RONIN
the white knight
"Well I absolutely don't believe that," Ronin objects, "we've been reckless and then some lots of times, even in the past week alone." But he supposes he can understand where Remi is coming from when it comes to their potentially floating estate. And yes, there's always the advantage of being able to literally lift and shift things should the moment call for it. With those thoughts still dancing through his mind, he's smiling to himself as the wagon appears before them, letting the imagined sound of Mateo and Flora's scolding fade into his daydreams.
For Ronin it isn't quite as stark a shift down memory lane, given that he's been tiptoeing along to this place semi-regularly for a while now, though something softens in his expression to see Remi take it all in; the sun-bleached and sea-battered wood, the vines trying to creep through every knot and crack, the wheels long rusted and buried in the white sand. At what he's been hiding, though, Ronin's smile falters, and the Bastion will feel the sharp scratch of grief in all the places they touch long before the Knight is able to extract himself.
"It's nothing groundbreaking," he promises, moving to unlatch and open the wagon to reveal the canvasses. Mostly small, surrounded by clustered rolls of parchment from larger sketches that hadn't made it to paint, it's the faces of their children, mainly, that shine back out at them. Mateo and Flora, Seren and Enzo and Aoife - of course Aoife - in splashes of vibrant watercolour or smears of gouache.
"Seren kept talking about making a studio," Ronin says quietly. "I was going to help her, but..." He shrugs. "So I keep them here instead."
For Ronin it isn't quite as stark a shift down memory lane, given that he's been tiptoeing along to this place semi-regularly for a while now, though something softens in his expression to see Remi take it all in; the sun-bleached and sea-battered wood, the vines trying to creep through every knot and crack, the wheels long rusted and buried in the white sand. At what he's been hiding, though, Ronin's smile falters, and the Bastion will feel the sharp scratch of grief in all the places they touch long before the Knight is able to extract himself.
"It's nothing groundbreaking," he promises, moving to unlatch and open the wagon to reveal the canvasses. Mostly small, surrounded by clustered rolls of parchment from larger sketches that hadn't made it to paint, it's the faces of their children, mainly, that shine back out at them. Mateo and Flora, Seren and Enzo and Aoife - of course Aoife - in splashes of vibrant watercolour or smears of gouache.
"Seren kept talking about making a studio," Ronin says quietly. "I was going to help her, but..." He shrugs. "So I keep them here instead."
