how 'bout a dance for some dowry?
The city was always quiet.
They thought back to their time in the castle, and the glass felt warm in their hands as sand swirled about. At the very least, the hospitality Mundus had offered was nice, caring, even.
Here, they sat out in the open and watched the goats run about, bored out of their mind, drenched in cold perspiration.
(Thankfully, it seemed that statues weren’t prone to colds, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.)
Their attention perked when they heard a different clicking across the street, curiously directing their gaze toward the dreary—perhaps Arius would be interested in neon lights for the roads to liven up the place—horizon.
A figure slowly became distinct, and the sand swirled about in a dance.
Dante offered them a small, two-finger salute. “Hey.”
The sands rotated as the hunter approached, preparing the catalog. They made sure all the items looked their best, glimmering as Dante shifted his weight onto one foot, holding his chin as he examined their wares.
It was then that they noticed the man was missing his signature red coat, dressed in rather plain yet fitting clothes.
Dante raised a brow, feeling their questioning stare. He tugged at his scarf, “This? Yeah, got it from hell.”
The glass felt hot, and Dante scoffed, removing his scarf.
“I guess, friends and all, yeah?” Slowly, he pulled at the collar of his jacket, eyeing them. “Favors and all, right?”
The scarf was clenched between powerful jaws, the jacket rolling down to expose the refined muscles. His collarbone looked more inviting than usual, the low collar of the simple tank top drawing their attention to the dip in Dante’s neck.
There was a sway in his hips as he moved forward, kicking up one leg and resting it on top of the hourglass, the details on the inner jean seams an excellent work of craftsmanship.
Spiritually, they raised an eyebrow and whistled.
Dante snorted, the scarf falling from his mouth.
“Oops, better pick it up,” he said, nonchalantly. His leg came down, closing off the view, but they knew to prepare their glass when Dante scooted back and turned around, the jacket hanging low, back muscles a pleasant sight.
He leaned down, the jacket moving with the arc of his back, his lower back now exposed as gloved hands slowly picked up the scarf and wrapped it around his fingers.
Sand plinked off glass.
Perfect glutes as always.
The hunter snapped back up, zipping up his jacket, a hint of collarbone still exposed. Dante’s lip curled into a smile, wrapping the scarf back around his neck, deft fingers retying the knot. “Maybe I should spend the night with these puppies to keep warm,” he said offhandedly, caressing the handles of his guns.
Sand plinked off glass.
“Alright,” he rolled his shoulders, moving in once more. “Now, how about those prices?”
The sand swirled around, and they presented the catalog once more.
Dante evaluated the latest prices with a blank stare.
If possible, they would have shrugged.
Inflation was part of business.
Dante crossed his arms—they worked the sands to carve the image into the fabric of time quickly—and nodded.
“Alright.” He turned on his heels and started down the street once more.
The statue practically beamed, the hourglass humming pleasantly, waiting in anticipation for Dante to return.
A few streets over, a pair of demons watched the scene sadly.
It was the first time they had seen the hunter smile, a perfect one at that, and he tried his best to perform, only for the economy to crush him. They raised their arms and stood tall, saluting the man as he made his way back through the fog and dimly lit streets.
So long, cowboy.
Silent tears rolled down their faces.
Never stop being sexy strong.
Arius sighed, swirling the wine in his glass.
The flavor was off, but it was the best he could find on short notice. There was the option to postpone the wedding but—
He shook his head, propping his chin on his hand, staring out the window. Behind him, he could hear the goats shuffling about, their mutterings on the phone with the caterers and florists nothing more than white noise.
Did Dante enjoy roses, he wondered?
Perhaps, it would have been in everyone’s best interest if he had stopped to ask Dante more about his favorites, his likes, and dislikes, things like that. But when a perfect man waltzes into the room with such grandeur, it was hard not to plan a wedding on the spot.
He set the glass down, patting himself.
It would be alright. His fluffy collar was an indication of his status and what bride could resist—
Arius hummed, turning to the goats, half who were in tense phone conversations, the other half ready to choke each other out from the stress.
“Does anyone know where the bride i—”
—the windows shattered, a heavenly figure landing on his desk, boots accidentally knocking over the wine.
“Hey,” Dante waved a gun at him, shaking off the loose debris, “Got any winnings to share, Vegas man?”
Arius tried to regain his composure, his heart racing.
Too wrapped up in Dante asking him for an allowance—their second intimate act within five hours, how incredible!—Arius never noticed the goats setting down their materials and walking out of the room.
He laughed, holding up a freshly lit cigar. “You are a funny m—”
The world spun fast and dimmed, Arius convinced that heaven tasted of leather boots.