all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach
"Yeah, well," Danta is calling over his shoulder as he steps out from the backrooms, "he shouldn't touch 'em if he doesn't want me to headbutt him with 'em." Clearly he's gossiping with someone (the barman) in the stock room out there, drying his hands and tossing the towel over the shoulder of his ivory shirt. He's dressed as A Bartender today, his slacks black and his suspenders crimson and embroidered with tiny ghosts - not that the man at the bar is likely to be looking too closely.
The man at the bar who smells like blood and is wreathed in shadow, the darkness licking out of him like black fire.
Elation and affection start to flush into his expression, right up until he recognises the scent of blood as being too close, too potent, too familiar. It's then that the butcher slumps a bit and Danta is able to see the stitches all but holding his composure together.
Once he might have drummed up a greeting, bright and sprinkled with swagger and deceit until he can grant the other man some privacy, but the bluster dies on his tongue before it ever leaves his lips.
This looks bad.
This looks wicker woman bad, and there's no goddess parting the clouds to kiss Asta better today.
"Everyone get out." The Maverick's voice is soft, almost inaudible against the clamour of the Dusklight, the murmurs and gossip and stares from those who aren't still too wrapped up in each other to notice. The barman hears it though as he emerges from the back, and he starts to immediately clear the main floor. It's enough for Danta to let the rest of the world drop away as he steps around the bar, knocking a glass off the counter as he goes.
"Who was it," he snaps before he can help himself, hand hesitant as it touches to the small of Asta's back. "Don't... don't answer that." A shuddering breath and he tries again. "Can you talk? Are you..." Okay? Bleeding out? About to pass out cold? Cursing under his breath at how neither of them are remotely healers, all he can do in these immediate few seconds is drag a barstool across to let Asta try to sit down.
The man at the bar who smells like blood and is wreathed in shadow, the darkness licking out of him like black fire.
Elation and affection start to flush into his expression, right up until he recognises the scent of blood as being too close, too potent, too familiar. It's then that the butcher slumps a bit and Danta is able to see the stitches all but holding his composure together.
Once he might have drummed up a greeting, bright and sprinkled with swagger and deceit until he can grant the other man some privacy, but the bluster dies on his tongue before it ever leaves his lips.
This looks bad.
This looks wicker woman bad, and there's no goddess parting the clouds to kiss Asta better today.
"Everyone get out." The Maverick's voice is soft, almost inaudible against the clamour of the Dusklight, the murmurs and gossip and stares from those who aren't still too wrapped up in each other to notice. The barman hears it though as he emerges from the back, and he starts to immediately clear the main floor. It's enough for Danta to let the rest of the world drop away as he steps around the bar, knocking a glass off the counter as he goes.
"Who was it," he snaps before he can help himself, hand hesitant as it touches to the small of Asta's back. "Don't... don't answer that." A shuddering breath and he tries again. "Can you talk? Are you..." Okay? Bleeding out? About to pass out cold? Cursing under his breath at how neither of them are remotely healers, all he can do in these immediate few seconds is drag a barstool across to let Asta try to sit down.
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.
