there will be scrapes and sutures; viciousness and victory
Quiet, soft nights like this come once only ever so often, or so Ronin has started to believe. And with the last couple of years choked with conflict, it still feels like they carry that weight, as if their minds and bodies have forgotten to let go even though the danger is gone. All the more reason to make time to sit with it, to let it sink deep into their bones.
It's late, but not late enough that the lights of Haulani have flickered low, and the city in the distance glitters like an orange reflection of the blaze of stars in the sky overhead. The territorial itch under Ronin's skin won't tolerate going into town tonight, though, and so he has arranged a candlelit picnic on the deck of the Northaven, and has gathered some materials together as well to create floating lanterns.
One might expect him to be making something for Vi, but tonight his lantern is dark and sombre, and he's painting careful and metallic strokes onto it as an ode to the god of death. "It only feels right that I thank Mort," he remarks, sitting cross-legged on the blanket as they work. "He did give you the rose for you to cure me, after all."
It's late, but not late enough that the lights of Haulani have flickered low, and the city in the distance glitters like an orange reflection of the blaze of stars in the sky overhead. The territorial itch under Ronin's skin won't tolerate going into town tonight, though, and so he has arranged a candlelit picnic on the deck of the Northaven, and has gathered some materials together as well to create floating lanterns.
One might expect him to be making something for Vi, but tonight his lantern is dark and sombre, and he's painting careful and metallic strokes onto it as an ode to the god of death. "It only feels right that I thank Mort," he remarks, sitting cross-legged on the blanket as they work. "He did give you the rose for you to cure me, after all."
RONIN
