[SE] or christ, hold me like a knife

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

Contrary to popular belief, Danta does do his job as leader on occasion. What does this have to do with him being out on the Levinsward, you ask? Well, apparently this place has something that the Grounds can trade in if they're lucky. Now, he has no idea how to bottle lightning - or how to even get it down out of the clouds - but he figures that a good way to learn more about it is to put himself in the place where it happens.

Of course, this also happens to be a place where the air stinks of ozone and lightning strikes the ground more often than the Maverick would like. As such, he's taking a break from playing hopscotch with the storms and has settled himself beneath a tree that has long since been electrocuted beyond salvation. As such, he watches the sky through its tangled, blackened limbs, tail flicking curiously from side to side, waiting for the next eruption of chaos.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

He’s so exhausted. Mentally and physically that he thinks taking this shortcut through the barren land is a good idea. Or maybe it’s just his self destructive tendencies that wonder whether or not he’ll get struck by lightning on the way home. Maybe he’d be okay with that. It’s all selfish thoughts that draw him further in, the electricity causing the hair on the back of his neck to rise, and each time the storm comes barreling through Astaroth finds himself sidestepping, avoiding it, even if he isn’t sure why.

At least until he sees what he thinks to be a ghost, or his fractured imagination conjuring Danta standing there beneath a blackened tree like some kind of golden savior in the midst of absolute nothingness. He doesn’t even have time to think before his steps take him over toward the Maverick, all air and charm and gusto gone as he purposefully steps on a dry as a bone branch that has fallen to announce his presence if only to not get burned out of his clothes, and he bullies his way into a tight embrace with the Theocrat.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

Having been thoroughly dazzled by the latest lightning display, Danta thinks he can actually see how the stuff is collected, though he might have been imagining the small, strange devices poking up from the ground at odd intervals. Still shading his eyes from the forks of electricity that blanket the clouds overhead, he's about to go over and investigate when the snap of a dry branch has his attention whipping instantly around.

Expecting some predator or stranger, his hypothetical hackles are already up by the time he's able to recognise Asta - though even by that point the other man is invading his space. "Hey, what ar--" Silenced as the breath is forced from his lungs from the weight of the butcher's embrace, Danta's arms fold around him automatically by this point, his brows furrowed with confusion.

What are you doing out here? suddenly seems like a secondary question, and the Maverick shifts only enough that he might speak. "We don't have to talk about it." he says, "Are you hurt, though?" AKA, do they need to be making their way to the Inner Quarter ASAP?

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

He does not answer the immediate question, cut off as it is when he winds his arms around the other man and presses his forehead to the Maverick’s shoulder. There’s a sudden relief that spreads through him to realize that the other Ancient is in fact real, before he sags a little at the actual question that leaves the Maverick’s lips. “I am only sore.” Astaroth rumbles, though he’s had time on the trek to tend to any wounds that might have been sustained. For now, though, only bruising on his back and sides leave him tender, enough that they don’t need to immediately make the trek back to the Inner Quarter.

He absolutely doesn’t want to talk about it, but he does want to stand here for a few moments longer, leeching some comfort from the other man that he has no right to, no understanding for what exactly it means that this simple act could make him feel better than the past few days have left him with. His jaw is tense, though, and he shakes his head a little where he buries it into Danta’s shoulder a bit harder, exhaling a slow sigh. “What are you doing out here?” He asks instead, for a distraction.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

Thunder rolls in the distance. Perhaps the dry, parched ground will finally find some relief from a thunderstorm.

The weather quickly takes a turn for the worst as lightning pierces the sky and strikes a long dead tree. It doesn't take long before the tree is engulfed in flame. Branches fall to the ground, setting the ground, too, aflame. Lightning continues to streak through the sky, threatening to strike once more and set more of the world on fire.

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

"Alright... good." Well, not good, exactly, but hopefully Asta catches his meaning. The state of the other man suggests he probably hasn't even really heard what Danta says, to be honest, and the Maverick's arms tighten around him a fraction, his head tilting to rest against the butcher's. About to speak, the Maverick is interrupted by a truly earsplitting crack! of lightning as it strikes the tree overhead, the sound having him flinching and instinctively clutching Asta closer against him, especially as branches cascade around them, engulfed in fire.

"Gods," he blurts, able to easily control the blaze until it's more or less shielding them from the rest of the world rather than causing harm, Danta huffing out a shaky breath. "Anyway. I came out to see if I could learn anything about bottled lightning. The Grounds are able to use it as a resource, apparently." Maybe they can use it as a weapon, though, based on all of this.

"You okay?" he asks belatedly - not just about the lightning, but in general.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

Everything seems to be going just fine until Danta goes to speak again and the sharp crack of lightning has him flinching, cursing out a colorful stream of words as his arms also grow impossibly tight around the Maverick, fire falling from the spiderwebbed tree above them as its branches burn and cascade like falling rain. Luckily, Danta’s on top of it in protecting them with the fiery shield, because if it were Asta he’d have simply let the fire engulf them.

Not that it would harm them, but it would make it a difficult trek back to the Inner Quarter when there’s no clothes on their backs.

Finally allowing his arms to loosen a fraction, Astaroth parts and lets his dark gaze take in the blaze around them, reflecting oranges and yellows along his bronze and exhausted and somehow surprisingly pale face. “Intriguing. I would imagine they require specific bottles.” The butcher comments, and despite the deadpan tone, he is interested in the idea of bottling lightning for whatever kind of purpose Danta deemed to fit. As for whether he’s okay, he nods, turning his gaze back toward Danta. “Yes. Are you?” He asks softly, suddenly giving him a calculating look from the top of his diamond horns down to where he can no longer see with where they’re still connected in that embrace.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

"That's what I thought too," Danta says of the bottles, nodding out through the flames to where he'd been initially trying to spy all that had been happening when the lightning struck the ground. "I think there are containers out there to catch the stuff, but I wasn't able to get a good look before..." He gestures around them with one hand; the tree, the fire, Astaroth's arrival.

"Me? Never better," he assures the butcher, reaching up to smooth the wrinkles from his shirt (not that he'll be even remotely successful given how long the other man has been walking). "I thought you'd gone to Jack Tar," he adds belatedly, raising an eyebrow up at him. "There are carts that would be more than happy to bring you back to the Inner Quarter, you know."

He's pretty sure Asta does know, in fact, which means the taller Ancient has chosen not to take that more comfortable option for a reason. A reason that probably has everything to do with the look in his eyes.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

“Perhaps a suit of rubber would be better to explore the locations of those containers?” He suggests absentmindedly, utilizing it as a distraction, yes, but clinging so suddenly to the warmth the raging fire around them offers that he almost thinks he doesn’t feel the bruises lining up his back and sides. It’s with that warmth that allows him to give Danta a calculating once-over, satisfied with the answer enough to exhale a sigh of relief.

At least until there’s the edge of a question that’s so close to something he doesn’t fully want to get into just yet. “I did.” He offers, throat a bit sore and deeper for his trouble as he nods. “I took the cart part of the way back, but then chose to walk. I wanted to think.” He decides to offer what he can, an explanation of why he was in such a hollow feeling shell, even as the world seems like its on fire through the walls of the flames Danta keeps them surrounded with.

“I had a crisis and got into a fight. Now I am just tired and sore.” It’s the easiest TLDR he can offer until he's ready to talk about it further. But if Danta were so inclined to lift the wrinkled shirt and see the extent of purple bruising, well, that's his prerogative.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

"Kinky," Danta barks out with a fanged grin. He can't help it, alright - Asta mentioned a suit of rubber, what the fuck else was he supposed to say? Clearing his throat as if to stop his mouth from running away with itself, he waits for another flurry of lightning to pass overhead before he starts to lower the flames somewhat. "I think I could probably run over and pick one up if I was quick," he reasons. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Duuuumb ways to die, so many duuuumb waaaays to diiiie

Nodding slowly at Asta's explanation, and more specifically the things he chooses not to say, Danta takes a marginal step back away from the other man; enough to look him up and down properly now that he's not just catching sight of him out of the corner of his eye. "...Right," he frowns, reaching out to rub a smudge of dirt from the butcher's cheek. "Do you have it in you to walk back to the Whisper?" he asks. "If not, I saw an inn just a mile or so away from here, if you want a break."

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

At the very least, the kinky comment does spark a more normal version of Astaroth to appear, however shortly it lasts with the very visible roll of his eyes and heavy sigh – especially before it zeroes in on the Maverick with a hard line to his lips. “What if you did not do that.” Mentally he’s about six million percent sure that he could not handle that crisis on top of his own. Not that he’ll admit anything, of course. He doesn’t know what to admit in the first place.

The flames lower and the butcher releases Danta to allow him his own once over, and the blonde Ancient will find that he is not completely able to stand in his prim and proper posture, shoulders sagged and back hunched a fraction, his breaths a bit shorter than they typically are. All things that Astaroth isn’t thinking about when the smudge of dirt is wiped from his face and his eyes continue to linger on Danta. “I would prefer the inn, please.” It’s a very rare occurrence for the please to drop from the butcher’s lips. But, here it is.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

Grinning broadly at his friend, in any other circumstance Danta would likely do exactly that for no other reason than to be a bag of shit. Alas, that will have to wait for another occasion, and the Maverick forces thoughts of capsules full of lightning from his mind in lieu of the man before him. (Something that is easily done these days, if he's honest). Dropping his hand and stepping back from Asta completely now, Danta lets the fire die around them properly.

"The inn it is. Won't be as nice as the rooms at the Dusklight, but they'll do," he says easily enough, giving the butcher another once over before he steps in wordlessly to slip against Asta's side so the other man might not have to bear his own weight so much for the journey ahead. If nothing else, too, it will allow the other man to set the pace without risking lagging behind.

Regardless, it's a longer trek than it ought to be to the inn on the outskirts of the Levinsward, but eventually it does come into view; a little place called The Sparkbird's Nest with a few lightning scars marking the stone and people coming and going through the doors.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

“A real bed sounds lovely.” Astaroth concedes, watching as the fire dies around them and remaining stock still as he’s given the second once over. As Danta moves to tuck in at his side to help bear some of the weight, the butcher stifles the wince that creases the crows feet on the corners of his eyes, but gladly loops his arm around the Maverick’s shoulders.

It is slow going, and just before his legs start to feel like jelly and pulp does the Sparkbird’s Nest come into view. He nearly sags further with relief, but prevents himself from doing so until they’re within the confines of the building and away from the electricity that continues to have him somewhat on edge. Dark eyes take in the people coming and going, before he unwinds his arm from around Danta’s shoulders – appearances and all that, of course, wouldn’t want to give the wrong impression after all – and gestures for the blonde to take the lead. “I will manage until we are inside the room.” He says softly, following on Danta’s heels like a sore, lost dog.

Taking in the building on the inside, though, it’s adorned with golden couches and embroidered lightning strikes to match the scars on the stone outside and the Levinsward proper, and Astaroth finds it a welcome distraction, hand running gingerly along the back of the sitting area’s couch to distract himself with the soft touch while he trusts Danta does whatever he needs to get them a room, waiting patiently to be directed wherever.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

Also knowing better than to allow the butcher to walk into any establishment using him as a prop, Danta smoothly steps away and offers a nod to the other man before taking the lead. The inn is surprisingly well-kept and seems to have been seeing more business as of late (and if Kiada was around Danta is sure she'd know why, given how well the Grounds is doing lately). Either way, it means that the Maverick is welcomed as Theocrat and engaged in lively conversation, something he easily melts into.

Explaining their predicament - too far out from the Inner Quarter and too tired to travel through the night - he secures a room each for them, as well as food and wine, and soon gestures for Asta to follow him upstairs. With a nod and a cheerful farewell to the innkeep, Danta slips one of the keys into his pocket, knowing they won't need it, and instead heads straight for the room they'd assigned for him. Unlocking the door and holding it open for Asta, it proves on brand with the rest of the establishment, with a large fireplace and a larger bed, and a view across to the Levinsward nearby.

Mainly, though, it's inside and out of the elements. "I hope this will do?"

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //