(SE) dancing on glass

the streets are all violent with murderous excitement

“As much as I was used to the snow in my youth, I do not miss it.” Astaroth says, snow crunching beneath his boot as he takes a step after slipping on the brand new coat – still dark red, but with a brilliant dark grey and black streaked fur lined collar that puffs around his neck and out by his gloved hands. The cane is still a staple, needed a bit more so now with the snow the way that it is and the way he seems to glare at it every chance he gets.

It's worse now because of being an Ancient. But at least he seems a bit more put together than the Maverick at his side, dressed in a multitude of scarves and a good pair of gloves, as if it does much to keep the rest of him warm. So, Asta, being the gentleman he is, drapes another purchase made around his shoulders – a fur lined boa of sorts, before they start to step down the street back toward the bonfire. “Are you warm enough?” He asks, tilting his head toward the blonde as a snowball immediately zings toward them, missing them by a wide margin, before the next nails Astaroth right in the side with a thump.

Astaroth

the hunter and the prey are dancing every day

electing strange perfections
in any stranger I choose

"I hate it," Danta informs Astaroth, not for the first time, about the snow. Even under his sleek leather gloves his fingers are cold, and his complaints are muffled by the layers he wears and the scarf(ves) around his neck. Trudging at the taller man's side, if it weren't for the vast amount of work put into the Grounds to get it how he likes it, Danta would honestly consider abandoning his place for this Deepfrost bullshit.

Still, they're almost at the bonfire, so he supposes he can survive (and keep complaining) until then. Glancing up at the weight of something warm and furred dropping around his shoulder, he raises an eyebrow at Asta and smirks. "No," he says, "but maybe there's something else you can do about tha--"

His flirtations are rudely interrupted by being under fire, Danta flinching a little at the powdery snowball that smacks against Asta's side, before rage naturally takes over. "Absolutely fucking not," he grumbles, turning and crouching to scoop up some ammo of his own, launching it at the literal children giggling at them nearby.

Dantalion

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

the streets are all violent with murderous excitement

A low chuckle leaves him at Danta’s complaints. After all, while Astaroth agrees with the sentiment, the Maverick isn’t really helping himself when it comes to protection against the cold. Hence, the fur boa.

But all amusement disappears in a flash as he’s pelted with the snowballs, tail lashing out wildly after the momentary startle, a grimace forming on his face as he shivers for a moment, rounding at precisely the time that Danta’s throwing the snowball back. “For Dygra’s sake.” He hisses out, starting to prep.

Three children start to bolt, giggling all the way around to the next snowbank they try to hide behind. Unfortunately for the taller boy, Danta nails him square in the chest, knocking him off balance before he can find cover, slipping and spinning out amongst the snow.

Asta, in this time, has managed to make his own little snowball, launching it in a sort of curved throw, hoping it’ll drop right behind the cover to smack one of the unruly children on the top of the head, tail still lashing in his upset.

Astaroth

the hunter and the prey are dancing every day

electing strange perfections
in any stranger I choose

"Dygra would be throwing a lot worse than snowballs," Danta growls - as Asta turns and the kids begin to run, the Maverick is also hightailing it behind a nearby building, forced to trudge through the snow much more than he'd like in order to succeed. But hey, he nails one of the children with his snowball, so it's all good, right?

And by the sound of the uproar behind the snowbank, Asta has succeeded as well.

From his hiding spot, Danta is busy making more ammo, and has a decent pile of snowballs ready to fling despite the way his hands are growing numb from it. "Maea said there were Longnight monsters here once," he pants, nipping out of cover to fling a few shots at their opponents. "Beginning to hope they're still around. Might eat these little bastards."

Dantalion

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

the streets are all violent with murderous excitement

“True.” Astaroth growls out, moving the second that he launches his snowball, hearing the high pitched sound of amusement and excitement as the one sprawled out kid crawls behind the barrier and Astaroth slips behind the opposite wall of the Maverick, brows pinched in surprise at how quick he’d made so many snowballs.

He half wants to watch and see if he throws them as quickly too, like Buddy the Elf.

Either way, Asta needs to make his own, so he gets his set up while Danta launches another as a few sail past them into the open alleyway, hearing a chime of cries as another lands and the others swing wide. Astaroth can’t help the bark of laughter that leaves him with the comment, causing him to absolutely get pelted in the chest when he dips around to toss one out. “I suppose we’ll have to see, hm?” He asks, dipping back under the cover of the wall to shake out his coat of the cold, grimacing. “Maybe I should take a stab at being the big bad monster in the night.”

He’s above eating children, but…

Astaroth

the hunter and the prey are dancing every day

electing strange perfections
in any stranger I choose

Asta might be above eating children, but bodies are bodies when they're already dead, right? Right? Anyway.

It's less Buddy the Elf and more Animal from The Muppets, but either way Danta throws his snowballs with the sort of effort that suggests he means real bodily harm on their opponents. (And he does, FYI). Alas, the children seem to think it's all great fun, even when they are pelted in the back of the head or the crotch.

Danta not so much.

"We can both go around and start mauling people," he suggests, out of breath and freezing as an errant snowball catches him across the cheek with enough force to have him tumbling back (a round of raucous laughter sounds from the neighbouring snowbank). "And by people I mean that one kid there," he adds from the ground.

Dantalion

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

the streets are all violent with murderous excitement

Laughing children sparks more annoyance from Astaroth; even as Danta manages to take another out and it spurs on a scream of retreat. Mostly because Danta’s throwing them to hurt, and the kid who got nailed in the crotch isn’t having so much fun anymore. Asta flashes a toothy grin to Danta as he tumbles back, intending to get revenge for the Maverick, and grins a fanged one as it nails the lingering child right against the neck, making him lose his breath in a little squeak.

It gives Asta time to swoop to the Maverick’s side, lingering around the corner as he scans the alley to see them vanish, and Astaroth starts readjusting his jacket back into perfect form, wiping off his coat of the snow. “The terribly mannered offspring have fled.” He grumbles, offering part of his jacket to let the Maverick slip in against him for the warmth should he wish to.

Astaroth

the hunter and the prey are dancing every day

electing strange perfections
in any stranger I choose

Gods, but that sort of dry remark would have had Danta in stitches if he could breathe without the cold trying to needle into his lungs. Alas, all he manages is a wheezing laugh and a shit-eating grin to Asta - victory, clearly. "So they fucking should," he says, grumbling his way into a sitting - and then standing - position with the other man's help. Brushing off his ruddy leather coat with hands that are numb to the wrist by now, Danta suspects that his fingertips at the very least will have turned to stone.

It's that sobering thought that has him nestling straight against the offered warmth, and it's with a shivery huff that he nods down the street towards where the amber glow of the bonfire can already be seen in the distance. "I hate Deepfrost," he informs Asta, as if he might not have been aware of it before now.

Dantalion

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

the streets are all violent with murderous excitement

Helping Danta up is the easy part, even if he immediately shivers to feel just how cold Danta’s hands have become. That’s okay, though, the bonfire is in sight, and he fully intends to shove his arms deep within the flame to warm up further. His tail continues to lash, brushing against Danta’s as they share his warm jacket and Asta guides them back, readjusting the fur boa wrapped around the Maverick’s neck.

“At least it’s only one season out of the rest.” He grumps back, trudging them along in the snow until the bonfire starts to light up their faces. “I need a nap.” He sighs with a low whine, arm tightening around Danta where they share the coat, scanning down each alleyway as if there are more threats awaiting them.

Astaroth

the hunter and the prey are dancing every day

electing strange perfections
in any stranger I choose

"Mm, next Deepfrost I'm not going out unless it's back to Torchline, or to The Climb," Danta decides, happy to let Asta lead the way while he focuses on being irritable and keeping one foot in front of the other, leaning against the other Ancient as they walk. His shivering is a good sign at least, though truth be told Danta has never really been cold enough to start turning to stone, so it's not as though he knows what to look out for.

Finally, at least, they are close enough to the bonfire that he straightens up and away from his fellow Ancient, rolling his shoulder and hurrying forward. "You and me both," he mutters. "Let's get done here and go back home." Yanking off his gloves with clumsy fingers (fingers that are a startling shade of grey-black, he might add) and shoving up his sleeves to the elbow, as soon as the flames are within reach, Danta plunges his hands into them, basking in the warmth.

Dantalion

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

the streets are all violent with murderous excitement

“That sounds perfect.” Asta drawls, holding onto Danta as he shivers and they finally get within the bonfires warmth. It already starts to work for him, having his wool and fur lined jacket harboring much of the brunt of the cold, made better with the warmth Danta has to offer today.

Releasing Danta as they break before the bonfire, mimicking him as he shoves his fur lined sleeves up, sticking his fingers in (only grey thankfully), and grimacing at the sight of Danta’s blackened ones, nose wrinkling and all. “Something warm to drink with cinnamon sounds impeccable. Do you have anything like it?” A complete and easy conversation, that might look odd if they weren’t Ancients, hands shoved into the crackling stained glass flames of the bonfire.

Astaroth

the hunter and the prey are dancing every day

electing strange perfections
in any stranger I choose

"I know just the thing," Danta murmurs, already sounding a little sleepy even from this initial injection of warmth. The fire gets right to work, at least, and it's with rosy cheeks and a soft, almost serene smile on his lips that the Maverick lets his fingers thaw out and the rest of his body follow suit. Letting out a breath that feels like his first one all afternoon, he eventually straightens and withdraws his hands, just about resisting the urge to kick off his shoes and wiggle his toes in the embers. It's a close thing, though.

"Are you ready?" he asks, pulling his gloves back on and nestling into his (poorly applied, he sees that now) layers, along with the fur Asta has procured for him. At least it's only a quick walk down to the Last Whisper, and Danta has no intention of getting into any further snowball fights on the way.

Dantalion

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

the streets are all violent with murderous excitement

A smirk curls on the edges of Astaroth’s face, nodding his head as the warmth creeps up to his wrists and he finally feels like he might be able to move again. Swallowing down his usual retorts in the face of soon to be comfort, he withdraws reluctantly to slip the gloves back on, roll his sleeves down, nodding to the Maverick.

“I was born ready, darling.” He drawls, offering his elbow for Danta to take should he wish to. The trek itself is short lived, thankfully, and Asta sighs a sigh of relief as the doors to the Dusklight open and he follows behind Danta’s lead toward the bar, cane clicking along with his boots along the floor, carving his path straight for it, ignoring how he towers over everyone.

Astaroth

the hunter and the prey are dancing every day

electing strange perfections
in any stranger I choose

"Oh I bet," Danta croons, gladly taking the other man's arm so they can hurry away to the warmth of the Dusklight. And gods is it a sight for sore eyes when they do arrive, Danta already shedding layers on the way to the bar. A patron here gets one of his scarves, another gets a glove (or two if they're lucky), and by the time he reaches the counter he's left in his usual coat and the boa that Asta has given him.

He receives a couple of bottles of hot mulled wine, recently poured, as well as two glasses, and is already taking them away, trusting his tall shadow to still be on his heels. "We were only out for an hour or two, weren't we?" he's complaining; instead of going to Astaroth's door, the Maverick instead moves past it and down a small corridor to a staircase.

"My fireplace is bigger," he explains, in case Asta is wondering, heading up the stairs to a door at the top.

Dantalion

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