[Training] burn butcher burn

// he's nice, polite, he'll catch you by surprise //

The answer misses all the usual bravado that his fiancé is prone to give even when he isn’t feeling his best. It’s the immediate indicator that he’s far past that point that Asta doesn’t even realize it when he’s gravitating toward him, pushed off the door as the Maverick curls onto his side. He drops to his knees despite the spark of brief pain that blooms there with the drop onto the stone, not hesitating as he reaches for him.

Fuck, is the curse that he thinks of but doesn’t say, trying to be as gentle as he can as the cane remains lying there above where Danta is, limp and lifeless against the stones. “No, no, don’t be sorry.” His voice drops to that Whitebrim tone, the careful attempts at being polite lost for the gentleness and near pleading tone he takes on, as though realizing even more just how much they might have overstepped. And if there’s one thing that the butcher is prone to this particular season, it’s ensuring Danta is safe and protected and happy. He’s plagued, suddenly, with the realization that none of those things are true and each one of them has to do with the request that he had asked of him.

“I am sorry.” He says, shifting to lay beside him on the cobblestones, trying to tug him in against him to solve at least one of the silent little vows he’d made to himself that he’d broken today. "I shouldn't have made you do it."

Astaroth

// a smile so bright, you'd never bat an eye //

when I was a child I heard voices, some would sing and some would scream

"I really thought I would be okay," Danta is mumbling as Asta draws closer, like his reaction had been a surprise to both of them, though given his history perhaps it shouldn't have been. But the Maverick had truly believed it, and now that he's been proven startlingly wrong, it's a mix of guilt and exhaustion and disappointment in himself that chokes through each breath he takes.

Still, as the butcher reaches for him Danta doesn't hesitate to roll into the offered embrace, hiding his face away in Asta's chest and huffing out a long and shuddering sigh as he fights for composure. "You're not hurt any more?" he asks suddenly, peering up to make sure, fingers brushing carefully across the other man's throat to ensure it hasn't been gouged by the serrated edges of the whip.

"I don't want to do that again," he whispers, clutching onto a handful of Asta's shirt.

The Maverick

you soon find you have few choices, I learned the voices died with me

// he's nice, polite, he'll catch you by surprise //

He hears the mumbles as he gets closer to him, but he has nothing to say to help. He also had thought Danta would be okay, perhaps just as Danta had thought he would be okay taking a chunk out of his neck previously. And while it certainly feels like a mistake right this instance, perhaps later the realization of a test in terms of where they’re at with their respective traumas is necessary.

Either way, Danta likely lets his shame and guilt weigh on him more than Asta would ever hold against him as he tugs him into his chest, his hand lifting to press against the back of his head, through blonde strands that spill across the flagstones. “I’m not hurt, love.” He reassures him, loosening his hold only so he can look and see the perfectly fine, darker hued flesh where punctures and blood had sat before. “I won’t ask it of you again.” He quietly vows, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head, his other hand sinking into the back of his fiance’s shirt as he keeps him close.

“We are both physically just as we were when we walked in, I assure you.” Mentally was another story, though, hence the differentiation.

Astaroth

// a smile so bright, you'd never bat an eye //

when I was a child I heard voices, some would sing and some would scream

"Okay," Danta mumbles, and it's in response to it all; okay that Asta isn't hurt, okay that he won't have to do it again, okay that they're both physically just as they had been when they walked into the rage room. And it'll have to be that way, because nothing in the Maverick is willing to give up any ground where they examine this too closely and start to spiral. So it's remarkably easy to sink into the offered affection, Danta burying his face back into Asta's chest, eyes shut to inhale the honey-smoke smell of him.

"You'll still marry me, right?" he murmurs after a long few moments, his words muffled by fabric, his fingers fussing at the butcher's shirt as if it might have gained some creases by his laying on the floor with Danta. He draws back slowly to look up at the other man, eyes a little red, but the tears have thankfully stopped by now.

The Maverick

you soon find you have few choices, I learned the voices died with me

// he's nice, polite, he'll catch you by surprise //

The okay does answer all the variety of things that Asta has said. And without much else to say other than sit there and hold him, keeping him close like he’s got all these fragile, little brittle pieces that he’s trying desperately to keep all contained lest he lose too much of Danta in this quiet moment where the Theocrat could absolutely start to spiral.

And honestly? He’s prepping himself for it the best he can with gentle little strokes, soothing notions of keeping him held against his chest, realizing the nightmare he’d likely sparked by asking this of him so this perhaps wouldn’t be the last time in the next couple of days he’d have to prove to him again that they aren’t back in the Climb.

But it’s the question that takes him entirely by surprise, brows pinching as he looks down at Danta’s face when he withdraws, a small smile blooming on his face as he reaches up with his hands to cup his fiance’s cheeks, the ring on his finger still very much there and prominent as he cradles his face and scans those red tinged eyes that only make the blue of his fiance’s eyes more shocking, more beautiful. “I will always marry you, darling. Always.” He confirms, leaning in to press his forehead to Danta’s, the movement causing the edge of one of his horns to scrape against the stone. He pays it little mind. “I told you that you are stuck with me. Forever.” He’d meant every word of it.

Astaroth

// a smile so bright, you'd never bat an eye //

when I was a child I heard voices, some would sing and some would scream

Truthfully, Danta had expected such an answer from the other man, but gods he'd really needed to hear Asta say it out loud. And as he confirms it and leans in, the Maverick sniffles to himself and manages a soft huff of laughter barely more than a whisper. "Okay, good," he mumbles, one of his hands reaching up to cover the back of the butcher's palm against his cheek. "Just making sure."

Another long and shuddering sigh, accompanied by the brittle scrape of Asta's horns against the flagstones, and Danta finally drags his senses together enough to be able to look at the butcher properly. "The floor is really cold," he mutters, brushing his thumb across Asta's knuckles. "Do you want to get out of here? Because I do."

He doesn't quite peel himself away from the other man to sit himself up, which makes for quite an awkward and tangled attempt to get upright, but Danta is determined. "Do you think that bakery is still open? The one that sells the toffee apple cake?"

The Maverick

you soon find you have few choices, I learned the voices died with me

// he's nice, polite, he'll catch you by surprise //

Warmth floods his hand where he cups Danta’s cheek, blanketed by the other Ancient’s own hand. It’s gentle but grounding in a way that the laughter does that accompanies it. This close, the events of the moments before have all but started to fade temporarily from the forefront of the butcher’s mind, things slowly getting back into place. Danta was safe. He was protected. Perhaps not quite happy, yet, but there was always room to improve it.

“Yeah.” Asta whispers in his thicker accent, a snort leaving him as their eyes meet, nodding slightly with another little scrape to the floor with his horns. He thinks little of it, though, whatever damage he might cause to the room or his horns would be gone the second they opened the room again. It’s a challenge to get up the way that they do, but between the two of them – Danta’s determination, paired with Asta’s always surprising flexibility given his height (likely due to the willowyness of his physique), they sit up and his hands drop, smoothing down his fiance’s shoulders.

He nods at the question of the bakery, his smile turning a smidge cheshire in answer. “Certainly. This is their most profitable time of year.” He starts off before he’s leaning in for a conspirator’s whisper. “And besides, they are known for their Sweet Vampyre Gourd Tarts, are they not?” He touts proudly, despite having zero stakes in how well known the tarts are aside from being a lover of desserts in general.

Leaning in to snatch a gentle and much needed kiss from the Maverick, he withdraws so he can stand – also not parting from Danta but more than happy to manhandle him enough until they’re standing on their own two feet. He snags the cane shortly after, hooking it around the arm furthest from Danta to not spark more worries or memories, and is more than willing to take him to the bakery the second he's ready.

Astaroth

// a smile so bright, you'd never bat an eye //

when I was a child I heard voices, some would sing and some would scream

They get up one way or another, though with Danta thoroughly distracted by the butcher's lips, it's really up to Asta to put him on his feet in the end. By the time they get there he is smiling a little easier at least, the Maverick tucking himself beneath one of his lover's arms and against his side, unwilling to part with him even a fraction more than that. With his Leafchange hormones still raging hard he doubts Asta will mind, and he hums a note of approval that the bakery will still be open and that it's serving their seasonal delicacies.

"We'd better get one of those as well, then," he decides, reaching out to open the door to the rage room and step out into the comforting warmth of the Temple. It's strange that only a few minutes have passed since they first walked in, Danta feeling almost as though they're strolling through a dream, and he glances back over his shoulder a couple of times - and across at Asta's cane - as they make their way back to the entrance. "Maybe some cocoa as well," he mutters, almost to himself.

The Maverick

you soon find you have few choices, I learned the voices died with me

// he's nice, polite, he'll catch you by surprise //

He doesn’t mind the closeness at all – in fact, embracing it tenfold as he holds Danta up against him as they make their way out of the Rage Room. It is a strange feeling – like he can feel the ghost of the bloody collar Danta had given him against his throat, like his hand feels strangely staticky where he’d shredded it trying to slip the whip off. Phantom pains, of course, being made right again with the reset of the rage room. So it sinks in him with exhaustion instead, there on the fringes that’s visible in the way his arm remains tight around his fiancé .

“Agreed, darling.” He hums, pretending as though nothing has happened in the few minutes they were gone. It’s a lie, of course, and a very poor one with the acolytes that eye them as they walk by but wisely keep their distance. At the mention of cocoa, the butcher’s dark gaze drops toward his lover, a soft smile still playing on his lips as he nods. “Mm, yes. I think they have already started their peppermint bark cocoas too.” He hums, already craving the sweetness of it.

It doesn’t take them long to get through the Temple to the large doors, Asta opening them to let them slip through, still not letting him go as they turn the trajectory toward the bakery. “Would you like to go home after or spend a night at the Talism-Inn?” He asks, unsure whether or not Danta wanted the comfort of their room or if he wanted to ride out the night and likely the nightmares in a space it was less likely to be thought of daily.

Astaroth

// a smile so bright, you'd never bat an eye //

when I was a child I heard voices, some would sing and some would scream

Danta's arm winds around Asta in turn, slipping casually into his back pocket as if his palm and his fingers hadn't been torn to ribbons only a minute or so before, and as they duck out of the Temple into the last of the daylight, he sighs out a long, relieved breath. Not just to put some physical distance between them and what had happened, but also that it's finished and over with, and the Maverick nods his ready agreement at some peppermint bark to add to their cocoa. Easier now to think of pleasant and mundane things, at least until his subconscious gets its say later on in the night.

"...I think I'd like to go home," he says after a few beats, surprising himself with his own decision. This had been a different sort of shock to the system compared to Asta's haunt, and the familiarity of the space they'd built together seems more necessary tonight than preserving its peace. "That way we don't have to get up too early tomorrow, either."

Which, depending on how much sleep Danta gets, a late start might be another necessity.

He shakes those thoughts away for now, though, brightening up a bit as they hit the cobbled streets, able to see light spilling from the window and doorway of the bakery. "Will you growl at people if we sit and eat? We can get everything to go if you prefer."

The Maverick

you soon find you have few choices, I learned the voices died with me

// he's nice, polite, he'll catch you by surprise //

“Home it is, then, love.” He hums, content and warm with the feeling of Danta’s hand in his back pocket and the Temple getting increasingly further behind them. The breeze that drifts through has a hint of cold wrapped around it, not enough to truly impact the two Ancients but enough that it feels like a fresh start. Like it’ll take away the slight tingle in all the spaces of his body that had been ribbons not long before.

The breeze catches on the flowy black shirt and jostles the cane slightly as the setting sun filters through with a haze of orange and gold that are at odds with the vibrant light spilling out from the bakery they approach. He scans it a few too many times before he hears Danta’s question, his arm squeezing around him as he shoots him a vibrant and too sharp smile. “No, no. We can sit and eat.” He confirms, overly confident in his abilities but willing to try anything if it helped Danta feel at least some semblance of normalcy.

Reaching the door, the butcher opens it for them and they stride in with ease. A few people sit within, the bakery decked out in oranges, reds, and golds in lieu of the season’s theme. A chalkboard menu sits beside the counter with a cute drawing of cups of cocoa and surprisingly cute vampyre gourds to reveal the more seasonal options. The rest of the menu lingers beside it as the owner of the bakery offers them a bright smile of recognition – wholly unaware of what’s occurred mere moments ago and offers a chipper ’what’re we gettin’ today, loves?’

Astaroth

// a smile so bright, you'd never bat an eye //

when I was a child I heard voices, some would sing and some would scream

"If you're sure," Danta says with a quick smile up at Asta. "If that changes you just snarl in my direction and we'll head out early, yeah?" He feels himself able to breathe easier as they approach the bakery, the scents of clove and cinnamon mingling with the more homely smell of freshly baked bread, and he murmurs a thanks when the butcher opens the door for him.

Unlike the brutal honesty of his response within the rage room, it appears that Danta's ability to fake it 'til you make it has recovered entirely, based on the fanged grin he offers to the owner. It doesn't take him long to order, pointing out a small table tucked away from the others where they'll sit. The owner reads it back to him: two peppermint bark cocoas, with a sweet vampire gourd tart, a slice of toffee apple cake, and some candied orange slices (a spontaneous addition).

"That's everything," Danta confirms, then peers up at his fiance with a smile as sweet as the plethora of desserts he's just ordered. "Lead the way."

The Maverick

you soon find you have few choices, I learned the voices died with me

// he's nice, polite, he'll catch you by surprise //

“You have a deal, darling.” Asta whispers back with mischief lingering in his tone. An attempt to try and keep everything light and easy, of course, one that the butcher thinks he’s succeeded with as they slip into the warmth and deliciously sweet scents of the bakery. He manages a smile to the owner, one that edges toward a little too sharp, but ultimately he remains silent to let Danta do the majority of the ordering all with his arm still around him.

To the small table where they’ll go to sit captures Asta’s attention, the order is precisely everything the butcher had hoped for – never one to say no to all of the sweet options but realizing that Danta likely would get a sugar high to rival his. And perhaps that’s the point – hadn’t he craved sweets after he’d used his haunt on Kaisel? It’s a curious trend that the butcher starts to note but keeps to himself.

Humming a note of agreement, the butcher does guide them through – swift and easily past all the tables even if it seems like his smile retains that menacing sharpness, only letting Danta go the second they reach the table. Letting him sit, he snags the chair opposite of the table to set it beside the Maverick’s own, choosing to sit as close to him as possible – backs to the wall just so he can keep an eye on the rest of the bakery from a good vantage point. “It always amazes me how lovely it smells in here.” He says idly, settling in the seat as his tail wraps around Danta’s chair leg protectively. “The orange slices are a nice addition, by the way.” He hums, letting his dark gaze flit to his fiancé where they soften from the sharpness they'd had since stepping foot in here.

Astaroth

// a smile so bright, you'd never bat an eye //

when I was a child I heard voices, some would sing and some would scream

Warmed by the reminder of what deals used to mean to a man like Astaroth and the gentle in-joke they've become, at least between the two of them, Danta allows himself to be steered through the seating area to their little table. He even manages a soft laugh as Asta starts to rearrange the seating to keep them together and their backs against the wall, but he's hardly complaining as he settles in to sit down.

"Perhaps in another life you might have opened a restaurant," he jokes, flashing the other man a grin and waiting for him to join him before scooting a little closer. "You might have been a fine chef," he adds, opting not to mention what he might have been cooking day to day. His hand drops to rest atop Asta's knee beneath the table, as if to anchor himself to the butcher in turn, and he blinks at the mention of the candied oranges as if having forgotten he'd actually ordered them.

"I figured we could take them home if we don't want them just now," he says with an easy shrug, leaning idly against Asta and only glancing up when their cake and cocoa arrives a minute later, each drink adorned with a sprig of peppermint bark. "It feels as though it should be snowing outside," he says with a smirk.

The Maverick

you soon find you have few choices, I learned the voices died with me