[SE] disappear with the night

// allow me to introduce myself //

“You trust me, yes?” The butcher says, shooting a tired but sharp smile over his shoulder toward the Maverick. Most of the trek out this far had been informing him of the varieties of how they would collect firewood back in Whitebrim, much of it boring and probably common knowledge at this point, but with the sled they’re using for hauling the firewood back once they get it, he’s had to explain.

You see, he modified it before they departed out toward the trees this morning and for all the perfectionalist the butcher was, it was a relatively shitty looking sled, like it had been cobbled together with spare parts. What the butcher knows, though, is that the sled will work better than the manufactured ones you could get from the merchants within the Inner Quarter, and he’s felt a little self conscious about the look of it which lead to this entire explanation.

He's bundled in sweater upon sweater with an outer layer of a thick wool trench coat to keep the heat in, gloves to keep his fingers from turning grey, and a beautiful emerald dyed scarf wrapped around his neck – the only splotch of color seen aside from the olive of his skin and the onyx of his horns. Pausing by the trees that would be their victims, he snags one of the axes and hands it to his lover with that same sharp smile. “It will be the quickest way to carry all of this back and we will not have to worry about it the entirety of LongNight.” He promises, voice dripping with the vow.

Astaroth

// i'm the one who pulls all the strings, son //

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

"Implicitly," Danta assures his lover, grinning up at him over the loops of his scarf. Up because of course he's seated himself on the ramshackle sled so Asta can give him a ride out into the Outer Brambles, and even before the other man had gone on a tangent about sledmaking and firewood collecting, Danta had deemed it a perfectly acceptable carriage.

But he lets Asta ramble as much as he needs to in order to alleviate his own anxiety, ensuring to pipe up with questions and remarks to keep the conversation trundling along, despite caring not one iota about the firewood other than to make sure there's plenty of it to keep the Dusklight toasty. As they finally slide to a halt before the trees, though, he finally rises to his feet, brushing a bit of powdery snow from his ruddy leather coat and adjusting his scarf and gloves (both a shade of charcoal today, since his others had been ruined on their hunt with Thal).

"I do not doubt your skill one bit," he purrs as he accepts the axe, hefting it in his hands to test the weight before trudging up to a good looking specimen. "Alright, you're the Halovian here - you'll have to tell me if I'm handling this wood correctly." Tipping the butcher an obvious wink for his trouble, Danta turns back to the tree and starts to strike at it with the axe.

Dantalion

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

// allow me to introduce myself //

Given the nature of the sled and its hobbled together-ness, it really does seem like it’ll work well enough for the wood as proof while it holds the weight of Danta with absolute ease, cutting through the snow and over smaller fallen branches like a warm knife through butter. He likely doesn’t have to convey the point to his lover, but he does anyway, grateful for the interjection into the conversation to keep him going on it.

It makes it easy to get to the woods with feeling as though no time had passed at all.

Once they reach the trees designated, the butcher hands Danta the axe with a small grin. “Mm, darling, you handle wood quite perfectly. You do not need to worry.” He winks, smirking as he collects his own axe, trailing after Danta to watch him start hacking at a tree. He’s got a good handle on it as far as the Halovian Native ™ is concerned, and he steps back, offering playful encouragement until the tree starts to sag – snow falling off in rivers until it collapses with a crack that echoes through the surrounding area.

Asta steps up, here, cleaning and hacking away the branches before he gets started on the meat of the trunk with his own axe. “See? I was never concerned, love.” He touts proudly, bouncing his brows as he steals a glance toward the Maverick.

Astaroth

// i'm the one who pulls all the strings, son //

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

"You say that," Danta purrs, "but if I ever came at your wood with an axe, I daresay you wouldn't be this blase about it." He accepts the compliment nevertheless, refocusing on the trunk of the tree he's decided to attack. And with the butcher's playful encouragement ringing in his ears, it's not long before Danta is calling timberrrrr! and hopping back out of the way of any flurries of snow as it hits the forest floor.

Offering a roguish bow in response to Asta's remark, the Maverick watches with shameless enjoyment as the other man strips away the smaller branches with the ease of someone who once did this instinctively, and although they are both bundled up, it's very easy to imagine the play of muscles in his arms and back and shoulders as he works. Only once there's room for them to both chop the trunk into logs of firewood does he step up beside him, grinning over his scarf.

"You sure you're going to be able to keep this up?" he asks, nodding down at their work. "If you end up going for a rest and falling asleep, it'll be your own fault."

Dantalion

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

// allow me to introduce myself //

“It just so happens you do not need an axe to handle my wood.” The butcher points out with a warm laugh that clouds in front of his face. He settles in to offer encouragement, a little personal cheerleader for the Maverick while he hacks at the tree. He’s out of the way as well, though a brush of snow settles on the top of his dark hair, peppering it like powdered sugar and clinging to the sharp tines of his horns in a cold, frozen layer that makes the tips white.

Then he gets to work, cutting off the branches and working in tandem with the Maverick to shop the tree into logs of firewood, pausing only when the other Ancient steps up beside him and grins over his scarf. “Keep me busy, darling, and I will not require a rest.” He boasts a little proudly – but it’s clear he is trying his best to keep busy and not take a break because of the worry of that.

They hack up enough of the tree to start loading it onto the sled, at least, and he finds himself busy with that as if running off of instinct.

Astaroth

// i'm the one who pulls all the strings, son //

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

"Ah, there goes my idea to introduce serial killer cosplay into the bedroom," Danta says with a dramatic sigh, as if they don't both meet that definition to some extent anyway. Regardless, axe or no axe, they can get plenty of chopping (and jokes about wood, and trunks, and hard things) out of the way while they're out here, and soon enough between them they've reduced the tree down to a pile of firewood and Danta is crunching through the snow to start stacking up the sled.

"Yours are so much neater than mine," he says with a scoff; it's very clear that Asta used to collect firewood as if his life depended on it, where Danta is clearly out here for shits and giggles. And to keep the butcher from falling asleep and becoming a statue in the woods for the rest of Deepfrost.

"I'll start on this one over here," he announces once they've finished the current stack of logs; the trees are relatively immature, making them easy to fell, but it does mean they'll need to work a little longer to get enough firewood. "Are we going to ride the sled back, I wonder?"

Dantalion

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

// allow me to introduce myself //

Serial killer cosplay is one way to put it when the butcher wasn’t actively a well known killer (even if he has been good lately). At least this season he’s been far calmer when it comes to making his threats and enacting on them. So, the two of them continue to get the wood cut and placed in the sled in easy piles – even if it’s quite obvious which ones are his versus the blonde Ancient’s.

“I have had many years of practice, darling.” He teases, shooting his lover a sharp grin over the lip of his scarf before he hunkers down, finishing up hauling the logs into the sled and following after his lover toward the next young tree they intend to fell. He continues to be a little cheerleader (in part to keep him awake and also because he thinks Danta wouldn’t mind the encouragement), before he laughs lightly at the question. “Mm, well, I was intending on hauling it back in my Feirw shift. You are welcome to ride me if you would like.” He hums, shooting a playful glance over toward the Maverick.

Astaroth

// i'm the one who pulls all the strings, son //

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

"Oh, is that why I am getting all the practice today?" Danta wonders with a cheeky smile, not that he minds the encouragement one bit - or the excuse to hack the fuck out of a tree. He's very good at that part at least, and with an echoing crack! throughout the forest, soon enough another trunk goes down, ready to be stripped and reduced to a log pile for them to haul back to the Inner Quarter.

Stepping back to let Asta take over and to give himself a break (at least neither of them are ever at risk of overheating), Danta's eyebrows raise high enough to disappear into his tousled hair, the Maverick clearly thrilled at the prospect. "Don't you make promises you can't keep," he purrs. "Though perhaps I'll take a ride as a crow instead of myself. You'll be hauling enough wood as it is." He winks.

And if the going is too bumpy, he can always take to the sky to soar after Asta instead.

Dantalion

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

// allow me to introduce myself //

“Precisely.” The butcher beams, his grin twisting toward the hint of a smirk with how the corners lift playfully. He moves out of the way in time for the next tree to fall, cascading them a little shower of fluffy, powdery white that clings to the dark of his hair and horns, melting upon his head but freezing solid to his horns.

He takes over, thinking very little of the snow clinging to him and its distance from making him stone, using the exertion of hacking the trunk up into smaller chunks they can split to fill their sled with. He catches the look of surprise in his lover’s face amongst the tousled blonde and barks a warm laugh at the response. “That sounds perfect, darling.” He hums, innuendos and all.

He tightens his jacket around him a bit more, cinching it tighter with the belt portion that’s come slightly loose in how he’s had to bend to collect the pieces of wood, cutting them up enough that they have another small pile to pack onto the sled. “Do you think the cook is making luxere stew tonight?” He asks idly, as if it’s something he’s suddenly craving. Perhaps it’s the richness and the warmth of it that calls to him.

Astaroth

// i'm the one who pulls all the strings, son //

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

"I'll remember that," Danta purrs, waiting for Asta to start hacking the trunk up into smaller logs before coming to join him in the endeavour. Between them they make short work of it, and at least the exercise is keeping their blood pumping, though as they straighten up the Maverick does pause to reach up and brush the snow from Asta's shoulders and out of his hair. He can't do much for his horns with his bare hands, instead conjuring a few wisps of flame to crown the oilslick onyx, melting any ice that has started to form.

"Oho, I'm not sure. If he isn't I'm sure we could ask," he says, tugging the lapels of Asta's coat a little closer as if to make sure no part of him is exposed to the cold, before stepping back to load up the sled again. "Or we could try our hand at making it ourselves, depending on how tired you are when we get back," he suggests. Stew doesn't sound that difficult, after all.

Dantalion

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

// allow me to introduce myself //

He straightens up and pauses from any further movement as Danta reaches up to brush away the snow that’s collected on him, something he doesn’t have to worry about with Danta so much (hopping away as he does when the tree falls to not get snow all over him), perhaps old Halovian habits were making an appearance.

It’s the fire as it wisps and melts the snow against his horns that he leans into, though, a hot caress that the butcher is craving intensely. “Thank you, darling.” He nearly purrs, his gaze bright but cold given the hue of white around them. Instead of honey, a deeper shade of medium roasted coffee greets the vibrant blues of his lover’s.

Content to be manhandled out here as Danta checks his coat a bit more to ensure it’s tight, warmth flares in his chest and body with the added protection and continues to make piles of wood on the sled until he’s satisfied with the amount they have. “Mm, we could, although I fear I may fall asleep before it is done. It takes time to have a good stew.” He lifts a brow with a playful smile before he rolls his shoulders. “Did we wish to go for one more?” Tree, that is.

Astaroth

// i'm the one who pulls all the strings, son //

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

"My pleasure," Danta purrs in response, letting the fire slowly snuff out as he heads away to continue stacking their sled. It's looking pretty full by now thanks to his uncharacteristically meticulous arrangement, ensuring that there's as few gaps as possible and little room for any of the firewood to go sliding away. "Well, then. If there's not any there tonight, I can make sure there's some for tomorrow," he decides with a grin.

Stepping back to tilt his head at their log haul, Danta considers going for another before shaking his head. "I feel like we'd be tempting fate, having you drag three trees home with us," he admits. "One sharp turn and the sled could upend, right? Unless that's what makes this one so special." Winking, he moves in again to secure the firewood with a few lengths of rope, before gesturing to Asta.

"All yours, sugar," he trills, blowing him an obnoxious kiss for good measure.

Dantalion

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

if you could find your way inside
you'd have to find a way to stay alive

“That works, then.” The butcher decides – so long as there was stew at some point, he could manage to wait a little longer. Perhaps tonight’s a night of drinking lots of hot tea (in reality, the one cup he’d make he’d likely fall asleep before finishing it, but he can dream). Amused, the butcher straightens up as he asks whether they were going for another, quietly relieved when Danta shakes his head.

Nodding, a soft laugh leaves him that breaks into a sigh, glancing down at their sled and the perfect stacks of wood. “It should not, though testing fate is something we should not do this season either way, mm?” He sighs a touch dramatically before he spies the obnoxiously blown kiss heading his way.

He makes an over dramatic look of catching it in a gloved hand and pressing it to his heart before he secures the sled and brings out the straps for the front. “Alright, I will need you to hook me into it, but after that we shall be good to go.” He hesitates a few moments at the front of the sled before he exhales a long and slow sigh and the Mighty Astaroth becomes a fearsome, fire crowned deer, black and menacing against the pristine perfect snow. His fuzzy tail flicks as he steps over the leads of the sled, getting into position, and if Feirw could grin, you bet he’d be beaming at the Maverick.

Astaroth

welcome to the show, come show me in

we're born at night, so much of our life

"Normally I'm an advocate for tempting fate at every turn, but you're right. If this sled tips over, I'm calling it good and we can have someone else come back out here to collect the firewood another time," Danta says through a laugh, tucking his gloved hands back into his pockets to keep them warm, not bothering to hide his satisfaction to see his kiss caught and kept.

"Hook you into it, you say?" Grinning at that and looking appropriately wicked, Danta takes another couple of steps back to give Asta room to shift, marvelling as usual at the sight of the fiery stag that replaces him. He's even more resplendent against the bleak white of the snow; a luxere's shadow lurking in wait.

"You're lucky I don't make you into a stew," he quips with a dark laugh, grabbing up the harness to strap Asta into it, careful not to singe his coat or scarf as he ducks around those smouldering antlers.

"Alright, I think you're ready to go," he tells him, giving him a smack on the rump for good measure - and promptly shifting into a gore grow before he can get kicked for the trouble. Perching on the feirw's back (for now) and being careful with his talons, this seems a much faster route home either way.

Dantalion

is just carvin' through the dark