we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead
"You know I am," Ronin complains, because that's what blushberries do to people, Flora, the Supernova accepting his boop before scrubbing a hand across the bridge of his nose as if he might wipe away the pink flush to his cheeks. And of course that's when she decides to ask all of the really juicy questions, Ronin sighing hard enough to puff out his cheeks and sitting back on the bar stool.
"No it isn't weird," he says with a boyish tuck of his chin. "And I'm not a lightweight, I can just taste the... whatever is in this." He's not a taste tester extraordinaire like his husband, sorry. Booze is booze and fruit is fruit. "Anyway. I think it's probably good if Spice stays here with you. Since you have such a bond."
"No it isn't weird," he says with a boyish tuck of his chin. "And I'm not a lightweight, I can just taste the... whatever is in this." He's not a taste tester extraordinaire like his husband, sorry. Booze is booze and fruit is fruit. "Anyway. I think it's probably good if Spice stays here with you. Since you have such a bond."
THE SUPERNOVA
and continue fighting
