we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead
"I'm starting to feel as though I'm being picked on, you know," Ronin drawls, punctuating the remark by knocking back the rest of his rum; it isn't as though the liquor is going to do much unless he tries to race it from burning out of his system, after all. "And gods, you know, you're absolutely right." About their devotion to Flora there is little in question, and Ronin dreads the day when she calls upon them all at once. Either they'll end up participating in some ridiculous girls' night, he feels, or someone will end up dead.
Pretending that Remi's baited expectation isn't as obvious as it is, Ronin smiles into his empty glass and absently teases with the back of his husband's curls with his free hand. Once Sunjata has given his seal of approval, of course, he relaxes and pours himself another measure of rum. "If you haven't, you really ought to. If you fly across the Cordillera, just look for a houseboat that really doesn't seem like it should be there."
Pretending that Remi's baited expectation isn't as obvious as it is, Ronin smiles into his empty glass and absently teases with the back of his husband's curls with his free hand. Once Sunjata has given his seal of approval, of course, he relaxes and pours himself another measure of rum. "If you haven't, you really ought to. If you fly across the Cordillera, just look for a houseboat that really doesn't seem like it should be there."
THE WHITE KNIGHT
and continue fighting
