you're livin' for the rush, for that royal flush, but you take what you can get
Danta watches Asta with the same reverence as the butcher's prayers to their dark lady, quietly fascinated with the play of light across the blood on his face, the way he harvests and bundles away his keepsakes, the meticulous cleaning of his knives from the pack he's brought. "Ah, I see. Well, there's always next time," Danta murmurs; and for right now, he's clearly very satisfied with the hunt, however brief the chase had been.
"They are getting quite good at it, aren't they?" he touts, sounding proud of the Grounds and the little force of law and order they've set up. (Mostly because it's so opposite to what one might expect of a Dygra-worshipping region, but that in itself is chaotic in Danta's opinion). He lets his knees fall open as Asta approaches to kneel before him, eyes closing at the gentle touch of his forehead.
The moment of peace after the frenzy is something he is only very recently learning to let happen, so used to succumbing to further rage and long-buried frustration that this still feels unnatural to some extent. But Asta's presence - warm, grounding and endlessly patient - helps enormously, and he smiles back into the offered kiss. "Thank you," he purrs, though his gratitude is interrupted by a sudden rumble of thunder overhead.
"I did think we had escaped the rain for a bit too long, you know," he scoffs.
"They are getting quite good at it, aren't they?" he touts, sounding proud of the Grounds and the little force of law and order they've set up. (Mostly because it's so opposite to what one might expect of a Dygra-worshipping region, but that in itself is chaotic in Danta's opinion). He lets his knees fall open as Asta approaches to kneel before him, eyes closing at the gentle touch of his forehead.
The moment of peace after the frenzy is something he is only very recently learning to let happen, so used to succumbing to further rage and long-buried frustration that this still feels unnatural to some extent. But Asta's presence - warm, grounding and endlessly patient - helps enormously, and he smiles back into the offered kiss. "Thank you," he purrs, though his gratitude is interrupted by a sudden rumble of thunder overhead.
"I did think we had escaped the rain for a bit too long, you know," he scoffs.
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.
