sucks to be rich in the tropics, said nobody

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

“I was able to obtain a piece of this.. Void infected vili lace. Dygra is helping me create armor with it.” He says easily, because it wasn’t personal and between the both of them and the evidence spanning his body, the man needs some kind of armor. It just so happens that this one would also be damaging in the sense that he couldn’t get too close to anyone else (which is really not a worry the butcher has just yet).

She rests against him as he explains his feelings regarding the agreement the butcher and the Maverick have, and his arm follows her as she nestles in against his chest, keeping her close while the healing and hot waters do their work. It’s a mutual agreement that it’s different for them, though there had been a time where he did not think it was possible. But he’s glad that it worked out and that they could sit here just like this, even if the topic they speak about is surprisingly heavy.

She tilts her head up and he meets her aqua blues with a quiet confidence nestled into the honey chestnut of his gaze, understanding lingering in the confines of the crows feet as he offers her a softer smile, something just for them. “I would not say it is trusting, truthfully.” He admits a touch ruefully, because he knows it doesn’t help her situation. “I have never once been worried that he may fall in love with someone else. It is… Possessive of me, and likely arrogant, but it is not worry so much as it is jealousy even if I know without a doubt he’s mine.” A brief pause, a tilt of his horned head as he considers how to word it.

“I know him in ways most people do not and never will. There is no one that can come close to how I am when it comes to him. It is the same for me, with him. We have seen each other at our absolute worsts, after all." His arrogance and ego is the majority of the reasons for his confidence. "And when it comes to sex for me, it was never something I indulged in until I left Whitebrim. It does not carry the same kind of meaning to me, I think, that it does for others.” The smile he flashes her way is warm and inviting, an offering for her to ask him to elaborate if she wished to understand more.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

slow down, you're doing fine

Flora’s brows lift high, surprise flickering across her features before gathering into a sharper frown. "Void-infected?" she echoes, fingertips pausing mid-spiral in the bubbles. Her gaze lifts fully to his, concern softening every line of her face. "Will Dygra be able to...undo that when the armour’s finished? Make it safe for you to wear without risking the corruption spreading?" There’s no judgment, only worry, the kind she doesn’t bother to hide from him.

As he explains the difference between trust and confidence—how his certainty is something rooted in history, in scars, in the kind of devotion built through surviving the worst parts of themselves—Flora hums softly. She understands the logic, but not the feeling, not in her bones, having never experienced that sort of thing. Or rather, having tried to weather those waters and finding herself alone at the end of it. "Whatever it is," she murmurs, curls brushing lightly against his chest as she shifts her cheek against him, "I wish I had it."

She lifts one shoulder in a small shrug, eyes drifting down to the play of light in the water. "Kai has never given me any reason to think he wants anyone but me," she admits, voice soft but candid. "But we slipped from friends into...this...so quickly. It just makes me wonder why it couldn’t happen again with someone else, if the circumstances were right." Her nose wrinkles faintly. "Especially if sex was involved."

She nudges him gently at the mention of his and Danta’s long, tangled history, one woven through hardship and resurrection and old pain that only the two of them will ever fully understand. "Which," she adds, tipping her head to look up at him, "is exactly why it was so silly of you to think he'd leave you." Her smile for him is warm, teasing, fond, an affectionate scold softened by steam and closeness.

Then he smiles—warm, inviting, quietly offering her a doorway into something deeper—and she feels her own expression brighten in response. Her lashes flutter up, curiosity lighting her aqua eyes as she traces the curve of his lips. "Oh?" she "What's it like for you?"

Flora

you can't be everything you wanna be before your time

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

“Mm, not entirely.” The butcher says of the villi lace. A sheepish smile crosses his face as he gives her shoulders a little squeeze, because she had helped with part of the quest when he’d needed to spar someone he didn’t want to hurt with no holds barred. “It will likely make me attack whomever is closest to me, so it is a good thing that I prefer to be the center of attention, yes?” He tilts his head slightly, the horns glinting with a bit of light from a droplet that’s condensed on the dark fire obsidian of his antlers.

It drips down the length of the horn to plop easily into his dark and damp hair as he listens to her murmur, his heartbeat an easy rhythm beneath the Doubletake’s blonde curls. “You may one day.” And he hopes it is Kaisel, honestly, even if he thinks that the soldier could do with a little less of the stick up his ass. But she mentions the speed of which they got together and the butcher snorts a little, nodding his understanding. “I do not know if Danta and I would have ever figured it out if you had not blared it at us. We would likely still just be swanning about pretending to be overly protective friends." The thought is amusing now, even if back then he’d been quietly mortified to show any kind of public display of affection.

It doesn’t help that he has his distaste of being touched, lest he touches first – or you’re one of the select few, as Flora is – but then she’s nudging him and the butcher snorts and rolls his eyes with all of the dramatics of someone caught spinning himself in a web that he’s been trapped in for a while now. The answer had always been there. Though, if Danta did want space, the butcher was hopelessly in love enough to give him that. He’d grant him anything he could if it meant he could keep some of him. And he’s selfish enough to be content with it if he had to be.

But he doesn’t, because they are fine thankfully, and with his admission of having the revivify feather, perhaps it will help Danta relax even more when he goes out on his outings where he almost always seems to find trouble.

She latches onto his invitation, though, and he sinks back a bit more into the water, adjusting just so that Flora doesn’t drown with the movement. “Well, growing up the way that I did, sex was essentially the end of the line for the men of Whitebrim in my time. You could either choose to become a scout, as I did, or choose to continue the village bloodlines. If you did the latter, your purpose was fulfilled and you were devoured.” He snorts a little, as if the explanation is precisely why he’d tried to take a bite out of her the first time they delved into it. “So I did not partake until I became an Ancient and by then I tended to take after our matriarchs, I suppose. Though I imagine that the bloodlust does not help.” Tilting his head this way and that, it’s with an accompanying hum that the butcher settles with a sigh.

“It had less than ideal results. So I reverted back to how I was when I was in Whitebrim and it was the least of my worries when it came to my survival.” A brief pause as he squints down at her thoughtfully. “And it admittedly took him a lot of work to get me in a position to do it in the first place, once we had smoothed out our aggressions toward each other once he woke me.” It was not emotional, no longer survival, it's only now that the butcher can sit back and indulge in the safety of knowing he wouldn't hurt Danta too much if things got out of hand (because Danta could hold his leash and held it well) and the release of tension that's bundled up in his shoulders.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

slow down, you're doing fine

Flora’s mouth drops open, not just theatrically, though she certainly leans into the drama of it, but with a genuine little spark of horror that lights up her wide aqua eyes. "Asta," she breathes, nudging his ribs with her shoulder in a scandalised half-laugh, "I’m sure Danta will be absolutely thrilled to hear that you mean to keep throwing yourself directly into danger."

Her gaze catches on the bead of water forming on his twisting horns, watching it slide down the dark curve until it drips into his damp hair. For a moment her fingers twitch with the urge to comb through those black strands, to sweep that little droplet away, to indulge the tenderness that rises so easily with him. Instead she swallows the impulse with a small, warm laugh and lets her hand drift back into the bubbles.

When he mentions that without her interference he and Danta might still be “friends,” she beams up at him, nose wrinkling in delighted disbelief. "Honestly, gods only know how long you and I would’ve kept going for if not for that night," she teases, laughter lilting through the steam. "Thank the gods for karaoke and booze, huh?"

She straightens instinctively when he shifts, and it’s a good thing she does; the gasp that bursts from her would’ve sent half the hot tub up her nose otherwise. She’d known pieces of his Whitebrim upbringing, but hearing it laid out like this—stark, brutal, absurd—makes her jaw tighten with protective outrage on his behalf. "Gods, no wonder," she exclaims softly, her expression folding into sympathy and understanding all at once. If all he'd ever seen was men being killed once they’d served their purpose, of course it shaped how he understood intimacy. She'd always wondered where that specific violent instinct came from in the butcher, and now it all made so much more sense.

Her mouth twitches, toeing the line between not wanting to pry and wanting to pry a little too much, because this is her friend and she loves knowing the pieces that made him who he is. Curiosity wins, as it always does with her. "So...now," she begins carefully, but with a bright spark of interest in her eyes, "with Danta...is it different?" She tilts her chin up, watching him with open warmth. "Can you enjoy it? Does it feel good for you emotionally too, or..." Her lips purse thoughtfully before she finishes, "is it still mostly physical?" And even then she'd seen how he was when he finished in the Hanged Man, though part of her wondered if that had more to do with her presence, and if things weren't different just between the two of them.

Flora

you can't be everything you wanna be before your time

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

The warm laugh burns from the butcher’s throat as she nudges his ribs and offers her scandalized response, a twitch of amusement blooming on his face as he sighs equally as dramatic – though less of the scandal. “I have ways of preventing something awful from occurring.” The butcher informs her a touch flippantly, as though it had been the same answer he’d given Danta when mentioning the revivify feather. That if things went so poorly south that he did succumb to Mort’s Halls that there would be a way to get him back.

It's cocky and arrogant, but it wouldn’t be the butcher without it.

He doesn’t take note of the way she wars with herself to run her fingers through his dark, soft, and wet strands – instead ignoring the droplets as they patter to his scalp and get lost in the black strands as she beams up at him. “Mm, indeed. I do adore that machine still.” He drawls with all the wonder of an old man appreciating a 4K TV.

But then he drops into the history lesson of his upbringing – something that likely makes far more sense for her now, knowing where he’d come from. The times he’d told her that things were different for him, the way he’d tried to avoid it until he could no longer and he’d gone too far that she’d dropped a tide jaguar on his lap. Her reaction is similar to Danta’s – even if the answer had been more stressed trying to explain to the Maverick that he wasn’t interested in the courtesans that had constantly been sent to his door.

At least, unless Danta wanted one of them to disappear. Which he hadn’t, and with that understanding out of the way, before they’d gotten together and fooled around, the late night knocking of his door had stopped.

His horned head tilts, sending more droplets spiraling into his hair as he peers down at her, tail weaving through the bubbles of the hot tub as he indulges in the warmth and healing nature, the bruising to his side getting better with each passing moment. His dark gaze takes her in, one still surrounded by the sea of bruising as she lets her curiosity win. “It is.” Different, that is. He doesn’t have to worry about taking too big of a chunk out of the Maverick because he knows that Danta won’t let him. The most he gets is the bite and for that, the butcher has found it to be enough.

Not that he could bite anyone intentionally without the danger of hurting them anyway, thanks to the razor sharp teeth in his head. So he shoots her a small smirk, one as his voice drops to be shared only between them. “It is so different, in fact, that I am intending on asking him to marry me one day.” It’s a conspirator’s whisper, one he’d thought of off and on with the memory of a conversation with Danta about how he wouldn’t hate such an ordeal. Though, perhaps allowing the ceremony to be private while the after party a blow out, the butcher hasn’t thought that far ahead.

He has, however, designed a ring that’s currently being made.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

slow down, you're doing fine

Flora fixes the butcher with the biggest mmhmm she’s ever produced, widening her eyes at him in a look that says yes, yes, you have your ways, but none of them replace actually reassuring your poor partner, Asta. It’s affectionate, indulgent, and very clearly not her business, however dearly she loves the two of them. She lets it slide with a soft laugh, brushing her curls back from her damp cheeks.

"We’re doing a double date with karaoke," she declares, grinning wickedly. "I don’t care when, I don’t care how, but I’m dragging you both there myself if I have to."

But then Asta is whispering to her and nothing could have prepared her for the words leaving his mouth. Her inhale is sharp and bright and real; not a shred of dramatics to be found. Her aqua eyes fly wide, mouth falling open in pure, unfiltered shock. It lasts only a heartbeat before it bursts into movement; she’s up half out of the water, twisting toward him, and then she’s on him, arms thrown fiercely around his neck with absolutely no thought for bruises or tenderness.

"Shut up, shut up!" she cries into the warm line of his throat, voice bubbling with joy as she hugs him hard enough to ripple the surface of the hot tub. It’s fierce, adoring, and unstoppable; her whole heart thrown at him in one delighted tackle. It takes her a moment to remember he’s injured, and when she pulls back, it’s only far enough to cup his face in her hands and stare into those dark brown eyes that she has always loved far more than she ever meant to.

"Oh my gods," she breathes, beaming brightly. "Does he know? Will it be a surprise? Do you already have the ring?" Her voice is an eager, breathless tumble, every word steeped in unwavering excitement, tears of joy trembling at the edges of her lashes and she looks like she might launch herself at him again at the slightest excuse.

Flora

you can't be everything you wanna be before your time

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

The declaration is met with an even sharper, more amused grin. “On one condition – that you do not tell Kaisel that I can sing. I would like to see his surprise.” He bounces his brows, despite the bruises that still linger on his face – making it almost comical with the black eye that still sits on his face. “Then we have a deal, darling.” He hums, assuming that she’ll agree – because why wouldn’t she?

As the words leave his lips for the quiet comment he makes, he doesn’t expect the vibrancy of which she responds with it – though he probably should, knowing her. The excitement and exuberance of her surprise and delight melt in him, her arms wrapping around him and he’s quietly thankful for the healing waters they’re soaking in for it to not hurt as much as it probably should be.

His arms instinctively go around her, his tail swishing from the flux of the water with the sudden movement, jostled as he hugs her tight to him despite the little blips of pain that leak out of him with it. As she pulls back, he regards her with content, excitement, and utmost adoration for a man they both adored. His eyes are brighter now that they aren’t shadowed with memories and trauma, honeyed and warm as he shakes his head. The tips of his hair against his shoulders spread in the water like a paintbrush as he starts to explain.

“He does not know, no. I intend on keeping it a surprise. After Kiada’s wedding, he decided it may not be as bad as it seemed.” He pauses, tilting his head with a little click of his tongue, his accent dropping a touch thicker. “I never thought it would be a move I would make, either, but somehow it just.. I do not really know, but I think it would make sense. Besides, any excuse for him to wear more jewelry is always a resounding yes.” They both know the Maverick and his affinity for multitudes of gems and jewels, donning them any chance he could get on pretty much any available part of his body if he could get away with it (and he always did, Asta has found out).

“I do not have the ring yet, no. But it is being created as we speak.” Which might also add to the fact that he’d been nearly frantic with the thought of Danta wanting a break from him. After all, the butcher does not want to put him in a prison again. The mere idea of a leash not one that Asta could fathom for his partner. Not anymore, at least.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

slow down, you're doing fine

Flora raises her brows in the most conspiratorial way she can muster, and normally—normally—she wouldn’t even consider lying to Kaisel about anything. But this? This is different. This is delicious. Her grin curves slow and wicked, eyes glittering with mischief as she nods. "Deal," she says, sealing it with a playful flick of her fingers in the water. "And for the record, I want to see his surprise too. I can’t wait to watch his whole face fall apart when he hears you."

Then she’s in his arms without a thought for delicacy, her joy bright enough to eclipse every bruise on his body. She slides half into his lap in her eagerness, curls sticking to her damp cheeks as she says, "Okayokayokay," nodding fast enough to make the water ripple the moment he tells her Danta doesn’t know. She then beams up at him with a fierce, almost giddy solemnity, nodding so emphatically it borders on oath-taking.

As he explains—voice thickening, edges softening—the fondness in Flora’s expression deepens into something unguarded and warm. She bites her lower lip, unable to stop the way her heart squeezes with tenderness hearing him speak so openly about Danta, about the certainty he carries, about how natural the idea seems to him despite everything he once was. The comment about getting the Maverick into more jewellery makes her roll her eyes fondly, because of course that would be a selling point.

But the moment he says the ring is already being made, Flora gasps as if struck. She releases him only so she can press both hands dramatically over her heart, sinking back into her place beside him like a flower folding under the weight of its own joy. Her whole face glows. "Asta," she breathes, beaming so brightly it borders on dazzled. "I’m really happy for you." And she means it with every scrap of her heart; whole and true, shining with love for the man beside her as well as the one he wanted to be with forever.

Flora

you can't be everything you wanna be before your time

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

Her eyes glitter with mischief the butcher feeds off of – her agreement like music to his ears and the second that the deal is said and set, the butcher’s grin brightens so impossibly wide that it seems like it would hurt with the bruising on his face. He lets a warm laugh breathe out of him, soaking in the little ego boost of a trick more often hidden up his sleeve than it is acknowledged and revealed.

But then he’s telling her about how he’s intending on asking Danta to marry him – having not thought of too many details apart from the fact he’s sure once he has the ring in hand, it’ll be a waiting game of trying to determine when would be the best time to ask. Flora, however, sinks back into the hot tub, still pressed against his side but vibrant and stunning in her excitement, the kind that’s reflective despite Asta looking like he’s gone through hell.

The bruising has gotten better the longer they’re in there, though, and he turns partially toward her so he can peer down at her. “I am happy too.” He admits, even if he’d had that panic earlier thinking Danta was craving space. It’s a contradiction, obviously, but with the clarification that sunk down into his bones, he’s hoping not to make that mistake again.

Provided he stops getting himself into trouble, that is.

“And thank you, darling, for this. I am feeling much better.” The dark splotches have lightened quite a bit, and for the most part aside from his face, he looks like he’s nearly put back together.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

slow down, you're doing fine

Flora’s beaming softens into something quieter but no less radiant, the sparkle in her eyes settling into a warm, steady glow as she looks up at him. Even with the bruising still fading from his face, he’s beautiful to her in this moment; content, hopeful, whole in a way she rarely gets to see him and her heart swells with it. "Do you have any plans yet?" she asks, voice lilting with gentle curiosity. "For how you’re going to do it, I mean. Or.." Her fingers drift over the surface of the water, catching little swells of warmth between them. "If I can help at all, just let me know." The offer is bright, earnest, a little breathless with excitement; not just because proposals are magical, but because it’s him and Danta, and she wants their moment to be perfect.

A ripple of thought crosses her mind then, unbidden and soft: Kaisel, his voice low as he’d murmured about futures and possibilities; flashes of recent conversations that had left her warm for hours afterward. The quiet delight that fills her at the idea of marriage, of something lasting and fiercely chosen, brushes through her like a warm tide. But she tucks it aside just as quickly, pushing that glimmer of selfish joy away so she can focus on the man beside her—on his joy, his future, his steady healing.

Her hum is bright and pleased as she leans more comfortably against him, fingertips drifting lazily through the bubbles. "Good, I'm glad," she says softly. "When we get out, there’s tea inside or some dark cherry liqueur inside to further aid with healing."

Flora

you can't be everything you wanna be before your time

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

Plans were something that uniquely characterized the butcher’s methods to a T – but when it came to Danta? Those were much harder to come across. Chaos ensued; plans became spontaneous bursts of whatever the occasion called for. So, when it came to his plans regarding asking the Maverick, well, he’s figured by now that it would be impossible to plan it. “Mm, I have ideas. However, we both know Danta and we both know that I may be waiting for quite some time if I waited until I had everything exactly how I wished it to be to ask him.” He admits with an affectionate hum of a laugh before he shakes his head, sending more droplets raining down into his dark hair from horns that glisten with oil-spill colors of a rainbow’s shadow. “I shall let you know if you can help, though.” When it came to parties and celebrations, he knows just who to talk to. Flora’s were often the best he’s experienced since he’s come back from stone.

He scans her face, noting the sudden spark of affection and an almost faraway glimpse to her face. He knows her well enough, he thinks, to see beneath portions of the Doubletake’s mask, so as she settles in more comfortably against him and offers out all of the good things that await them when the springs is done (he finds he could probably stay here all night if it came down to it, even if he ends up looking like a prune). “Ah my favorites.” He purrs with a sigh of relief, sinking back in the springs to tilt his head up and back to rest against the edge, sinking a little lower in the water until it laps against his shoulders. The pale arcs of the newer scars seem less angry now, silvery and less puffy. Water drips from his cheeks into the dark stubble of his beard, and for all intents and purposes he looks like he could be slumbering, except for the slight crack to his eyelids and the way he glances sidelong at her.

“Now, what do you have planned for Kaisel's birthday party, darling?” He’s nosy but willing to help. It shouldn’t come as any kind of surprise to her, as it's one of his biggest characteristics to those that have helped him.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

slow down, you're doing fine

Flora beams at him with the kind of knowing smile that needs no embellishment, her head tipping in an easy nod. "However you do it," she says softly, certainty ringing clear, "it’s going to be perfect." A laugh slips out of her as droplets scatter down from his horns, and she wrinkles her nose in playful protest even as her eyes stay warm and fond.

She sinks a little deeper into the water, letting the quiet settle between them the way it only ever does with people who feel safe, the steam humming around her shoulders while the jets murmur their low song. When he asks about Kaisel’s birthday, her gaze slides toward him, catching the way his dark eyes remain just barely open, and she answers with a crooked grin that carries more than a little affection. "I was going to throw him a party when I reopened the bar," she admits, voice thoughtful now, fingers tracing idle shapes just beneath the surface. "But progress on that’s been...slow." Her lips twitch, the smile crumpling at the edges as something heavier nudges its way in. "And things are still kind of tense between him and Koa," she adds, trailing off deliberately as she glances up at Asta with one brow raised, silently gauging whether he already knows the shape of that particular storm.

She shrugs, a small, helpless lift of her shoulders before brightening again, because she refuses to let the weight linger too long. "We’d talked about flying over Halo to see the auroras," she says, the idea clearly dear to her. "It was something we planned back when we were still just...pretending we didn't have feelings for one another." Her smile softens, hopeful and gentle. "I thought maybe that could be nice, but I also don't want him to think I didn't put in the effort to throw him a party, you know?"

Flora

you can't be everything you wanna be before your time

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

He hopes that it will be perfect – as perfect as two beings of Dygra could make something. Honestly, the butcher shouldn’t stress it as much as he likely is and will do in the future, but for now he’s content just working to heal his wounds – to keep his head down from getting into any more shit lately just so that way Danta doesn’t find ways to need more breaks from the drama he keeps pulling him into.

It helps to have the focus on Kai’s birthday party, though. And it’s something that Asta focuses on as he peers at her through heavy lids. “I do not know the specifics, but I do recall Koa from your birthday.” And the whole putting names to faces thing they had done before all three of them had vanished into the back for a lovely send off. It leaves it open for her to talk about it and explain that particular drama, though – given how they both know talking about drama is his favorite past time.

As for the shrug, though, her actual plans come to light and he opens his eyes a little wider. “That sounds lovely.” He hums, meaning every word of it. Something sweet and thoughtful, beautiful too with the ever changing colors of the auroras. “You could host a small party if you did not wish for it to be too big, just so he knows he did not get left out?” Asta wasn’t against parties for his birthday, it was more so the fact that the last birthday party he’d had was a surprise, and that is something that’s harder for him to manage.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

slow down, you're doing fine

Flora nods slowly, lips pressed into a thin, unhappy line as the name settles heavier than she wants it to. "Koa is Kai’s cousin," she says quietly, the words measured even as colour creeps up her cheeks, memories flickering far too vividly for her liking. She exhales and shakes her head, curls shifting with the motion. "And he didn’t really think it was okay when Kai and I hooked up the first time, or when we actually started dating."

Her shoulders lift in a small shrug that’s more tired than dismissive. "I've tried to be patient while they work it out," she adds, voice steady but edged. "And I’m letting Kai handle it, because it’s his family and his relationship, but.." She trails off, then huffs softly, frustration finally leaking through. "It feels like bullshit that he’s acting like he gets to own me forever just because we dated for one summer." There’s no bitterness in it so much as weary disbelief, as though she still can’t quite wrap her head around the entitlement of it all, especially after so long.

The weight eases as she hums her agreement, her expression brightening again with the turn back toward celebration. "A small party could absolutely work," she says, nodding, warmth returning. She nudges the butcher affectionately with her shoulder. "And if I do that, you and Danta are absolutely invited."

She lifts her hands from the water, studying her fingertips with exaggerated scrutiny, brows arching as she wiggles them playfully. "Okay," she says with a grin, glancing up at him. "I think I’m officially reaching prune territory." Her fingers waggle again, teasing. "Are you ready to get out yet, or do you want to stay in a little longer?"

Flora

you can't be everything you wanna be before your time