it stings sometimes

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

”They’re called Seed Ghosts,” Danta is saying as they head deeper into the Outer Islands and towards a well-known orchard. Apparently the family there are all Abandoned with a mix of magics just right to keep the apples ripening throughout the year, and he figures if anywhere is going to have some of the aforementioned seed ghosts, it’s them. 

”Flora needs a live one for a quest, apparently. I thought it was the least we could do.” It’s been a few days since their return from Torchline and things are, all in all, back to normal. As normal as they have ever been, anyway, and as he glances over his shoulder at Asta, Danta gives the butcher an easy smile and shifts the jar under his arm. ”Don’t worry,” he says. ”If you get stung, I’ll make sure you get to the infirmary in good time.”

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

“How bizarre.” Astaroth hums, drifting along beside the Maverick. The Outer Brambles this time of year shine far greener than he’d seen since arriving here, perhaps heralding the warmth of Longheat’s approach. Mention of Flora has his gaze remaining very focused on the trail ahead and the painted rocks that look like they’ve been molded to look like apples.

He nods, before he glances over at the blonde Ancient. “It is the least we could do.” He says with a soft sigh, only to have his nose immediately scrunch in distaste at the idea of getting stung. Rolling his eyes a touch affectionately, the butcher nudges the Maverick with his elbow. “Sorry— What makes you assume that I shall be the one to get stung?” He asks, flashing that too sharp smile, not repeating the sentiment (he would do the same) but solely to be a bit of a brat about it.

Astaroth

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

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

Scoffing as he’s nudged (and just managing to avoid one of the apple shaped boulders decorating the path), Danta raises his eyebrows at the butcher before leading them off into the first grove of trees where he can see apples are ripening. ”Based on our track record alone, you’re more likely than anyone I know to get yourself into some sort of trouble,” he points out; if Asta wants him to recount some of his unfortunate adventures, the Maverick is more than happy to do so.

He might have to call the anecdotes down from the trees though, because as he halts before a suitable looking trunk, he’s already beckoning the other man closer. ”Alright, either give me a boost or let me get on your back,” he’s saying, bouncing his eyebrows at Asta for good measure.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

Snorting to the answer, Astaroth straightens up and shakes his head, scouting the same grove that Danta’s already heading toward. “I simply was not very lucky.” The butcher hums, scanning a nearby tree before Danta’s voice rings out to capture his attention. Looking over toward the tree in question and the apples out of the Maverick’s reach, he drifts closer and flashes a brattish too sharp grin.

“Too short, darling?” He asks, despite being too short himself to simply reach out and pluck the apple from the tree. Either way, he shifts a little to allow the blonde Ancient to climb up onto his back, prepared to move closer so that Danta can collect any apples that might seem like they harbor those strange seed ghosts.

Astaroth

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

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

”Not gangly enough, no,” Danta agrees with a slanted smirk, which of course is better than admitting to being too short to grab at all but the grossest looking apples. He also doesn’t comment on Asta’s string of bad luck, because if anything is going to get the Maverick stuck in a tree today, it’s that. 

Instead, he shifts to jump up onto the other man’s back, tail thrashing with interest as he’s lifted high enough to grab at a few of the boughs and branches. Hauling himself properly into the tree, Danta grabs at a couple of promising suspects before grumbling at the lack of burrow holes. ”Nothing so far,” he drawls, trying to lean over to surreptitiously stab one of the apples onto the sharp tines of Asta’s horns.

Forgetting about it almost as soon as he’s done it, Danta’s head lifts at the sound of buzzing. ”Pass me the jar?” he asks, motioning to the container he’d set down at the foot of the tree trunk.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

Exasperation immediately takes hold within the butcher’s face at the gangly comment, but he can’t do much more than bend to let Danta climb up onto his back – and it feels like a child trying to clamor their way up a slide with the way the blonde’s hands manhandle his shoulders and back. Even his head, which seems surprisingly heavy for the moment but he attributes it to Danta’s heavy handedness.

“Hmm.” The butcher remarks before he’s reaching up with the jar to hand it to the blonde. His tail lashes a little behind him as he tries to keep Danta in the position to grab the apple, even as he tries to focus on the ground to prevent the prongs from stabbing the Theocrat. “Did you find one?” He asks, unable to see what’s going on but can watch his shadow as it warbles again in front of him, separate from Danta's own shadow.

Astaroth

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

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

”I’m not sure yet - sounds like I might have, though,” Danta says, muttering his thanks as he’s handed the jar, before promptly grabbing at one of the higher branches so he can pull himself up enough to stand on Asta’s shoulders. Some might consider this a dangerous or foolish position to be in - Danta, of course, thinks it’s the best idea he’s ever had. Unscrewing the jar, he’s forced to lean into the bough of the tree to keep his balance, but he does spot something crawling out of one of the apples above him.

”Aha,” he says, triumph in his voice even as he’s reaching out to try and clap the jar and the top of it around the offending apple, trapping the fruit and the seed ghost inside. It will be of little surprise to most people that, whilst the Maverick is successful, he’s also very much losing his balance, and it will be up to Asta to either keep him upright or to catch him when he falls - butcher’s choice.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

Weight is lifted momentarily as the blonde hauls himself up and he can see the shadow beneath them change as Danta stands. It’s a lot of pressure immediately on his shoulders, but he does look up right in time to see the targeted apple, with the jar on one end and the lid on the other to trap it within, and then he feels the slip of Danta’s balance while the other man’s focus had been entirely on not getting stung.

As it turns out, Astaroth is not very good at utilizing his height to try and keep people balanced on his shoulders. In fact, this is probably the first time anyone has ever done it. So in his heartbeat of surprise when Danta’s balance begins to drop, Astaroth’s gangly arms are doing the best that they can to try and regain that foothold for him when it absolutely does nothing.

“For Dygra’s sake,” he hisses with the sudden realization that Danta is now currently falling. The butcher immediately moves to catch him and pray that he’s clutching the jar like a child so that they may not need to do this again. He does succeed in catching the blonde, cradling him to his chest for a moment, apple still spiked onto a tine of his horn as he peers down at him with dark eyes trying to make sure he's okay. "Are you alright, darling?"

Astaroth

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

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

From Danta’s perspective, things are going great - he’s got the seed ghost, it’s got an apple to munch on to keep it alive while he delivers it to Flora, what’s the problem? It’s at that point, of course, that gravity reminds him of its existence, and he is thankfully clutching the jar to his chest as he topples and the world disappears from beneath his feet.

Tensing instinctively against what he’s sure to be a very hard fall, the Maverick barely feels Asta’s arms close around him until he realises it’s taken quite a long time for him to hit the ground. Blinking his eyes open, he’s left peering up at the butcher and his apple, unable not to let his laughter ring around the orchard. ”I think so,” he chimes, reaching up to grab the apple off the prongs of Asta’s horns, taking a victorious bite out of it for good measure.

”That wasn’t so hard, right?” He shrugs, gesturing to the seed ghost trapped in the jar.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

It’s comical, truly, and as Danta blinks up at him once realizing he isn’t plummeting to the ground, Astaroth releases the breath he’d been holding. His own deep rumble escapes him – wearily – until Danta’s snagging the apple he’d lodged against one of his pronged horns and confusion flares for a brief moment before he rolls his eyes.

If he hadn’t been holding the glass jar with the seed ghost, Astaroth likely would’ve dropped him from this height just for good measure. “You are lucky. And a menace.” He drawls, his accented tone a touch thicker than it had been before. Shifting to help him get to his feet, the butcher withdraws and reaches up to feel the sticky liquid of the apple’s juices having already dried to the horn. “I would have let you fall if you didn’t have the jar in your hands.” He taunts, straightening out his shirt and brushing down his shoulders from where Danta had stood, trying to get his footprints off of the silken shirt.

Astaroth

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

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

”I mean, I’ll take it,” Danta drawls, happily set upon his feet once more so he can set the jar down safely among the roots of the apple tree. Finishing his bite of the fruit and tossing it carelessly over his shoulder when he’s done, he shrugs at the other man. ”Better to be lucky and a menace than unlucky and boring.” Which, yes, is a very Danta reply to make, and what of it?

Smirking as he watches Asta try to clean himself up, the Maverick eventually takes pity and reaches out to brush away a few blades of grass and smudges of dirt from his boots. ”I bet you wouldn’t have,” he taunts right back, his voice pitched a little lower, his fingers lingering against the silken material of the butcher’s shirt and the heat rolling from the body beneath it.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

“Am I unlucky and boring?” Astaroth asks as he continues to try and clean up the footprints now marked into his shoulders. He stops, the second that Danta reaches out and smooths out his shirt. The butcher’s hands drop, his dark gaze focusing hard on the Maverick’s vibrant blues.

His fingers linger against his shirt and Astaroth’s lips form a smirk, stepping closer to Danta as his horned head cocks. “What do you intend to bet, darling?” Mischief sparks in his gaze and he presses back a touch harder into the touch, as if aiming to walk the blonde back up against the tree. Even if he doesn’t get anywhere, the butcher is fully invested in trying to see what exactly Danta would do.

Astaroth

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

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

”I couldn’t possibly say,” Danta informs the other man with a smirk that nonetheless says it all. He wouldn’t ever attribute boring to Astaroth based on the past few seasons alone, but on the same merit, unlucky? Absolutely.

Luckily, before he’s able to insult the butcher further, the other man is crowding into his space; raising an eyebrow, Danta allows himself to be backed up enough to lean against the trunk of the tree, head tilted slightly to meet his eye. ”I’d bet the shirt off my back,” he tells him, flashing a fanged grin.

”Of course, I’d have to get back up into the tree and fall out of it again to prove my point, and I’m not sure I feel like doing that.” Guess he’ll just have to forfeit.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //

// with our one foot in the grave //

“You are lying.” The butcher says with a huff of a laugh, deep and airy as he starts that stalking motion, crowding and pressing Danta back until he can lean against the trunk of the tree, avoiding the jar with the seed ghost trapped within it. All the while, the butcher’s smile remains sharp and pointed, amused and playful despite the topic of conversation, practically daring the blonde.

Humming a curious note, his head cocks, arms lifting to ‘cage’ the Maverick in against the tree and invade his space more. “Are you forfeiting?” Which means he’s right, isn’t he? Because now, stubbornly, the butcher might just let Danta fall to prove a point. At least he’d take care of him after, soothe his bruises and the potential bruised ego.

Astaroth

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