I told you, you were brave

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

“I do forgive you.” The butcher hums, though whether it’s regarding the playful correction or the issues from earlier, it’s up to Danta to decide. And it’s with slow blinks up at the Maverick as the blood is swiped from his mouth, nodding slowly in agreement to bringing water, that the butcher lets a small smile linger on his lips.

It’s probably for the whole setting himself on fire, to be honest.

His eyes close as Danta presses a kiss to his forehead, and he immediately mourns the loss of the blonde’s warmth in his lap the second it’s gone. But he stands after, with the Maverick’s help, of course. Swaying for a moment before he places a hand on the top of his desk, immediately into the ash left behind. He takes the Maverick up on his offer, though, snaking a non ashy hand around Danta’s middle, leaning into him just enough to be guided out the back.

He finally breathes a deep sigh of a sound when the cool air hits his face — greeted with the scent of lingering heat in the base of the Last Whisper, of paint from being warmed up. He reaches up to brush his hair back with his free hand, leaving marks of ash behind along his forehead. “It was easier to forget how much I had to drink when I was not moving.” He admits, flashing a small sharp smile over to Danta.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"Good," Danta purrs, eyeing the ash that Asta plants his hand into and smirking even as he leans against the butcher to provide whats apparently some much needed support. Wrapping an arm around him in turn and snagging a bottle of water from a stock shelf on the way out, soon they're spilling into the Last Whisper, a few twists and turns bringing them to the main, cobbled street that will take them up and out into the Inner Quarter.

"Mm, you really manage to put it away when you're left alone," he agrees of Asta's drinking, glancing up to see the dark streaks on his forehead, and opting to do absolutely nothing about it for now. (Oh well). "It'd be impressive if you weren't so tall." Winking up at the other man, luckily Danta has some height on him as well, so it's a rather casual stroll they take through the street, rather than some winding path.

Even, so, with the bottle still in one hand, Danta's other sneaks into the back pocket of Asta's suit, and he does nothing to dissuade people from seeing them together tonight.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

Following Danta’s lead, it’s a few twists and turns before the cobblestone leading to the stairs he’s been subconsciously thinking about come into view, and he debates for a moment whether or not he might die to take them up as they walk toward them. But he’d asked to, and he still wants to, so he focuses on Danta’s words to distract him as he puts those particular thoughts behind him to huff a laugh. “It’s because it has such a long way to go.” He absolutely isn’t bulky enough to make up for it, but he has the height. And that’s what he banks on for his answer to a comment that isn’t even a question.

He can feel Danta’s hand slip into his pocket and he feels all that much more bolstered by it, tail sweeping over toward the Maverick’s own to twist together, leaning against him still. And before they know it, the dreaded stairs come into view, and the butcher internally cringes before he exhales a slow breath, picking his steps carefully and slowly to get up them. “I hate stairs.” He decides suddenly, slowly, as if it’s a realization he’s only just had.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"Mm - it just makes it even more impressive that you manage to get so drunk." It's the kindest way of calling Asta a bit of a lightweight, even if it's not entirely true. They both drink more than enough - and often enough - to swing more towards the functional alcoholic side of the spectrum, but whatever. Smirking to feel the other man lean into him further, tail and all, Danta glances briefly at the stairs they need to climb before they start to make headway.

Slow, but steady, as it happens.

"Oh?" He barks out a laugh. "I didn't realise you felt so strongly about them. Do you just hate them when you're too drunk to climb them, or is this a pet peeve I'm just learning about?" he wonders, focusing on not letting Asta pull them backwards or trip them forwards as they make the ascent towards the Inner Quarter.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

“It is impressive, isn’t it?” Unable to read any potential sarcasm within Danta’s tone, the butcher answers him confidently as he picks stair after stair, slowly making his way up them with Danta’s help (and an admission of just how much he hated them to begin with). And gods if the Maverick doesn’t make the butcher have to actually think about his response.

One step, then the next step, the butcher remains silent before deciding on “both.” At least they’re over halfway now, and he focuses hard on making it up the rest of the way without falling down them, especially with how intertwined with the Theocrat he is. “They make my knees hurt.” Comes the hiss of an admission the second they’ve reached the top, leaning heavier into Danta as he tries to catch his breath (whether he’s forgotten to breathe on the last few steps or if the stairs really took the piss out of him, it’s anyone’s guess.)

But they’ve made it! And that’s what matters, right?

Astaroth

say your prayers now

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

That is what matters, and it is impressive, such that Danta is also feeling quite accomplished that they've managed it without any casualties. (Either to themselves, or potentially taking out anyone on the way down if they did happen to fall). Still, he can't help but scoff out a laugh at the other man's admission, leading them to the side of the steps where they can't cause trouble - the steps, not the two Ancients, in case you're wondering - while they catch their breath.

"I won't tell anyone," he promises the butcher with a wink, straightening up at last and uncorking the bottle of water to take a quick sip, before offering it out to Asta. Around them the Inner Quarter is abuzz with activity, the bonfire always drawing plenty of visitors and the Temple looming overhead in the near distance. Finding himself smiling to see it looking so merry, he nudges the other man so they can draw closer to the heat and warmth.

"I don't feel like I spend enough time up here enjoying it for what it is," he says. "I'm always using it as a doorway into the Climb."

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

It doesn’t help that the idea of him falling backwards down the stairs seems comical enough to be accompanied by the lego brick falling noise, but the butcher (and us) never get to find out. Which is for the best, given that he’s lead over to the side of the path so as to not block anyone coming or going and to give him a chance to catch his breath. He’s still catching it while Danta uncorks the water and takes a sip, handing it over where he straightens up, presses his back to the wall and takes a sip of it to get the moisture back into his mouth.

Only by then does Astaroth follow Danta’s gaze, handing the bottle back (he shouldn’t be trusted with it), and easily slips his arm around the Maverick once more as he takes in the bustling activity around the bonfire. It was a notable feat, after all, and the gems that sparkle within it certainly add to the buzz with the way the light glitters off of them, making a variety of hues not unlike the Theocrat’s horns themselves. As such, he’s distracted, and more moth to flame than anything else in this state. And he picks an easy pace, still intertwined with the blonde, to try and reach it a touch quicker. “Could it be that because you built it, the effect is lost on you?” He suggests curiously, casting a glance down toward Danta before his focus returns to the bonfire. “It is quite remarkable.”

Such that the very day that Danta and he had cemented the fact he’d become the Dusklight’s security, he had been admiring it himself, toying with the flames with his fingers. He can almost still taste the souvenirs from the fight with the Torchline sailors that had been vandalizing the Last Whisper. “Of course, I wasn’t going to tell you that at the time you found me beside it. But it is. Truly.”

Astaroth

say your prayers now

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

Corking the bottle as it's handed back to him and leaning into the arm that comes snaking around his waist, Danta matches his pace to Lego Batman Asta until the bonfire is almost on top of them, allowing them to take in the rippling heat and merry blaze. "Maybe so," he admits, tilting his face up and into the warmth radiating out before them. "I suppose going into The Climb where everything is always on fire anyway, it's easy to take it for granted."

At Deepfrost, though, perhaps he'll rediscover his love for the roaring flames. "Well I'm glad you think so, no matter how long it took you to say it," he purrs to the other man, slipping an arm around him in turn and falling quiet for a few moments to enjoy the stillness if not necessarily the silence (since there isn't much of that going around where they are currently). "This is what Torchline was missing, if you ask me." He grins.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

“That and the fact that we cannot burn.” Asta muses, closing his eyes briefly as he embraces the warmth around them, the fire flickering merrily enough that he finds himself leaning a touch toward it as he sways (the world is spinning each time he closes his eyes too long). He opens his eyes shortly after the realization, and he settles comfortably back on his heels, craving the warmth and the touch of the blonde’s arm as it slips around him.

Humming a soft note, the butcher nods, flashing an easy and lopsided smile down toward him. The soft touch to it gives away just how inebriated he is. “I agree.” He purrs, before breaking into a soft laugh. “I wonder how many drunken sailors would fall into it, though.” His soft smile twists to mischief, ignorant of the crowds still milling about as his tail winds around Danta’s leg to steady himself.

Waiting a brief moment just purely for anticipation, the butcher then sticks his hand into the bonfire, far enough that the edges of his rolled up shirt starts to singe and catch.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

More than happy to be the steadying presence that stops Asta from taking a full tumble into the bonfire (he doesn't think the butcher will care about being naked, but completely ruining his outfit might irk him), Danta leans further against the other man. "Oh, dozens, I imagine. Isn't that all the more reason to hope they would have built one?" He grins up at the butcher, aware of the tail winding around his leg and caring very little, tonight, for who might see or what assumptions (correct ones, as it happens) they might make.

Watching with the lazy eyes of a predator as Asta reaches out to plunge his hand into the flames, he's proven quite pleasantly wrong about the butcher and his clothes. Where someone else might have reached out to rescue the rolled shirtsleeve, Danta merely watches the fabric singe and twist, threads disappearing under the kiss of fire. "You'll be catching fire soon if you're not careful," he murmurs, smirking.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

“I tend to prefer my sailors rare, darling.” Comes the quick admission, while he starts the impulsive thought process of sticking his hand into the flame. And he does, once he’s grounded himself, his other hand curling into the back of Danta’s wine dark shirt, uncaring what thoughts anyone around might have or be thinking of when it comes to the two of them.

The fire singes the cuff of his shirt, catching on the threads in a small blue flame that starts to smoke, and the butcher’s grin widens as it catches further. Removing his hand and watching the heat of it affect the view above it, the butcher manipulates the flame to extinguish it from his clothes and to snag the ribbon of it to let it dance in the air. “I’ll be careful,” he playfully drawls, sending the ribbon of fire over to caress Danta’s cheek. “See?” He hums, careful enough not to burn Danta’s clothing but to let the warmth tickle along his skin.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

At this point they couldn't look more together if they tried, though Danta finds it difficult to care as they stand in the delicious heat of the bonfire, flames twisting through the air courtesy of the butcher and heat rippling across their skin. "Ah yes, of course you do. How silly of me to forget," he murmurs, grinning and tilting his head up to better allow the lick of fire to caress his skin. "Mmhm, I see," he purrs, almost wishing he'd considered building a bench or two here; granted they'd likely catch fire or melt, but the principle still stands.

Taking some of the fire Asta has manipulated, Danta lets it swarm over his palm and between his fingers, reaching up to caress the butcher's cheek and through his dark hair. "Is the fresh air and the walk everything you hoped it would be?" he asks, before nodding through the haze of orange and red to some stalls on the other side of the bonfire. "Because if not, I bet one of those places sells cocoa, and I bet they'd spike it for you too."

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

lord help anyone who stands in my way; for I am not merciful, and i am not kind
and i am not afraid to make you wish that i was

Humming another laugh, the butcher sways a touch before his tail tightens around Danta’s leg, flashing a beaming smile to the Maverick. “It is silly of you to forget.” He agrees, wholeheartedly. At least it seems the thunderclouds of his mood previously have improved, so much so that with the question and the theft of his fire doesn’t bother him.

If anything, he’s canine-like with the way he nuzzles into the fiery hand that brushes along his cheek and into his dark hair, dark eyes blinking slowly to feel the caress of heat. Almost, he wants to say immediately following Danta’s question, before the Theocrat mentions cocoa. Spiked, specifically.

And with the idea of it, his shadows practically vibrate with the idea of it, loosening his tail around Danta’s leg as he follows the other Ancient’s gaze. “That sounds divine,” he breathes, perhaps a touch more excited now with the prospect of a sweet drink. Slipping his arm back around him, he leans against him to start the walk around the bonfire. “Do you think they have any peppermint?” It was out of season (unless you’re in Halo, likely) but he can be hopeful about it regardless.

Astaroth

say your prayers now

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

More than content to be the steadying presence Asta needs until sobriety sneaks back up on him, Danta grins to feel the tail tightening around his leg, scritching slow fingers through the other man's hair and letting out a laugh to see him lean into it. "If you insist, I can always just pet you as a fyrhund," he offers. "Though you'll have to wait until after this divine cocoa." Bouncing his eyebrows and turning to lead them around the bonfire - not through it, alas, because they do need to stay somewhat clothed - the Maverick slips his hand back into the butcher's pocket.

"I imagine they will have a stock of peppermint bark," he reasons; despite it not being the season for it, the bark tended to keep, and indeed as they approach the stall, the various flavourings and toppings are all on display. Ordering cocoa with peppermint for Asta and something with a spike of coffee and whiskey for himself, soon enough they have steaming cups in their hands, the smell of chocolate lacing through the air around them.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //