RONIN
kiss your perfect day goodbye
NailS, but who's counting, hey? (Ronin, Ronin is absolutely counting. It's two, and they fucking hurt). The sky purrs and it isn't long after that fat raindrops begin to fall; the angel might be disappointed, but his counterpart groans after the thunder as if it's conspired to appear to spite him. "And an angel who just lied to a priest," he hisses back with a smile like a crescent moon, writhing further onto his knees as much as his pinned hand and wing will allow.
"I am as dumbfounded as you are. I was minding my own business on the Riva degli Schiavoni," and here his lilting accent - Irish, if you listen close - melts into perfect Venetian, "and then suddenly I'm a pin cushion for the clergy." No, he hasn't been summoned from Hell. He was already here, and he's been summoned from one of his favourite cocktail bars.
"I am as dumbfounded as you are. I was minding my own business on the Riva degli Schiavoni," and here his lilting accent - Irish, if you listen close - melts into perfect Venetian, "and then suddenly I'm a pin cushion for the clergy." No, he hasn't been summoned from Hell. He was already here, and he's been summoned from one of his favourite cocktail bars.
because the world is on fire
