gratuitous violence; unnecessary, satisfying, heartbreaking
"Remi?" Ronin calls back to his husband in a sing-song voice, even if it's still a little muted compared to the usual mischief and vibrance that would lace through the tone. Standing with his sback to the Bastion, Ronin is barefoot in a loose linen shirt, his dark hair messy at the back in a way that suggests he's not long gotten up from a nap. Reaching automatically for another mug to fill with the tea he's just brewed, he turns from the counter to smile towards Remi - only for the expression to fall abruptly away from his face at the sight of the rose in his hands.
"...I thought we agreed that there was no need for this," he says softly, the barest hint of a warning in his voice that's usually reserved for rowdy Torchers making silly decisions. He doesn't move - doesn't back away or towards the other man - but almost without his knowledge, three bolts of fiery radiance ignite in a halo around his shoulders, locked and loaded and ready to fire.
"...I thought we agreed that there was no need for this," he says softly, the barest hint of a warning in his voice that's usually reserved for rowdy Torchers making silly decisions. He doesn't move - doesn't back away or towards the other man - but almost without his knowledge, three bolts of fiery radiance ignite in a halo around his shoulders, locked and loaded and ready to fire.
RONIN
