seven sins, don't let them in

// Greed won't rest 'til he's crowned as a king //

It was meant as a quick trip – and one that would be quick and easy were it any other season but this one. The snow and the cold, for one, make it so the Ancient moves slower – reluctantly so, despite his best attempts to keep his joints warm and limber. Paired with the cold of the military barracks and the jails around it. It doesn’t help that he’s still recovering from the previous season, and by all intents and purposes he should have just stayed the fuck home.

But, the butcher didn’t. And despite his stubbornness, well, he’s certainly found out the hard way what acting as his usual self might come to with the worst preparedness the butcher has had in centuries. He’d anticipated the offender to be another Ancient, given that was the potential information he had – when it turns out they were nothing more than an attuned mimicking in the hopes that it would make their judgement and sentence lighter.

It hadn’t. And for that, the butcher with his withstanding deal with the guards, offers to take them off their hands, making it easier for the guards in the long run and he gets some enjoyment out of it as well. Only this time, things don’t quite go according to plan. Between the cold and the fact that the prisoner isn’t Ancient as he is, it’s a clear disadvantage for the butcher and one he notes quite quickly when they have very little to slow them down. But between the butcher’s haunt and fire magic and the threaded cane in its whip form, the scuffle lasts longer than he’d like, but it thankfully does end. There’s a cut above his eyebrow, trickling blood slowly, a scratch down his leg that absolutely tore the pants leg, a split lip that he can’t help but to fuck with as he uses his fire magic to keep himself limber enough to rid the evidence, and with immense success with that, the wax lined bag he carries with him feels incredibly heavy. Though it doesn’t help when he has the added weight to get back to the Dusklight.

His hair is a bit of a mess, a scarf covering his mouth that slowly soaks the blood into it alongside the hood blocking out the cold wind. He walks with the bag and cane heavily, leaning on it as though it were more of a crutch than a cane itself once it’s back in its usual cane-form. His steps are slow and the tip of his nose has gone grey by the time he pulls open the doors to the Dusklight. Welcomed immediately with those evading the cold just as he is, he keeps the hood up as he steps through with a mission toward Danta’s office. The bag looks like any other kind of hunt the butcher may have done – bags of bones or antlers or anything else from a bloodlust he hadn’t wanted to go to waste, but ultimately the Maverick would see it’s a celebratory meal. One they don’t get all that often that he’d planned on sharing and not coming home as fucked up as he is now, already sighing to himself behind the smile from his eyes he extends toward the bartenders as he slips by, tail weaving behind him close so that nobody accidentally bumps into it or accidentally grabs it.

Only when he knocks on the door of the office does he finally start to become less gray and more himself, though he still leans heavily on the cane in the process as he opens the door with little fanfare, slipping inside to set the bag down. Pivoting from there, he knows already that Danta will have scented the blood – his own intermingled with the person’s in the bag. So there’s little use in hiding it as he turns to his fiance’s desk, slipping his hood down and unwinding the red stained scarf from his lips, leaning against the cane with both hands as he shoots Danta a smile. “How has it been today, darling?” He asks, because there was very little use in trying to hide his injuries when he’s fairly certain Danta has a flask of healing wine in the desk drawer for situations similar to this.

Astaroth

// From the land to the sea, he'll take all that he needs //

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

Danta, much to the surprise of himself and half the Dusklight, has actually been doing his job this afternoon, such that when the butcher knocks at the door, he has the audacity to sound distracted as he calls for him to come in. Asta will find him perusing a file of papers, seeming unusually focused on them, though the reason why is evident as he sets one of the documents aside. They are dotted with more numbers than letters - stock, accounting, imports, exports and expenses; clearly the Maverick is much better suited to numeracy than literacy.

Only once he's finished reviewing whatever it is on the next paper does he glance up with a sunny smile - one that drops immediately at the state of the butcher. "Gods, what chewed you up and spit you out?" he blurts, dropping the file back to the desk immediately to scoot back out of his chair and rise to stand up. "Do I need to call the Temple?" He assumes not, since Asta is on two feet if not leaning heavily on his cane, and Danta steps aside and gestures for him to take his seat.

"Sit," he urges. "I've got wine in one of the drawers, I just need to find it."

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

// Greed won't rest 'til he's crowned as a king //

The paper as it slides to the side, he realizes are littered with plenty of numbers – and while he knows that Danta isn’t exactly the best when it comes to reading, the sheer amount of math lingering in the margins of the paper slipped off to the side has him impressed. Though his attention flits to the sunny smile aimed his way, only to watch as it falls with the cloud that covers it of Asta’s own making.

The blood is slow from above his eyebrow, but he can feel it try to inch its way down toward his eye, watching as the first words that leave his fiance’s lips shift toward something that chewed him up. His ashen tail tip flicks back and forth in mild irritation before he answers. “An attuned masquerading as an ancient.” He offers, aiming for a smile that only stretches the split lip and causes a fresh stream of blood to bubble to the surface.

He shakes his head at the mention of the Temple, taking the opportunity to steal the Maverick’s seat, because he’s fairly certain that Danta wouldn’t let him deny the seat under the guise of a strong man. So, he moves heavily on the cane toward the seat, sitting down gingerly and resting so his leg rests off to the side. “Take your time, darling. I will survive.” His tone aims for reassurance, even as he reaches up to swipe just above his eyebrow to prevent the blood from dripping down into his eyes. “I brought us dinner.” He hums, like it might help the situation any.

Astaroth

// From the land to the sea, he'll take all that he needs //

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

"That's what you always say," Danta grumbles as he moves away to rummage in the desk drawers, glancing at Asta every now and then to make sure he's not spontaneously bleeding out despite his protests against needing healers at the Temple. "And ah, I see. Is the Attuned masquerading as an Ancient what you happened to bring for dinner?" Smirking now, the Maverick exhales a sigh of relief as he finally comes across the flask in question, helpfully labelled as FOWNTIN WINE (not necessarily because he can't spell that particular word, but there wasn't much space to write).

"He made you work for it, I'm guessing?" Returning to Asta with an arched brow, Danta stands between his knees so he can inspect the cut above his eye and his split lip. "It's cheating to force an Ancient to fight in Deepfrost, I reckon," he mutters, leaning in to press a feather light kiss to his bloody lips, before uncapping the flask and offering it out.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

// Greed won't rest 'til he's crowned as a king //

It is what he always says – and the truth is, he always has. Still breathing, heart still beating, even if he’s sluggishly bleeding out. He’s grateful for the heat of the fire in the room with them, though, and he leans heavily against the arm rest of the chair as Danta puts two and two together and the butcher can’t help but to shoot a playful grin back at him even at the expense of another sluggish drip of blood down his chin, disappearing into his dark beard. “It is. Lovely, no?” He lets his gaze linger on his fiancé as the relief swells through him upon finding the flask of wine, admiration lingering deep in the confines of his dark gaze.

As he returns, though, Asta shifts a little to face him better, to let him be fussed over. “Mm, unfortunately. I thought perhaps it would be easier given similar footing–” if they both were Ancients, that is. “–only to be surprised with a ram shift.” He deflates with slightly pained dramatics, ignoring the flask for the moment to reach up and brush his fingers along the smooth shaven side of his head.

He presses into the kiss gingerly, withdrawing to finally take the flask in his hand, uncapping it and giving it a swig with quiet delight (evident in the way his tail goes from flitting like an annoyed cat to a slow wag). “Gods, this is fantastic.” The butcher hums, feeling the effects of the healing wine start to close up his lip and the wound above his eyebrow, and eventually making its way down to his leg that’s still tender behind the torn pant leg. “Thank you, darling.” He murmurs, capping the wine after another sip just to ensure he’s all set before he’s reaching up to tug Danta down toward him for a real kiss – still bloody, but far less painful.

Astaroth

// From the land to the sea, he'll take all that he needs //

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

"Delightful," Danta purrs, leaning into Asta's touch and letting his hands drop to rest on the other man's shoulders as he waits to see his review of their healing wine. His nose scrunches inevitably, though, to hear about the ram shift, the Maverick carefully tucking Asta's hair back behind his ears and his horns so it doesn't get stained with more blood than necessary. "Well, you certainly learned your lesson, didn't you?" he murmurs, watching with quiet amazement as the other man's injuries start to melt away.

"It certainly is," he agrees, though evidently they're talking about two entirely different things, Danta smiling and toppling forward willingly against Asta's waiting lips. Fire flares to life between his fingers, the Maverick cupping his jaw and brushing a fiery thumb across his cheek, waiting until they part before he burns away the lingering blood on his face.

"My pleasure," he chimes, kissing the butcher a second time before straightening up and looping his arms around him to draw him closer, as if to thaw the lingering cold from his bones. "How is your leg now?" he asks, knowing by the way Asta had been leaning against his cane that it was less superficial than the injuries to his face.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

// Greed won't rest 'til he's crowned as a king //

More than content to be fussed over, Asta’s laugh is gentle and warm when he answers like the stubborn mule he is. “I learned that I must have more information at my disposal next time.” He hums – warmth flickering in his face as the wine begins to work, healing away the majority of his aches and pains, the stretch of the grin on his face no longer splitting his lip.

Diving into the kiss, though, Asta nearly groans at the feel of fire against his face. It’s a siren song that has him leaning toward the Maverick as he withdraws from the second kiss, leaning further toward him with the loop of his arms around him to keep him close – something he absolutely indulges in. With a face no longer sticky with blood, a brief smudge of ash darkens his already olive skin, shifting enough to tug Danta down with him into his lap now that there’s little pain to deal with.

“Much better, darling.” He hums with a sigh of relief, peppering his cheek with a variety of kisses before he’s withdrawing to shrug out of his jacket. “I may even be able to walk without the cane.” His brows lift, feigning the surprise of the possibility of doing such a thing – not that he plans on it with the Maverick sat where he is.

It does beg the question, though, about the numbers on the ledgers sat atop the desk they currently sit at. “Were you working on financials?” He asks, slipping his glamour up so he can press his head in against the other Ancient’s chest.

Astaroth

// From the land to the sea, he'll take all that he needs //

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

Scoffing and rolling his eyes - of course that's what Asta took from the fight - Danta goes willingly into the other man's lap, settling there as if it's where he's always belonged. "We'll have to arrange a more detailed report for any prisoners that enter the jailhouse," he agrees. "Or perhaps just ban you from attempting these sorts of shenanigans when it's cold and you're sleepy." That reminder comes with a gentle nudge from his elbow, though Danta is soon silenced by the assault of kisses against his cheek.

Laughing and playfully swatting at Asta before he's nuzzling in against him, the Maverick relaxes and glances across to the papers as his fiance queries them, humming something non-commital in response. "Sort of?" he murmurs, gently working his fingers into Asta's hair with one hand while the other reaches for one of the papers. "The bar did a stock take earlier, I was just working out what we were getting low on, and then I started looking at other shit." He shrugs and scrunches his nose. "Boring." But necessary, as they both know.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

// Greed won't rest 'til he's crowned as a king //

Already latching onto the idea of a more detailed report, the butcher nearly deflates to hear the ban you, withdrawing from the other Ancient’s cheek to pin him with an exasperated, devastated (wholly dramatic) look. “But darlingggg,” he whines, all rich accent and intentional attempts to tug at his heartstrings. “Dios mio, I will starve.” It isn’t a real complaint, though, evident in how he can’t keep the smile from tugging back on his face, breaking it up with a soft and warm laugh.

He relaxes with Danta in his lap now, though, happily sandwiched between his fiance’s chest and the hand that spreads through his dark hair, tugging away at the knots there as his arms wind around Danta’s middle and connect to keep him from going anywhere anytime soon. Perusing the papers as they’re drawn closer, he hums a little thoughtfully. “Better you than me, Wasp.” He admits, tilting his head up to peer at the blonde with a knowing look. “I have a way with words, not with numbers.” Something Danta could – and should, honestly – be proud of. "Do they look good?" He asks after, given how busy the Dusklight is. He imagines they are, but the financials would be the first sign of something going wrong.

Astaroth

// From the land to the sea, he'll take all that he needs //

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

Barking out a laugh at Asta's dramatics, Danta drops an apologetic kiss to the crown of his head, holding up the hand not threaded into his hair as if to back off from that train of thought entirely. "More fool me for trying to stop you from getting beaten up by a ram pretending to be one of us," he drawls. "Very well, you can keep making your bad choices every Deepfrost. I suppose that is one of the reasons we asked for the fountain."

Glancing back to the papers and thumbing through the others he's been working from, Danta scoffs at the mere idea of him having a way with numbers. "Ah, it all looks fine from where I'm sitting. Sex is one of the biggest exports in the Grounds, y'know." Grinning and shrugging, he abandons the paper to turn back to Asta fully, leaning in to nose into his hair. "Anyway," he mumbles, breathing him in and smiling. "It's good to have you back. I was starting to get far too responsible back here."

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

// Greed won't rest 'til he's crowned as a king //

“In my defense, she was convincing.” The butcher murmurs, whining in such a way that he stops the second he hears Danta concede, looking up at him with a bright grin that seems to suggest he’s quite pleased having won this little debate, bad choices or not. At any rate, the butcher leans in and nuzzles close, focusing on the papers and the ease of which Danta can take them all in.

He hums a note as Danta describes the biggest export of the Grounds as if it were nothing more than trading fruit to varying regions that couldn’t grow it themselves. “Oh, I am aware.” And given the fact that the Dusklight was very rarely empty only goes to show how well of a job Danta’s done with that very fine export.

He nuzzles up into Danta’s affections, though, his arms squeezing around his middle. “We can’t have that.” He drawls playfully, his tail curling around his fiance’s leg. “So, would you like to eat now or later?” He asks, shifting so he can look up at him with bright eyes that harbor a small line of exhaustion from the day and Deepfrost as a whole, but is otherwise willing to do whatever the Maverick wanted now that he’s comfortable in the confines of the Dusklight with no ram shifters around.

Astaroth

// From the land to the sea, he'll take all that he needs //

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

"Mm, I'm sure," Danta says through a smirk, the words almost mumbled against the dark fall of Asta's hair. Now that he has been able to distract himself from stock and calculations and the butcher is no longer bleeding all over his office, it's little surprise that he's thoroughly distracted by the other man's presence. As for whether they eat now or later, one glance down at Asta tells him all he needs to know about his state of exhaustion, and with a softer smile he brushes his lips across the butcher's forehead.

"Later," he decides, fingers slipping from his hair to cup his cheek. "For now let's go and put your victory dinner on ice and warm up a little more. It's always colder back here." He knows why and yet he's still all too willing to blame the monsters that are definitely in Asta's office.

He rises from the other man's lap without fully letting him go, trying to corral him onto his feet as well, as sweetly annoying as he knows how to be.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash

// Greed won't rest 'til he's crowned as a king //

So happy to be the distraction Danta needs, Asta leans into the affections and soaks them up as much as he can, indulgent in the warmth and close proximity of his Theocrat. The soft brush of his lips across his forehead warms him more than the fire in the office could, tilting his cheek into the hand that cups it with an indulgent but no less sharp smile.

Drawn up to stand alongside him, he has no tail to contend with while his glamour is up, and he’s ferried to stand and practically forced to drape somewhat against the other Ancient in all the ways he understands Danta’s little tricks. Not that he will complain in the slightest, though, with his exhaustion not as bad as he imagined it would be, he’s energized perfectly to satiate Danta’s desires. “Mm, you have wonderful ideas, darling.” He compliments easily, snagging the cane with one arm that leaves Danta’s middle while he keeps the other slipped around him in case he gets any ideas on escaping his clutches.

Already his leg feels better, able to stand without trouble from the pain and the cold, enough that he can manage to snag the tied bag of their dinner to be devoured later, and happily lets Danta lead the way for them to warm up. "What is first on the agenda of warming up?" He asks, looking over to his fiance to flash another sharp smile, one still just as sharp for the lack of the glamour.

Astaroth

// From the land to the sea, he'll take all that he needs //

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

More than content for Asta to drape himself around him, Danta makes sure there's nothing left out that could potentially cause trouble if sneaky eyes and fingers were to get hold of it (not that they'd dare come back here) before turning them towards the door. "I do, don't I?" Grinning up at the butcher and letting his fingers drum gently along his hip as they head from the Backrooms and back into the Dusklight, the wash of heat and familiar noise is already enough to start thawing him out.

"First on the agenda is getting dinner in an icebox, which is going to make us briefly colder," he says apologetically, even as he leads them to the kitchens so Asta can deposit his victor's spoils. "Then I'm afraid to say so, but you're looking much less impeccable than usual." He nods down at the tear in Asta's pant leg and the blood speckling his shirt.

"So we'd best change those clothes, mm? I can also arrange a shot of liquor to put the fire back in your chest, if you like."

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash