and the mome raths outgrabe

electing strange perfections
in any stranger I choose

"Shall I tell them to get used to your custom?" Danta wonders, grinning and tilting his head back against the side of the cart to hear the other man's history. It's strange, how even a season ago he could have said with confidence that he hated Astaroth's guts, but couldn't have recalled a thing about the taller Ancient's past. Funny, in a way.

"A tribe of them," he repeats, sounding interested; even that word feels too primitive for the Asta he'd come to know in The Climb. "Why did you go further afield in the first place?" he asks. It feels like a dangerous thing to do, especially given the special dietary requirements of Asta's previous society.

As the spotlight swings towards him, though, Danta can only offer the same candidness in return, however it makes him squirm internally. "Born and raised," he confirms. "Well... born, anyway. I was orphaned early on. Morax got me under the thumb pretty quickly. I was her errand boy, punchbag and everything in between." He wrinkles his nose.

"My bloodlust is pretty tame compared to some of these newer Ancients, though." Tame in that he doesn't feel it so frequently, but it can be intense when it does seize him. "Morax would starve me, so I got used to going without."

Dantalion

you knew who I was
with every step that I ran to you

/// sorry, but you just got in my way
i promise honey, i can feel your pain

“Perhaps.” Asta says with a hint of amusement creasing the wrinkles by his eyes, one that remains when his face shifts into a slight wince as Danta repeats the subject of his upbringing. A low hum confirms that Dantalion had heard him correctly and he shrugs a shoulder beneath the ruddy leather jacket with the quiet probing. “Numbers were dwindling. We had gone through much of the surrounding area and they turned on one another.” He says with a small sigh. “I had come back from scouting to find half of them tearing each other apart.” So he’d left and never come back.

But he didn’t have the tools necessary at first to not make his presence so overwhelming and primitive to the actual towns and cities with rules against that sort of thing. He’d fucked up, and when he’d become an Ancient he’d told himself he could be better. And such began the reign of his attention to his appearance, his learning of proper etiquette. The less assuming one is, the easier it is to thrive.

Danta’s story distracts him wholly, though, his nose wrinkling as he actually does swing his head back toward the Maverick with dark brows pinched and a look of low seething anger. “You shouldn’t have had to endure that. Was she just hoping it’d keep you from fighting back against her?” He asks, despite knowing the obvious that Morax was a piece of shit person (yet also quite fucking strong, which had always pissed him off), but the fact was that they had never really gone without in the Climb. Whether it were wayward people (Astaroth’s favorites), or the creatures that dwelled in the heat or wandered in, they’d never gone without food. So why make him starve?

Astaroth

and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit
does that make me insane? ///

electing strange perfections
in any stranger I choose

Raising his eyebrows in realisation, Danta nods slowly; it makes sense, when he considers the nature of what a cannibal is. "I suppose it's quite a niche food source, if you aren't operating out of a city," he muses, tilting his head. "For what it's worth, I think becoming an Ancient suits you. No one would be surprised if you said you were born one of us." And I won't correct them, he might have added, but he doesn't know if they're that friendly yet.

But perhaps Danta is wrong, based on the anger he can almost feel rolling out of Astaroth. "On the contrary," he says through a laugh, of Morax's motivations. "Have you ever been hungry, since you became an Ancient? I don't just mean oh I better go and hunt something. I mean hungry. Morax kept me that way because it made me more dangerous. And probably because she just enjoyed seeing me suffer."

Either way, out of his mind with bloodlust and void of rational thought, Danta has killed and flayed and eaten things he doesn't even remember, so long as it kept the gnawing ache at bay.

Dantalion

you knew who I was
with every step that I ran to you

/// sorry, but you just got in my way
i promise honey, i can feel your pain

“It is.” He agrees with a wistful sigh – which is why he has had time to perfect how he intends to indulge. Being an Ancient simply made it make sense, but he still needed to do it in a way that wasn’t going to bring trouble to his doorstep. So he found how to make it work – such as his current deal with the clinic here in the Grounds, and deer otherwise. But that’s neither here nor there, as Astaroth snorts and leans back a little. “As far as I’m concerned, I was born that day.” He’d become a different man entirely – sophisticated and brutal when necessary.

But, the anger picks up as Danta continues to explain and Asta tries to wrap his mind around it, shaking his head a touch at the question. “I was always given the option to hunt.” He’d never gotten starved like that, which may or may not mean that the Mighty Astaroth would be so much fucking worse if he was.

He sighs regardless, head tilting a bit as they roll over a particularly bumpy rock in the pathway that jostles them and Asta idly rubs at a thick lump of scar tissue across his chest. “Sure… But why? They sent me off to handle much of the dirty work and be their hunter.” He starts to say before realization dawns and his lips form a tight line. “You were there to handle the bigger things, weren't you?” Ones he was given no information about, but knew from Zac and Rayla that it had been Morax’s prerogative and her duty to handle. And he wasn’t supposed to know a single fucking thing about it.

Astaroth

and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit
does that make me insane? ///

electing strange perfections
in any stranger I choose

Danta can't help but smile at that, and if they'd been drinking, he'd have offered his glass out in a toast. To being born again, or something like that. If he thinks about it enough, perhaps Danta was born again when he awoke from the long slumber. Alas, their current thread of conversation is a lot bloodier, and Danta can't help the way his eyes narrow slightly as he gazes over the egde of the cart; it's jealousy and he knows it, but it's not Asta's fault.

"Bigger things," he echoes with a mirthless smirk. "Sure." Shifting to get comfortable as their ride evens out on the road again, Danta gazes up into the cloudy sky, as if willing it to make sense. "I could tell you I didn't remember, but I'd be lying. I was sent out to handle disputes with other Ancients." So who is the real cannibal between the two of them, honestly?

Dantalion

you knew who I was
with every step that I ran to you

/// sorry, but you just got in my way
i promise honey, i can feel your pain

Asta’s gaze returns back to the path that disappears quickly beneath the cart, glaring particularly at that rock that had caused such a bump. But it vanishes quickly in the dawning realization that settles over Astaroth, looking sidelong at the Maverick as he peers at the cloudy sky. More admissions are made and Asta’s realization only seems to grow bigger, even as his nose wrinkles.

He’d never been the one to deal with the other Ancients. He was simply the one that dealt with the other races. A bounty hunter, of sorts, for those that needed a reminder of the Ancient’s strengths or proof that they were as powerful as they said they were. So he hums a little, before leaning in to bump his bare and torn the fuck up and scarred over shoulder into Danta’s. “For what it’s worth, I hope she suffered.” Whether she turned to stone or died. He’d prefer death for her, but perhaps Danta would be lucky enough to find her statue in the Climb and leave her headless.

“And look at you, now. Dantalion, the creator of the Ancient’s Safehaven.” One of those pale, scarred arms lifts to gesture to the area around them as more of the town comes into view – buildings spread out, yet very clearly lived in and content. All thanks to the Maverick.

Astaroth

and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit
does that make me insane? ///

electing strange perfections
in any stranger I choose

"If I ever find her and she's still alive," Danta mutters, "I'll make sure she does." Statue or otherwise. Scowling at the sky, the Maverick is lost in his own thoughts for a long few moments, before a shoulder comes jostling against his own and he raises his eyebrows, glancing across at Asta. "I'm pretty sure the Climb is still our safehaven," he says, though the whisper of a smile is present on his face nonetheless.

"And who knows - maybe I'll get bored and burn this place to the ground eventually." His shrug is easy and his expression is sunny - such is the state of mind for a man like Danta, and now that he and Asta understand each other a little more, perhaps there might be some understanding behind the Maverick's chaotic motivations.

Soon enough the cart brings them onto a proper road, and Danta nudges the driver to get him to stop; they can probably manage the stroll to The Last Whisper from here.

Dantalion

you knew who I was
with every step that I ran to you

/// sorry, but you just got in my way
i promise honey, i can feel your pain

“Good.” Astaroth says, content to let the Maverick be the one to deal with the fate of Morax. There’s no hard feelings for it either – a strangeness that would typically be evident, but perhaps today has helped them figure out each other a bit more. Figure out how much they actually had in common. And to figure out that the biggest reason they likely were against one another wasn’t even because of themselves, but the people pitting them against one another.

He can see the whisper of a smile regardless, though, and he snorts a little as he settles back in for a moment, his grin returning and shifting sharper and more amused. “Mm, technically, but at least this harbors no memories.” He shrugs casually, until Danta’s follow up comment has a bark of a laugh leaving the other Ancient. “You let me know if you need help, hm?” He asks, waggling his dark brow toward the other man with his own amused twist of a grin.

The cart slows with the Maverick’s nudge, and Asta slips off of it first, waiting for Danta to step off of it before he slips the jacket from his shoulders and folds it quite nicely as he hands it back to the other man. “Thanks.” They’re close enough now that the bonfire can be felt marginally, lending the breeze to be a bit warmer within here for the last part of their walk toward the Last Whisper. And while he typically much preferred to not let the hard scar tissue of his body be seen, well, perhaps it’ll serve as more of a warning for those that wish to do their little comfortable town harm.

His posture is back to its straightness, and he looks every step the man that would otherwise be fully put together, only missing his shirt as he walks alongside Danta like some kind of eldritch bodyguard, tail whipping through the warmer air. “I didn’t say it before, but I do very much enjoy the aesthetic of the Dusklight.” It had hurt to admit anything to the blonde before today, but now that it’s softened he feels it necessary to say.

Astaroth

and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit
does that make me insane? ///

electing strange perfections
in any stranger I choose

"Ah, the memories aren't all bad," Danta says, shifting to hop down off the cart, straightening out his shirt and brushing the dust off his pants. "As a region, I still love the place." And call it trauma nostalgia, but in those rare few hours after performing his duties, after being sated at last, the hot stone and dancing flames of The Climb were heaven to the Maverick. A place where he might let go, where he might indulge every sense and give in to every urge before returning, leashed at Morax's side.

"I just might," he informs Asta, of enlisting his help, and whilst his jacket doesn't require the neat folding that the other man gives it, Danta accepts it with gratitude nonetheless - before promptly shrugging back into it, of course. "Any time," he murmurs. And maybe he even means it.

Leading them to the steps that will take them down to The Last Whisper, the Maverick raises a brow and glances over his shoulder at Asta, offering him a fanged smile for his trouble. "I'm glad you think so," he says, descending into the belly of the Inner Quarter. "The Grounds was very bleak looking, when I first got here. Felt like something needed to change." And, you know, it's a brothel. So it's not like the aesthetic is out of place.

The brothel in question comes into view soon enough, Danta pushing open the doors and holding them open for Asta; within, of course he'll receive the typical reception of the Tall, Dark and Shirtless, and Danta has no intention of telling his workers - or his clientele - to look away.

Dantalion

you knew who I was
with every step that I ran to you

/// sorry, but you just got in my way
i promise honey, i can feel your pain

Astaroth hums a little sound that could be considered an agreement, even if he didn’t quite believe it so. The Climb was great – but for Asta is was great because of the heat and the carnal nature within such a region. Not because of the memories or who and what were there. Asta had always been a lone wolf, in a sense. Did as he was told, then left alone. He’d never truly minded.

At least, until now when the casual companionship he’s found in his best frenemy feels like a fresh wound that he wants to keep poking at just to feel the little excitement it brings having actual conversations with someone who knows what it’s like. Perhaps it’s the same for the Maverick too, but Asta certainly won’t say anything of the like.

Meeting the shorter man’s fanged smile with one of his own that’s turned sharper now that they’re comfortably within the confines of the Last Whisper, Astaroth continues to follow the well worn path now toward the blood red brothel like a beacon in the night, trailing after its purveyor. “You’ve certainly given it a heart, from what I’ve seen.” Another quiet compliment, even as his dark eyes take in the familiar frame of the door of the brothel and what awaits within.

And with Dantalion’s opening of the door for him to step in first, he does that casual duck under the frame to make sure his horns don’t knock into it, returning to his full height and outward appearance in terms of his posture. He exudes the confidence he had before, only this time without the fabric of armor to give him the edge he’s craving for. But it works, whispers spreading through the Dusklight in an attempt to be quiet when it’s actually anything but. He pretends to pay it little mind as he wanders further in, ensuring he's that warning to anyone wishing to cause trouble.

Astaroth

and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit
does that make me insane? ///

electing strange perfections
in any stranger I choose

A heart, beating and bleeding, if the aesthetics are anything to go by, and even without their presence - and the relatively early hour of the day - the Dusklight is up to its usual shenanigans. Granted, as Astaroth enters with Dantalion at his heels, the atmosphere ramps up tenfold, and he can practically hear the beginning of several rumours as he saunters by. "Drink?" he offers the other man, already sidling around to his side of the bar.

"Or would you prefer to dress yourself again first?" he asks, adding his own up and down to the taller man's body, since everyone else is doing it. No one will approach and take their chances, not with him currently engaged in conversation with the Maverick, but the second he's alone there's little doubt that Asta will be appropriately swarmed.

People love scars; what can Danta say?

Shrugging out of his coat and hanging it up on a hook beside the bar, he rolls his sleeves to the elbows and waits for the other man's response.

Dantalion

you knew who I was
with every step that I ran to you

/// sorry, but you just got in my way
i promise honey, i can feel your pain

“After the day I have had, I would love nothing more.” Which Danta would know, given that he was basically the cause of the crisis earlier. He slides into a seat, making it quite clear he doesn’t intend on disappearing to go and put a shirt back on, not finding it worth the effort when he would just go to bed shortly after and have to remove it anyway. And besides, everyone here already can see them. What’s the point in hiding it now? He can already hear the rumors and feel the eyes boring into him.

Though he can’t quite tell whether it’s shock, disgust, or want. He leaves that in Danta’s wheelhouse.

He settles with his elbows on the bar counter, tail curling around the leg of the chair he sits in, keeping his posture relatively tall and straight even if it looks like it tugs at the scar tissue a bit too much (all of things that are hidden when he wears the finery of his clothes). “Could I pester you for one of those chocolate ones?” He asks, tilting his head slightly which causes a dark piece of his hair to fall from where it was carefully settled beneath one of his horns to fall into his face.

Astaroth

and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit
does that make me insane? ///

electing strange perfections
in any stranger I choose

"After the day you've had I'd not stop until I was blind drunk," Danta agrees emphatically, reaching beneath the bar to get a couple of glasses for them, offering a nod to the other bartender and a silent promise to get the latest gossip from the Dusklight as soon as he can.

As for the response of the patrons and the workers? It's want - Danta's wheelhouse knows that explicitly, though there's no shortage of shock and awe there either (which is further translated into lust, if Asta isn't aware). But anyway - since the taller Ancient is happy to sit and provide eye candy, the Maverick will content himself with liquor.

Surprised to hear the request spill so easily from Asta's lips, and having to remind himself that they are not the same two men who last sat here at this bar, he inclines his head yes. "Since you've had a rough time of it lately, sure," he says indulgently, reaching across to obnoxiously boop the other man on the nose - and snatching his fingers back before they're promptly bitten off.

Within a few minutes he's sliding one of those chocolate ones across the bar for Asta, nursing a whiskey in his own glass to enjoy.

Dantalion

you knew who I was
with every step that I ran to you

/// sorry, but you just got in my way
i promise honey, i can feel your pain

There’s a soft snort of agreement, paired with a sigh as Danta agrees – and while the thought is tempting, Asta knows better than to indulge himself that far. He’d said he was sloppy before, now he doesn’t need a reason to prove it. And besides, being in the confines of the brothel seems to be far more comforting than even he wishes to admit, even if he can’t quite guesstimate to the reaction he’s receiving. (Sorry Danta, Astaroth’s oblivious).

Instead, he settles and the request is made, and Asta watches casually and fully does not expect the touch that occurs to his nose, the warm touch of Danta’s finger briefly as its there a distraction from his gut reaction, which occurs a second later precisely as the Maverick’s hand withdraws out of reach and all you can hear aside from the whispers is the sharp clack of his sharp teeth chomping down on nothing but thin air.

He can’t say much, though, even if his eyes are quite focused on the Maverick’s hands while he makes the drink, lingering even still after the drink is slid his way and he relishes in a sigh – his posture crumbling slightly as if the tension is relieved with the first taste of the delicate sweetness of chocolate amongst the throat burn of the liquor. “Quite pleasant.” He murmurs, realizing he’s zoned out and staring directly at the Maverick’s chest, he clears his throat and lets his gaze drift down to the cocktail.

Astaroth

and maybe i enjoy it just a little bit
does that make me insane? ///