[Training] at the altar of my ego

my peace has always depended on all the ashes in my wake

"Rest assured, we have no intention of being bottom of the pile for very long," Danta says of himself and Astaroth, sure that the taller man would agree with the sentiment if he were present. As Maea continues, the Maverick waits for his fingers to feel warm enough before he peels off his gloves, tucking them into his back pocket and reaching to the top of the mantlepiece where he's kept his assortment of rings.

"Oh?" Tilting his head towards the pale woman as he slips the jewellery back on, he seems exceedingly laissez-faire about his next statement. "Well, kill yourself then."

Waiting until he's adjusted a gemstone just so, Danta barks out a laugh as if realising what he's just said. "Not literally, of course. Just... the old versions of you. Bury them, burn them, put them to rest however feels best. Dygra wouldn't choose the weak, so you've obviously got nothing to worry about."

the maverick

Maea

And I never know what to say

'Til I'm already walking away

The addendum was very very necessary. That line to 'just kill yourself' hit her like a gut punch, better aimed than any of the physical attacks he had flung at her so far. It was as if the bottom of her stomach opened up, the sinking, nauseating sensation so dizzying that she grabbed the fireplace mantle for support.

Then Danta laughed, and though Maea tried to follow suit it was a pale imitation of his casual, easy, entirely unbothered expression. It was followed by actual advice, somewhat to her surprise, but it was that laughter that really highlighted all the ways they were different. And probably why she kept being drawn in towards Danta despite those differences, too. He was just so damned free, wasn't he? If there were ghosts haunting this man they were so thoroughly buried and burned that she couldn't even guess what they were.

Though... something Asta had said made her wonder.

"Did it work for you?" she asked, watching the Maverick from the corner of her eye.

Wanna punch you in the face

But I won't, but I might, but I won't

my peace has always depended on all the ashes in my wake

Glancing sidelong at Maea as she grasps at the fireplace mantle, Danta raises a curious brow, his fingers still curled towards himself to ensure his adornments are just so. He doesn't speak, not since he's already given what he sees as adequate clarification, but the question she fires back at him is unexpected enough to have a glimmer of something sharp and chaotic creeping into his gaze.

"If it had not, I wouldn't be standing before you now," he tells her in a low, conspiratory tone. Granted, Danta is all in all a hypocrite, and although his ghosts are far from his door and his past selves long buried, to say that it has worked without a hitch and that he has fixed himself is, after all, a lie. But Maea doesn't need to know that.

"Perhaps we could give you a funeral," he suggests, all mischief and possibilities.

the maverick

Maea

And I never know what to say

'Til I'm already walking away

Oh. So she was right after all. There really was more to him than the glittery shell. Letting go of the fireplace, Maea turned to face Danta more fully and regarded him with a gaze that perhaps saw more than he might appreciate. But when he didn't elaborate, she decided not to push. Reaching up on her tiptoes she touched his cheek with soft fingers - whether in sympathy or understanding or just because she wanted to was anyone's guess.

"Funerals are depressing," she replied with a faint smile. "I think I would prefer it if you remembered my new birthday." Danta if anyone had to be trusted to make one heck of a party.

Wanna punch you in the face

But I won't, but I might, but I won't

my peace has always depended on all the ashes in my wake

"Sounds as though you have been to the wrong funerals," Danta informs her with a crooked smile. "But fine - if you insist. And when is this new birthday of yours? Today?" The prospect of an imminent party is always welcome to Danta, and he half hopes she'll say yes if only so he can go and prepare some ridiculous and elaborate (and hedonistic, undoubtedly) celebration at the Dusklight.

Only then Maea is reaching out to touch his cheek, a gesture that has him tilting his head a fraction and glancing pointedly away from her. Like Asta's fussing over his attire, the gesture isn't rejected, exactly, though neither is it necessarily enjoyed; Danta tolerates it, because it comes from someone who has crossed the line from mere stranger or acquaintance.

"Shall we go?" He asks with a raise of his eyebrows, before stepping away to fetch his coat.

the maverick

Maea

And I never know what to say

'Til I'm already walking away

"Hm... when did you pull me out of the stone? Flowerbirth?" She retracted her hand and tucked it away in a pocket, perfectly willing to keep her distance if that's what he preferred. "That seems fitting enough to me. But I wouldn't mind hearing about what you do for funerals if it's that different."

Nodding that she was ready to leave, she fetched her own coat from where it had fallen. Falling into step beside him, she considered the benefits of burying the parts you no longer needed. Perhaps she really ought to let him throw her that funeral after all...

At least she would think about it.


{FIN} <3

Wanna punch you in the face

But I won't, but I might, but I won't