta purrs. "I've brought someone quite exceptional with me today. May I present the Queen of Torchline herself."
Dantalion
don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
