so much of our lives is just carving through the dark
Isla mumbles something affectionate that nevertheless sounds suspiciously like shut up, Remi, the words incoherent against his shoulder, and she winds her arms around him in turn to hug him close. Guilt roars out of her like a distant storm at sea, roiling and unsettled and tinged with the sharp upset at not being around a loved one, no matter the circumstances, and she tucks her head into the crook of his neck. "Good. I'm here for your hug too," she mumbles, her spaded tail swaying low as she relaxes.
"Oh? Are you telling me that all of these years of renovations haven't made you into a master at construction?" she asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow and peeping up at him, a smile threatening on her lips. "Or do you just not want to be a part of the project?" she wonders. Undoubtedly Ronin has probably taken the bulk of the repairs on himself as the one who caused the damage, but even so.
"Oh? Are you telling me that all of these years of renovations haven't made you into a master at construction?" she asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow and peeping up at him, a smile threatening on her lips. "Or do you just not want to be a part of the project?" she wonders. Undoubtedly Ronin has probably taken the bulk of the repairs on himself as the one who caused the damage, but even so.
