Calling security

- You want me to be yours, -

She'd insisted they come in the back door, not wanting to risk anyone seeing her in such a disheveled state. Even dusting off her clothes as they walked had done nothing for the wrinkles and ash marks. It'd take a thorough washing to rid them of the day, and even longer to rid herself of the day. 

A shower is first on the agenda, and Thal tucks a messy curl behind her horn, feeling the grime layered on it. To others, she may not look that dirty - at least no more than one might expect a pirate to be - but she misses the saltwater feel in her hair and the way the ocean mist softens the fabric of her clothes. Perhaps it's the recent interaction with Maea, but her shirt feels stiff and there's a tightness to her skin that lingers, a sour taste still coating her tongue. Now that her mental burden has lightened, she wishes to cast aside the physical evidence of her momentary weakness, to reignite her usual fire. 

Straightening, she follows Asta down the hall to his old room, her eyes moving with practiced caution over the surroundings. The various doors and hallways have a question rising in her mind, and she tilts her head as she asks, "How many people live here?" Other than him and Danta, it wouldn't surprise her to learn if other staff reside within the establishment purely for convenience. Maea had suggested she'd done as much during LongNight one year - not that it's a comforting thought.

Thalassa

- well then you gotta be mine. -

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

He can oblige her request - and even goes so far as to ensure that no one would stumble across them in their trek to his old room. Left alone, precisely as Thal wished to, the butcher drifts down the hall like there’s purpose in his step. “Not that many, admittedly. Danta and I do, as well as two of the workers and one of the kitchen staff.” He hums, rolling a shoulder in a small shrug before he’s glancing down toward her, flashing her a smile through the breaks in the metal muzzle that glints along his face.

A skeletal key is withdrawn from a pocket, fit easily into the doorknob to open and swing the room wide, allowing her to enter first before he follows her in. “I still keep this one just in case.” He murmurs softly - using it mostly as extra storage for all the things he tended to hoard like a dragon. In fact, the butcher’s room is full of gold glittering trinkets on the mantle of the fireplace he sparks and grows, with a variety of rows of clothes lined up neatly, organized according to color and whether it was summery or wintery, set up right next to the full length mirror in the corner of the room.

There’s a table in the back with a few bones scattered along it, drying out and bleached white in the process by the window, but with the offshoot to the room being the bathroom, the butcher snags a couple of towels to ensure they’re within reach for Thal. “I will procure you some clothes while you shower, if you would like?” He asks, turning his attention toward her.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

- You want me to be yours, -

Nodding her head at the information, she's grateful to know that there won't be any likelihood of running into other people, that likelihood turning to none as he guides them seamlessly through a hallway to the locked door of his old room. The interior isn't what most people might have expected from the Butcher, but Thal smiles as she sees signs of Asta in the meticulously organized crowding of clothes and trinkets. She especially likes the bones laid across the back table, even as she drifts to run a finger along the rack of waistcoats, suits, and other tailored pieces. "Yeah. 'Just in case' places stop selling your size." It's mumbled under her breath, but she flashes Asta a teasing smirk. 

She takes the towels from his hands, giving a shrug of her shoulders in permission. "Okay. I'll just have to trust your fashion sense again." And since this might be one of his few opportunities to dress her without much resistance (or choice) on her part, she's curious to see what he might bring back, or what options he might find amongst the staff. Just short of an obnoxiously short monstrosity of a colored strip of fabric, she's willing to wear whatever's offered. 

Leaving Asta to his task, Thal turns to the bathroom and makes quick work of entering the shower. The temperature is set to liquid lava, the bathroom steaming pleasantly with the heat as she lets the water run through her hair like soothing fingers that pull comfortably at the curling waves. She closes her eyes and lets it wash over her, releasing more of the tension with each breath. For a few minutes, she just soaks in the warmth, letting it rinse away the worries that had refused to stay behind in the Climb. Just to be sure it's gone, she snags at the vanilla soap she finds, running it over her body then through her hair to cleanse it of the ashen scent and bitter betrayal. 

The woman who steps from the shower looks much closer to the swaggering captain, wet hair falling over proud shoulders, a confidence returning to her strut as she dries off. Peeking into the room again, she sees that Asta has yet to arrive with her new clothes and decides that she'd rather not wait around in a towel (it's too inconvenient to hold up). Without a second thought, Thal finds a shirt amongst the racks that doesn't look too expensive, the dark linen simple and casual compared to the others. 

When Asta returns, he'll find her wearing the overly large shirt that sits lopsided on her frame as she takes a closer look at the assortment of bones. They look like they're meant for something, and as she hears him enter, she doesn't glance up. "What are these for?"

Thalassa

- well then you gotta be mine. -

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

He had to have an outfit for every possibility, obviously. Just in case, so that he might be able to ensure he never went without. And sometimes, the butcher was a bit of a hoarder - content to see a fabric he liked and have something crafted from it just because. “I will do you well, darling.” Asta purrs playfully as he departs from the room, letting it snick shut quietly behind him.

While she’s in the midst of her shower, the butcher has curated quite a few decent options of clothing for Thal. Keeping her usual attire in mind, a beautiful black blouse with a plunging V (obviously, it’s a brothel after all), paired with black pants that he’s sure will fit her nicely, all clean and pressed and ready to be worn. Along with it, he has included something with color, however, a different shirt to the usual blouses he’d seen her wear. This one is a navy blue with billowy sleeves but an otherwise snug fit, imagining it would do nicely if she did want a pop of color.

Arriving, he knocks at the door before he enters, stepping in shortly after to find her hovering by the table in the distance, one of his shirts quite large and adorning her figure much like a dress in comparison. And before he has a chance to show her the clothes, her question paints the air between them. “I make chimes.” Asta hums, drifting in toward the table to lay the pants and shirt options out. “A habit from Whitebrim, but one that is quite lovely to hear when the wind breezes through.” The dull clink of bones hung among the mezzanine when their window was open.

“These in particular are finger bones.” The long, delicate kind, unashamed and quite pleased and proud of the options they’ll make. It’ll pair with the luxere antlers nicely, he thinks. “As for these, perhaps they may suit you well?” His hand lowers to hover over the clothes he’d picked out, turning his dark gaze back toward her with a sharp toothed smile.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

- You want me to be yours, -

Her eyebrows raise at his answer, looking at the bones with a new appreciation. The thin, delicate phalanges look like they would make beautiful music in the wind, and she imagines a hollow clacking sound that makes her smile. Nodding her head with approval, she lets out a soft hum. "Mm. I like it. Maybe I can commission one from you for my place." She taps a few of the ivory pieces with a slender finger, curiosity still brimming as she asks, "Do you ever carve into the bones? Like words or designs?" She's sure they're beautiful regardless, but it might add an extra element of style if he did.

Thal looks to the side as he presents the clothes, a pair of black pants and two blouse options: black and blue. He knows her so well. She gives him a pleased smile as she finds his eyes. "These will do." It's a hard choice between the two shirts, so she starts with the pants, sliding them over her hips under Asta's shirt. They fit better than she might have expected, although they're a little long - not that it matters when she tucks them into her boots. She debates strapping her daggers over the top but decides to compromise with only adding her obsidian pair to her thighs. It is a party after all. 

Holding up the two tops, she uses the same excuse when picking the blue blouse. Thal doesn't bother to turn or hide as she strips his shirt for the new one. The sleeves turn out to be a dense lace that billows around her arms pleasantly while the rest hugs her figure. When she finishes the last adjustment, she spreads her arms to show the fit to Asta, the deep sapphire shade making her eyes pop through the dark strands of her hair. "Well? Am I presentable now?" There's a teasing look in her eyes, daring him to say otherwise.

Thalassa

- well then you gotta be mine. -

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

“Oh I would love to add a macabre splash to your home.” The butcher agrees immediately – already imagining that the awning just outside of her porch would look lovely with a long, menacing chime to billow in the wind not unlike the Marauder’s sails. As for whether he’s carved things into the bones, the butcher’s smile twists easily into a sharper smirk. “Quite often. It was a favored past time of mine in Whitebrim. I designed a beautiful hilt to a blade of mine back then. Smooth as ivory on one side while the other harbored a scene of luxere and ursurs.” Sighing a sound akin to his nostalgia, the butcher shakes his head out of it, even while he continues to day dream about it while she changes.

He'd known he’d picked well when she couldn’t decide between them, but as she situates herself, he’s much more pleased to see the pop of color from the navy shirt. Snagging his own and placing it back on the hanger, he gives her a good look up and down before his smile twists behind the muzzle in a more genuine yet still menacingly sharp grin. “Stunning, as a matter of fact.” He corrects her. She’s gone beyond presentable into close to perfect.

“Would you like a particular design etched into your chimes?” He asks – because yes, he’s still absolutely thinking about it – even as he offers his arm for her to take so that he might bring her into the party.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

- You want me to be yours, -

His quick answer elicits a low chuckle, delighted to hear that she might soon have a bone chime to accent the thunderous symphony of Levinsward outside her window. It's even better to hear that he does carve them, her mind trying to picture the dagger he describes or what other masterpieces he might make. Smiling, she finishes dressing as she says, "That sounds beautiful. I wish I could see it." Not being the 'artistic' type herself (other than singing of course), it's something she finds admirable in others, even if she doesn't always value it as a good use of time. 

In her quest for compliments, Asta does not disappoint. She laughs at his correction, already feeling much more like herself. Shooting him a wink, Thal lowers her arms, the sleeves fluttering with the movement. "Good answer." Accepting his arm, she tilts her head at his question, letting him lead them out of the room. "Hmm. Something violent but elegant? Like maybe something with crashing waves or hungry flames?" Her tail flicks idly as they walk down the hall, leaning into him more as she glances up playfully through the curtain of her lashes. "I'll ultimately leave it up to you though. You're the expert."

Thalassa

- well then you gotta be mine. -

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

“I could try to recreate it, but alas the best I can do is show you at the House of Midnight.” As he’d done for Danta for his birthday not that long ago – a fond memory, one that creases the crows feet in his eyes a fraction softer than otherwise.

But then compliments are to be doled out and the butcher is nothing but perfectly gentleman-like as he waxes an easy poetic to sooth any nerves she might harbor. Seeing her wink assures him that he’s done a fine job, and as she takes his arm, his low chuckle is heard gently. “Thank you.” He purrs playfully, guiding her out of his room and ensuring it’s locked before he’s guiding her down the hall next, listening to everything she might wish to be included in the intricate bone chimes.

“Ah, so something that screams you?” He asks, shooting her a knowing glance as they break into the party. Booming was an understatement, from the bar that has constant waves of people returning to it or stealing a seat, to the booths accompanied with multitudes of people – drunk or indulging in other substances (or worker’s bodies), the butcher casts a glance around, lingering briefly on one particular booth that seems more rowdy than the others, where someone has decided to take shots off of another patron’s body.

Guiding her to the dark din of the back, toward the wall where the crowd parts to make room for him and Thal, his tail flicks behind him as his steps seem to land with more purpose. His gaze calculating as he reaches toward a small closet found there to retrieve his cane. “You obviously do not have to spend the party at my side if you wish to mingle.” He informs her, his gaze softening when he looks back down to her briefly, before he takes in the room again.

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap

- You want me to be yours, -

"Maybe one day." It may not be an offer, but she certainly takes it as one; although she doesn't mention that she'd prefer her first visit to the brothel be used for its intended purpose, and she already has a few people in mind who might be interested. 

Acting as if the concept of making the carvings of her bone chime something related to her had never crossed her mind, Thal taps his shoulder like she's giving him praise. "That's a great idea. Maybe you should just carve a very flattering image of me into it." Her sharp grin makes its usual appearance just as they step into the party - the loud chorus of people and music immediately overwhelming her. The cadence of her steps doesn't quite stutter, although she tightens her hold on Asta's arm slightly, unconsciously. 

This had been a mistake.

She's not sure what it is about the loud laughter and tight crowd that bothers her. It's not like her crew is any quieter or any less boisterous on any given day of the week. It's never bothered her before. But she's also never been to one after such an emotional night.

Maybe it's the fact that she'll never have this with Maea. Maybe it's that her heart still feels a little too tender to joke with strangers. Maybe it's that she'd rather be on the deck of her ship, rocking on the gentle waves in the middle of the midnight ocean. Whatever it is, Thal has to work a little harder to slide her mask in place, a deep breath assisting the efforts. 

Following Asta through the crowd, she doesn't spend as much time looking around as she usually would. Her eyes still go through the motions, but they scan more for exits than entertainment, catching only briefly on the body shots before meeting the Butcher's gaze. She releases his arm to let him grab his cane, her tail flicking sharply behind her. "I don't have to, but I don't think I'll find anyone quite as interesting as you." Her cheeky grin doesn't slip, but she knows he'll see the slight tension in her body, the deep emotion in her eyes; so she tries her best not to worry him. He has a job to do, and she'd asked to be here - she might as well enjoy watching him work if nothing else. Shrugging her shoulders, she stays close to him as he moves. "Plus, I know you'd miss me too much. I can't deprive you of your time with me." It's a teasing facade crowned with a smile that she confidently wears.

Thalassa

- well then you gotta be mine. -

we thieves and lovers will keep up our urges to sin, to sin
let your desire be simply acquired within, within

Chuckling lightly, to where his laughter is muted by the roar of the party, the butcher doesn’t seem to mind the idea of trying to etch her into it. Perhaps for one that can go inside the home, because he’s already got plans for the ones that she’s choosing for the porch. It’s those thoughts he mulls over while he guides her into the party, to his usual space where he hovers like a looming omen, darling someone to cause a problem.

The air seems to settle, even, with his arrival – like the threat of him is more than enough to dim the party back into submission. Like those that had contemplated causing problems suddenly found themselves being good.

He leans on his cane and glances over toward her when she speaks, snorting to see her cheeky grin and her response – spotting the tension. Perhaps a few moments of watching everyone be fools would be enough to let her guard drop, but for now the butcher can be a pillar for her to lean on while he focuses on ensuring the party goes on as planned.

“Ah, yes. It is ‘Bring Thalassa to Work’ day.” He teases her, flashing her the sharp grin behind the glinting metal muzzle as his dark gaze slides from the party toward her. They’ll remain like that for some time with idle talking, only one person deciding to try to cause a problem luckily nearby them. Near enough that the butcher need only hover above the table, his shadows casting a menacing look as they warble and shift, slamming down a rattling sound on the table that makes the problem client fall back into line with a smooth and deep warning of what might happen should they act up again.

Returning back to Thalassa, it goes much like this back and forth until the party is finally coming to a close and the butcher can finally slip off the muzzle to indulge in some well warranted drink – ensuring Thalassa has the bourbon she’d liked when she was here last.

- FIN

Astaroth

if you want me all to yourself, then take on the leap