[SE] a bell's not a bell 'til you ring it

you're never gonna get it, I'm a hazard to myself

"I could," Danta admits, breezy and reasonable in equal measure, though as he turns the crystalline bell in the light again it's clear that it's starting to grow on him in his current shape. But what would he do if it broke? "I'd enjoy the noise it made, see if it looked prettier in pieces, and get on with my day." He shrugs. And pay for it if the mood strikes him or the stall owner looks particularly upset, he supposes, but those repercussions are only recently embedded compared to the thread of chaos that runs through him to the quick.

Perhaps it should be an indication of the youth's father when he says he can make all kinds, but alas, until the Sword is mentioned by name (or spotted, lurking and hulking nearby), Danta will remain oblivious. "It would be," he agrees of the souvenir, and makes the snap judgement in the moment to go ahead and purchase the bell in bell-form, handing it to the nervous looking merchant to wrap and box up. "And your dad couldn't make that exact one, I bet, because it's already in your hand."

Logic, Erebos.

"Nah," he says of being native to Torchline, his tail flicking at his heels as he accepts the box. "I run the Hollowed Grounds, but it's better down here away from all the snow sometimes."

Dantalion

I'll break it to you easy, this is hell