cut our teeth and make our bones right here

Ronin

welcome to the playground, follow me
tell me your nightmares and fantasies

While Remi makes a show of not being subtle (be real, even the bloodiest of Marys stands out when it's in a wendigo's hand), Ronin takes a sip of his beer and sits back in his seat to let out a sigh. The drink isn't a necessity so much as a ritual, unlocking the tension from his neck and shoulders and giving him permission not to be on any more.

The result is a tired man in his early thirties with a mop of dark hair made darker by a recent shower, too-blue eyes that turn their surroundings dull by comparison, and a lot of tattoos. A lot of tattoos. Not dissimilar to his partner's necklace of runes, but much more acceptable to any watching Hunters, the inky markings run in concentric circles along his forearms, before spidering out into scripts and symbols long ago lost to the island's memory.

One inked passage warps and stretches as he lifts his hand to clink his glass against Remi's. "Mostly is good enough for me," he concludes, as he always does, taking another long drink and glancing over at the pool table. "There've been a lot of water hags around the docks lately," he adds after a couple of moments' consideration. "Wonder what's drawing them all there."

sink into the wasteland underneath
stay for the night, I'll sell you a dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!