i am so spooky, i'm the shit

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

Go on a trip for yourself, Asta had said. Get away from the Grounds and the responsibilities and the mud for a while, Asta had said.

Well the mud is fucking here too, you string-bean fuck is what Danta might have retorted if the butcher had accompanied him to King's End. But no, Asta has gone off to Torchline to relax (you know, Torchline? the place with the palm trees and the margaritas?) so it's just the Maverick and the mud and the steady, endless drone of rain as he approaches the House of Midnight.

It's already steaming off him with his irritation as he shoulders his way through the doors, not that it's done much to dry him off given the trek from the Skyport out here. His hair is sodden and dripping, as are his clothes, and as he approaches the front desk to find nobody present, you know he's slapping his hand on the bell until he gets some kind of a response or a reaction.

Opinions so far? Terrible birthday. Zero stars on TripAdvisor.

Dantalion

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

SUNJATA

angel loves to keep me spinning, much too high to see
that all these chains have started thinning & hell is breaking free

So a few things have already gone wrong today – most notably, the nonstop fucking mud and rain that continues to fuck up King’s End despite their cleaning attempts. Such that half of the staff have already called out, some trapped in their homes until they can get rid of the mud to show up, which leaves the rest of his staff to try and pick up double time. Even Sunjata’s found that he doesn’t have enough hands to make everything work on his own and while he was supposed to be manning the desk, the bar needed a restock of something and the bartender couldn’t step away.

Hearing the dingdingdingdingding as if it’s rapid fire, the Flood sets the box of tequila on the counter of the bar with an apologetic smile before man turns to bat and flits through the halls to the front desk. Shifting back into himself at the last minute, he flashes a crooked and apologetic smile to the Theocrat’s way. “Heeeey, Danta. Sorry. Some days are less… gross than others.” He mutters, shaking his head a little before he reaches over to take the Maverick’s bag should he let him. “Sorry it decided to pour on your birthday. Let’s get you to the room so you can dry off, yeah?” Their room, he assumes, given the letter they’d shared not that long before.

For the interim, though, there is a warm dark navy towel offered for the trek up the stairs, embroidered with golden thread to say HoM.

every choice, every lie, demons that he kept inside
angel now that i've stopped spinning, could you come clean?

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

Danta's wrist is starting to cramp for all the wrong reasons as the insistent ring of the bell echoes out into the House of Midnight, and as a fucking bat appears, for a second he looks as if he's going to attempt to incinerate it right out of the air. The transformation into Sunjata at the last moment is what saves him, and Danta lets his hand leave the bell to swipe across his wet face and through his dripping hair.

"It's the same out in the Grounds," he says with a scrunch of his nose, surrendering his bag if only so he can peel off his coat as well, needing the wet weight off it away from his shoulders lest he start to turn grey with the cold. He's still a touch chilly from the trip even as the warmth of the House kisses his cheeks, accepting the towel and following along in Sunjata's wake with a thrashing tail and wet footprints.

"I'd appreciate it, thanks," he mutters. "I'll be staying a couple days if that's all the same to you? I've been told I need to relax." Evidently the high walls of his social mask are very much in place right now, because he seems like he'd rather commit murder than spend the day chilling out.

Dantalion

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

SUNJATA

angel loves to keep me spinning, much too high to see
that all these chains have started thinning & hell is breaking free

“Oh, so you’re not really catching a break, huh?” He says with a chuckle that kind of ends on a sigh, taking his jacket as well to loop it over him. With the towel handed to him, the Flood guides Danta – using his water magic to drag the water from his jacket until it’s completely dry and when they reach the top of the stairs where he doesn’t have to make sure he doesn’t pull a Ronin heh he turns halfway to the Maverick. “You can stay as long as ya need to.”

Hesitating briefly as he leads Danta, his lightning scarred hand lifts to drag the water from Danta’s body and hair, leaving him effortlessly dry before he shoots him a wink and continues until he reaches the door of the room picked for Danta. “Well, the trip here’s probably pretty shitty, but I’m sure we can make the rest of the time relaxing. What’d you wanna do first?” He opens the door, the room mundane looking almost as if it’s the original design before Frey had blessed it – the corner of it a large window that looks out on the muddy, dreary rest of King’s End. “Make it whatever you want it to be, you know the drill.” He grins, letting Danta in first to make the room fit whatever he needs.

every choice, every lie, demons that he kept inside
angel now that i've stopped spinning, could you come clean?

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

"Not really," Danta admits with a lopsided smile; and not just when it comes to the rain either. Surprised to find his jacket taken as well - and even moreso to realise Sunjata is drying both it and him off as they walk - the Maverick lowers the towel in time not to relive a certain demigod's greatest hits down the staircase. No longer cold and sodden, the grey tinge to his skin starts to fade and flush with life once more, Danta letting out a sigh of relief and giving a grateful nod to the Flood.

"Thanks," he mumbles, pausing outside the door for the other man to unlock it, feathering his fingers through hair that's now thoroughly tousled and messy. As for what he wants to do, whilst even a couple of days ago the answer might have been clear and decisive (and part of a list, even), now Danta can only frown into the room and shake his head a bit.

"I'm not sure," he says, stepping inside as if the room might be able to tell him what he's not able to put into words. And it does react, the Maverick instinctively glancing up as the ceiling warps and lowers, as the walls and floor become rocky and the window morphs into something resembling a cave exit, looking out into the fiery glare of the Climb.

In here, though, it's warm and dark and cozy; the ground dips lower into a bed that's more nest than anything, sumptuous with blankets, furs and pillows. A faint scent of smoke and spice lingers in the air, something old and near forgotten that Danta is sure comes from somewhere in his very early childhood.

"I think I might just want to lay down for a bit," Danta mumbles, taking the lead from the room and already starting to peel off his shirt. "Sorry it's not as exciting as you might have expected. You don't have to stay," he tells Sunjata as he unlaces his shoes. "The lightning is in my bag."

Dantalion

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

SUNJATA

angel loves to keep me spinning, much too high to see
that all these chains have started thinning & hell is breaking free

“Anytime.” Sunjata hums to the gratitude that the Maverick offers him for wicking his clothes dry. It’s the least he can do for the shitty time to arrive – but thankful for his company regardless. It wasn’t that often that Sunjata was able to squirrel himself away from the House of Midnight’s duties, but for a fellow regional leader he’s certain he can get away with it for longer.

Letting him enter the room first, Sunjata trails after him as the room starts to take shape. It looks like the Climb, but from a different time. A smaller cave, warm and glittering with heat and comfort, it’s everything that the rest of King’s End isn’t and fuck if Sunjata isn’t already stoked about that prospect.

So he takes in the sweet smell of spices amongst the smoke and after setting down the bags and the jacket in a space he’s sure that the room would make it easy to find should it warp again, turns back to Danta when he’s peeling off his shirt and offering a tired explanation. “Oh, thanks. I’ve got the shavings here, too. I’ll swap ‘em real quick.” He offers, reaching in the bag once Danta’s offered his permission for it – swapping the protective bottle of lightning for the jar of shavings, glittering and promising.

Turning back to Danta, he sends him a lopsided smile. “Hope you don’t mind if I stay? Any excuse to not have to go back downstairs and deal with all that shit is one I’ll happily take.” He admits, reaching up to rub at the side of his tattooed neck. “But, I’ve got hella shifts if you wanna.. I dunno, cuddle or something? I’ve got a panther and a dog or my Pegasus wings.” Maybe that’ll be enough for a good start to the birthday gift.

every choice, every lie, demons that he kept inside
angel now that i've stopped spinning, could you come clean?

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

"Sure thing," Danta says, voice half muffled with his shirt over his head. He tosses it somewhere across the room and kicks off his pants soon after, tail flicking low at his heels as he prowls down towards the bed. Sunjata will be able to make the swap easy enough, finding that Danta's bag is stuffed with what's evidently the first things he set his hands upon in his rooms; there are clothes, sure, but there's also a candle, half a bottle of wine, a couple of origami foxes and one left shoe.

The Flood can make of that what he will, though - the Maverick has already peeled back the nearest fur to disappear into the nest, seizing a pillow to curl around and peeking back up at the demigod as he asks to stay. "So long as you don't mind the poor company," he mumbles, very much considering the idea of cuddling and petting a dog for a bit when his interest piques at the mention of pegasus wings.

"I thought you only had dragon wings," he says, flapping a hand in the equivalent of permission for Sunjata to come and join him. "And do you not enjoy dealing with all that shit downstairs? It's my favourite part of the Dusklight."

Dantalion

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

SUNJATA

angel loves to keep me spinning, much too high to see
that all these chains have started thinning & hell is breaking free

It’s a strange array of things in the Maverick’s bag and he’s half tempted to ask whether or not Danta was missing his right leg (or foot at least, based off seeing only a singular left shoe) but thinks better of it when he glances over to see him disappearing in the nest with very obvious two correct feet.

“Nah, I don’t mind. Can’t be any worse than I’ve been in the past.” He jests, winking over toward the man now hidden in a bundle of furs and blankets like his own little makeshift den. It was sweet in a way that he hadn’t quite anticipated seeing him, a softer side of the Maverick than the usual knives out, daring approach.

He makes the trade and turns back toward Danta, stepping closer as he makes his options available. “Nope. The dragon wings are the best for intimidating, but the Pegasus wings are so soft.” He can’t help but to gush about it for a moment, shedding his shirt and dropping it in the pile along with Danta’s forgotten ones, partially shifting so that the tri-toned wings come to life. Large and with incredibly soft plumage, the portion that connects to his back is a deep navy, almost ashen by the light and orange glow of the Climb, fading to a warmer blue with the tips of the flight feathers ending in an electric teal. A wide array of varying depths of water, if one wanted to tie it in with his moniker.

“See? I just finished molting, too, so they’re extra nice.” He comes closer, reaching the edge of the nest of blankets and extending one wing out for Danta to touch should he wish to see just how soft they were for himself.

every choice, every lie, demons that he kept inside
angel now that i've stopped spinning, could you come clean?

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

"Mm, that's true - I suppose we can call it even now that I swamped into your brothel all tired and sad." Smirking out of the blankets towards Sunjata, Danta gets an elbow under him to half sit up in time for the soft expanse of feathered wings to stretch into the air, catching on the low light of the Climb pouring in from outside. The Maverick's eyes widen a fraction - with a touch of awe, certainly (which Jata is probably used to) but also with the interest of someone who was practically born with wings of their own.

"Oh I bet," he says of the wings being soft - because they definitely look that way, and he tilts his head as the other man draws closer, extending watercolour fan of feathers towards him. Danta raises his eyebrows as if to ask if Sunjata is sure - wings are a sensitive appendage, as they both know - and only once he's received the confirmation does he reach out to brush his fingers along the closest few pinions, inspecting them with the care of a fellow avian.

"These," he says under his breath, "must take an age to preen."

Dantalion

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

SUNJATA

angel loves to keep me spinning, much too high to see
that all these chains have started thinning & hell is breaking free

“I’ll take being even.” Sunjata purrs to Danta with a lopsided grin, catching a glimpse of him in the nest. His wings flare in the process, once he explains that he’s finished molting which allows for the softest feathers so far – fresh and clean and smooth, free of any irritating pin feathers.

It doesn’t take him long to sink into the nest alongside Danta, his wing extended for inspection. He is sure – positive that Danta wouldn’t do anything to hurt them. And besides, if he did do something, it couldn’t be any worse than when his father had snapped his dragon wing. Still, the feathers poof and fluff with the feeling of Danta’s fingers skating over the shades of blues, and he extends one almost out like a blanket of sorts to join the heap of them on the floor. “It takes forever.” He sighs, rolling his eyes as he props his head up. “Usually I can get away with it when I’m doing paperwork.” Does that mean his paperwork is a smidge dusty from the feather dust? Yes.

every choice, every lie, demons that he kept inside
angel now that i've stopped spinning, could you come clean?

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

Shifting to flop and lay back down as Sunjata comes to properly join him, Danta finds the fan of one enormous wing draped across them like a blanket soon enough, allowing him to tease his fingers through flight feathers and soft down alike. A quiet smile curls across his lips, the Maverick glancing sidelong at the other man as they both settle into the den of furs and pillows. "This is a rare treat for me, y'know," he murmurs, weary yet seemingly very content with how things have worked out.

"I can't partially shift, so it's strange to imagine having fingers to be able to preen my wings." Glancing back to the feathers in question, he lets a gentle hand press against it to encourage it to stretch out in full, admiring the play of blue hues and the way the light filters through them. "I usually make my paperwork into origami and leave it at that."

Dantalion

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

SUNJATA

angel loves to keep me spinning, much too high to see
that all these chains have started thinning & hell is breaking free

Shivers and goosebumps trail after the path of Danta’s fingers through his wings, the shafts of the feathers lifting and twitching contently as the Flood settles and shoots the Maverick a lopsided smile. “Is it? I’m happy to add to the blast your birthday’s been so far.” He touts – like he hadn’t just made Danta go through the mud and muck to get here just to settle in a nest of blankets and feathers with a large Pegasus wing as a blanket rather than everything else he’d thought they would do.

The wing, under the Theocrat’s guide, fans out easily – the smaller feathers on the exterior of the wings flaring out darkly and shifting over the larger flight feathers, the vibrant teal on full, glossy, glittering display. “You can’t?” He asks about the partial shifting, almost surprised by it in a way given the horns and tails that were always on display.

He perks at the mention of origami, though, snorting at the idea of it. “How’s that work out for you? My filing system’s fucked so maybe I should start making them into little shapes so I know what they are at first glance.” He snorts, propping his head up on an elbow.

every choice, every lie, demons that he kept inside
angel now that i've stopped spinning, could you come clean?

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

Smiling to himself and encouraging the stretch of Sunjata's wing with the movement of his hand to follow it, Danta lets his palm linger there for a moment, warmth pressed to the gorgeous fan of blues, before he finally lets it go and sinks back against the other man instead. "No - none of us Ancients can," he explains. "That's a trait only for the Attuned, I think. And you, of course." You referring to demigods, he means.

Of all the things he'd expected, Sunjata asking for his advice on his filing system is not one of them, and Danta scoffs a laugh into one of the pillows as he closes his eyes. "You'd be better off asking Kiada - she has to deal with it all. I started by making different shapes for different types of letters, but then I really got into making frogs until Kia told me to stop." Maybe it'll work out better for Jata though, who knows?

Dantalion

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

SUNJATA

angel loves to keep me spinning, much too high to see
that all these chains have started thinning & hell is breaking free

“Huh.” Sunjata hums at the idea that the Ancients couldn’t partially shift. It’s good to know, lest he think he can get away with it with any other Ancients he’s friends with. And so it makes sense, too, why they also couldn’t talk through the attuned bond. All thoughts he files away for later as he indulges in the Maverick’s touch to his wings, however long it lasts before he’s sinking into the Flood himself. His arms slip around him, finding him more like a heat rock at this present moment.

When it comes to the filing system, though, hearing he should talk about it with Kiada mostly has him snorting but nodding, that lopsided smile remaining on his face. A soft laugh leaves him at the idea of frogs, though, and he tilts his head slightly which then has him nestling more into the nest. “Okay, but are they like… the kind of frogs that you can make jump if you press the back of them?” He pauses, considering the idea.

every choice, every lie, demons that he kept inside
angel now that i've stopped spinning, could you come clean?