you're livin' for the rush, for that royal flush, but you take what you can get
There will be little left of the corpse other than bone and viscera by the time they are done, and Danta is happy to leave that to the animals and the elements that roam the Outer Brambles. He samples a few pieces that Asta offers his way, but otherwise takes himself off to slouch against a tree nearby, covered in dirt and blood and feeling a warm haze settle over him with the conclusion of the hunt. By the time the butcher is losing himself to it as well, he's settled enough to absently lick the blood from his fingers, fire flaring around him in little motes to keep him from getting too chilly.
"I almost wish he'd run more," he says slowly, voice a little rough, mouth and face stained red. "They taste sweeter when they're out of breath." They probably don't, in actuality, but Danta's bone-deep trauma and the shackles of his past means it tastes that way to him regardless. "We should do this more often."
"I almost wish he'd run more," he says slowly, voice a little rough, mouth and face stained red. "They taste sweeter when they're out of breath." They probably don't, in actuality, but Danta's bone-deep trauma and the shackles of his past means it tastes that way to him regardless. "We should do this more often."
Dantalion
you play your final ace for a pretty face, tastes like scotch and cigarettes
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
