[SE] with dirt on your knees and blood in your teeth

// I wish I had a reason //

It's the dead of night before Danta arrives back from the Outer Brambles, by which time the drizzle has turned into a downpour and it hasn't stopped, not even for a moment. As such, he swamps rather than walks into the Dusklight, the main floor as subdued as it gets considering the time, and he grumbles a greeting to the bartender still working as he sidles behind the bar and away into the Backrooms.

Wrestling the door to his office open and shrugging out of his sodden coat, the Maverick hangs it on a coat rack nearby and shoves up the wet sleeves of his shirt, angrily seizing a piece of parchment. Write a poem for me!, said the friendly neighbourhood voice in their head, and given that what Danta has in mind to say really won't invite any friendly attention, he instead scrawls a haiku.

Vox, would you tell me
How do you define peaceful?
Void creatures are dicks.

Snorting and feeling unfathomably proud of himself, his hair has already dripped onto the parchment and smudged it a bit when he straightens up, huffing out a long, tired sigh.

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

While some may have already succumbed to sleep, especially with the quiet lull the Dusklight has taken, the butcher is wide awake. Drifting from their room to the office space of the back rooms, settling in by the fire because he’s sure if Danta returned now as he said he likely would, that he’d be able to hear it when he trekked back in.

He’s not worried, outwardly at least. Internally, he’s a bit of a mess only because of the body dumped on the doorstep. A body he knew. A body taken out by the void and while he was sure Danta was capable of keeping himself safe, he wonders occasionally just whether it would be enough against the foe that is the Family. Especially when Flora and Jack had succumbed once before.

So when he hears the Maverick drift into his office and the wet splatters of water drip from his clothes, the butcher closes the book he’s been half reading, snagging his cup of tea he’d kept warm, and drifts into the Theocrat’s office. He drifts immediately toward the beacon that is Danta, his hand finding his shoulder with warmth before a lick of flame curls through his lovers hair to dry it, ignoring the letter for the moment. “Welcome home, darling. Is everything okay?” He might notice the dark gaze of the butcher scanning him calculating, seeking out any signs of pain or injury.

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

Glancing up instinctively at the sound of his door clicking open, Danta feels his shoulders relax at the sight of Asta, the Maverick offering him a weary smile and stepping away from the desk and the paper slowly becoming sodden from his dripping clothes and hair. The flare of warmth from the other man's hand and the fire that licks up his cheek and into his hair is enough to make him shiver, and he sighs contently despite still looking more or less like a drowned rat.

"Thanks. Sorry I'm late, it took longer to get back from the Brambles than I expected," he says, wiping at his wet face and glancing down at the state of himself. "The rain slows me down, apparently. I'm fine, though, other than wanting to get out of these clothes." No injuries, just the regular exhaustion after a long day and the discomfort of being out in a downpour at night.

"How are things here? I expected you to be asleep, to be honest."

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

The relief of Danta’s reaction to seeing him only bolsters the butcher more, twisting toward him as he guides the flame to dry his lover’s hair. His hip rests against the desk and he glances at the sodden paper briefly to read the haiku before he focuses back on Danta when the answer comes, nodding understandably. “It has a tendency to weigh one down.” He murmurs softly, letting the small smile tug on the corners of his lips.

“They have been quiet. It is still muted since LongNight.” He explains of the Dusklight herself before he shifts toward himself still being awake. “Mm, well, I rarely can sleep without you and I selfishly wanted to ensure you were safe upon your return.” He leans in now, tugging at his sodden shirt. “Were you writing a poem for the worst of Caido’s inhabitants?” He asks, twisting his head toward the wet paper on the desk.

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

Light shifts strangely, casting fleeting shadows across the barren landscape. It’s as if something stands just out of sight, letting you catch only a ghost of its outline. The silence grows thick, smothering. You sense a prying gaze, waiting for you to falter.

---

This does not count as a Random Event for levelling or MP. There will be no further admin/re intervention.

// I wish I had a reason //

Wrinkling his nose as Asta tugs at his sodden shirt and causes the cold, wet fabric to press further against his skin, Danta nonetheless relishes the heat rolling from his body as he leans in. "Mm, I imagine things will be quiet for a while after that." Murder is one thing, but having it dumped directly on their doorstep is a new one, and even the most hardened of Ancients can be shaken by it, evidently.

Speaking of shaken, at the sudden sensation of being watched, Danta glances up sharply and clenches his fist, only relaxing by degrees as Asta mentions his little haiku. "Mm? Oh, heh. Yeah. I was even thinking of sending it," he says. "Kia and I couldn't find anything that looked like it could have done that to Isar," he continues, his voice a touch quieter. "It's a dead end out there, I think."

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

Nodding, because Astaroth assumed the same as well, it’s with a sudden flick of his tail of discomfort as the feeling of being watched occurs again, and he takes a curious look around through the shadows of the room, searching for anything at all that might be amiss.

When nothing comes, his focus is entirely on Danta again. “Hmm.” He says with a soft frown, shaking his head. “It is a shame. It would be easier if we had something to focus on and enact immediate justice… but.” Sighing, the butcher glances back toward the letter. “Vigilance is key, however difficult given it happened over LongNight.” Withdrawing slightly to pinch the bridge of his nose, the butcher exhales a soft sigh of frustration.

“Come, let’s get you dry and warm, mm?” Because he could at least fix this, if he couldn’t help Danta fix what happened over LongNight.

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

Justice is a strange concept for Danta to wrap his head around still, but vengeance? Quid pro quo? That he understands just fine. Either way, Asta's point is a very good one, and the Maverick's shoulders sag with his long sigh. "I figured we were alright, given that the Inner Quarter was safe. But the Family can still get in, and if they're the ones that did this..." Swearing softly and shaking his head, evidently the day has already been several hours too long for him to keep thinking about this.

"Gods, please," he grumbles of getting dry and warm, leaving his letter to be (maybe) posted later and holding out a hand for Asta to lead him out of the Backrooms and upstairs. "Think a storm is rolling in." Alas, they won't get the same panoramic view as when they'd been out in the Levinsward, but the thrash of rain against their windows and the roll of thunder overhead might still be nice. For Danta, anyway; he knows the butcher is not quite as much of a fan of it.

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

Nodding, he keeps his warm hands against his lover’s sodden shirt as if he had the ability to remove it from his clothes. He doesn’t, though, so his hands can only offer their warmth and the occasional brush of flame to try and warm him completely.

It won’t work until he can get him out of the clothes, though. “It would seem we are being targeted, then.” He murmurs softly, his annoyance expertly hidden but Danta would be able to see the cracks. At least the warmth is something to look forward to, something the butcher gladly focuses on as he takes his hand and guides him out of his office, pausing momentarily to drag the fire out of existence from his office, before he guides them up toward their room.

“It’s likely.. the rain has been miserable. Perhaps the sooner it blows over, the better?” He hums, glancing out a window as they pass by. “You will be lucky to not have caught a cold.” He drawls, flashing a playful smile over toward Danta while they take the stairs, and he pauses as he opens the door to let Danta in first.

He’s quick to close and lock the door, drawing the flame in their room to a sweltering heat and light that blots out any flashes of lightning, already reaching for Danta’s shirt hem to hoist over his head.

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

"Or," Danta says softly, and somehow it's worse to think about, "we aren't being targeted. And this is just another cruel thing the Family are doing to let us know they're out there and they aren't going away." And there's nothing they can do about it, apparently. Scowling towards the ground as Asta leads him out of the room, Danta tugs the door to his office shut and trails after him, cold fingers clasped in the butcher's.

Following his gaze out of the window and then scrunching his nose as he heads up the stairs, he can't help but scoff to the other man at the prospect of him getting ill. "I don't catch colds," he announces - he can't remember the last time he'd been unwell where it hadn't involved being struck by lightning or maimed by something or other, anyway.

Still, padding into their bedroom and relishing the stifling heat Asta draws up from the fireplace, Danta peels off his shirt with his lover's assistance and reaches out to snag for a towel once he's free. Drawing up his glamour and dismissing his horns, he spends a moment or so rubbing at his wet hair, peering up only at the first rumble of thunder from outside. "Looks like I got home just in time."

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

It’s the not knowing that really gets them, at the end of the day. And it’s the one thing that drives the butcher insane. He’d prefer to know a reason, if nothing else, but for the moment he has to resign himself to being okay with what they do know. And it’s challenging.

So, he focuses on the Maverick instead. On helping him get out of his shirt and helping with the towel as he dries his hair, taking a moment to scan him without his horns or tail. It’s still such a strange vision that he can’t help but to approach with hands coated in flame, waiting for the towel to lower before he’s reaching to thread those fire tipped fingers through Danta’s golden strands and along his scalp, his spaded tail winding around his lover’s leg. “Do not come crying to me when you do not feel well.” He drawls with a huff of a laugh, his lips quirked into a crooked smile.

As for being home in time, the butcher nods and his smile grows affectionate, curving to cup Danta’s jaw and tilt him up enough for him to capture a kiss, before withdrawing enough to murmur his quiet admission. “I missed you, darling.”

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

Having been doing his best to kick off his boots and unbutton his pants at the same time as he dries off his hair, Asta's assistance comesat precisely the right moment, Danta surrendering the towel to the butcher so he can shiver his way out of the rest of his wet clothes. "Are you saying that you would refuse to take care of me if I didn't feel well?" he asks, raising his eyebrows in playful challenge and leaning into the fingers that press deliciously through his damp hair and against the spaces usually occupied by his horns.

Straightening up after kicking off his pants, Danta is just in time to find his head tilted up further and against Asta's waiting lips, the Maverick humming a mix of surprise and affection as he melts against him. "Mm, I missed you too," he purrs, stepping closer to slip his arms around the other man, letting his fingers glide down the fine fabric of his shirt. "Fun as it was to go out into the wilderness with Kiada, I always find myself rushing back home to you."

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

Snorting as he hoists the towel over his shoulder, he focuses on trying to dry Danta’s hair and massage his scalp with warm fingers as the soft accented sigh flutters from his lips. “I never said I would not help you.” He clarifies, his tone taking on a musically playful sound. “I simply stated you do not get to complain. I will always take care of you.” Each and every time.

Now that the wet clothes are peeled off of Danta’s skin, he draws him close as the Maverick steps closer, the sticky cold and wet portions of his back and shoulders become the butcher’s next focus, hands warm and still fiery as they dry the dampness clinging to him. His tail winds a little tighter, his forehead pressing against Danta’s briefly before he withdraws again to hold him even closer, tucking his head into his neck where the scent of blood and liquor and small traces of smoke cling. “I am glad to be your beacon.” He trills proudly, sure Danta can feel the cocky smirk on his lips.

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

"But I'm so good at complaining," Danta - yes - complains, the Maverick managing to flash a devilish smile up at Asta just before he's being ushered even closer to the other man. Not complaining in the slighest, he grumbles something affectionate and content and nuzzles into the side of the butcher's neck, arms wound loosely around his waist as he leans his weight against him further.

"I'm glad you said that, though," he continues, his voice muffled and the side of his mouth kicking up in a smirk, "because I do feel kind of shitty after being out in the rain for so long."

Inhaling deeply of the scent of blood and smoke and whiskey, Danta shifts just enough to rest his chin properly against Asta's shoulder, his grin audible in his voice. "Like a lighthouse," he says helpfully - that's a sort of beacon, isn't it?

With a shiver running up the length of his spine as the heat from the other man's palms press heat and life back into his bones, he's already trying to persuade them towards the dark sanctuary of their bed.

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //