it feels like we're ready to crack, these days, you and I
Isla is not Ronin's doctor or his keeper, and he's quick to remind Remi as much as he goes about discharging himself from the hospital's care. They don't like it (obviously) and they make him sign an uncomfortable number of forms, but soon enough Ronin is leaning out of the medium's passenger window like a dog on a car ride, relishing the cool breeze in his face after days locked up in medical prison.
"Such a gentleman," he quips as he's offered a shopping cart to lean on - something he doesn't complain about and absolutely utilises as they head into the store. Never mind that Ronin is technically still wearing the equivalent of hospital pajamas - striped bottoms that catch a little on the heels of his shoes as he walks, the fetching button-up that matches thankfully covered by his leather jacket.
He had thought Remi meant groceries when he'd said supplies, in fact, and as salt (the plumbing kind, not the tasty kind) is followed by iron, he suppresses a sigh and hopes the sound of the cart covers his rumbling stomach. "Mmhm," he agrees dryly. "I don't suppose they sell silver or hagstones here? Or clear quartz, maybe?" He raises his brows. Evidently the high of being outside of his own free will has helped to minimise the fear and horror that will inevitably creep back in when he's alone or the sun goes down.
"Do I need one of those, like you?" he asks in a lower, more serious voice, nodding towards the collar of Remi's shirt where he knows the crucifix sits beneath it.
"Such a gentleman," he quips as he's offered a shopping cart to lean on - something he doesn't complain about and absolutely utilises as they head into the store. Never mind that Ronin is technically still wearing the equivalent of hospital pajamas - striped bottoms that catch a little on the heels of his shoes as he walks, the fetching button-up that matches thankfully covered by his leather jacket.
He had thought Remi meant groceries when he'd said supplies, in fact, and as salt (the plumbing kind, not the tasty kind) is followed by iron, he suppresses a sigh and hopes the sound of the cart covers his rumbling stomach. "Mmhm," he agrees dryly. "I don't suppose they sell silver or hagstones here? Or clear quartz, maybe?" He raises his brows. Evidently the high of being outside of his own free will has helped to minimise the fear and horror that will inevitably creep back in when he's alone or the sun goes down.
"Do I need one of those, like you?" he asks in a lower, more serious voice, nodding towards the collar of Remi's shirt where he knows the crucifix sits beneath it.
when it's just the two of us, only the two of us, I could die
