RONIN
the white knight
The Hanged Man isn't any more, so Ronin has opted to take them to a cozy little wine bar once they're finished with stakes and flags and rope along the Ahi Coast. The sun is sinking behind the sea like a bloody coin, painting the sky in streamers of red and orange and violet as they step inside, the Knight's arm casually around his husband's waist.
They're greeted - as in most places - with polite familiarity, and Ronin ushers them to a booth at one of the windows so they might enjoy the last of the sun before it sets. "There are cocktail specials," he announces with a bounce of his eyebrows as he sidles into his seat, sliding the menu towards Remi. "Not that they will remotely touch your sobriety, but perhaps you can enjoy one as part of a job well done?"
He knows the other man is more for gin when it comes to liquor, but hey, life is all about variety, no?
They're greeted - as in most places - with polite familiarity, and Ronin ushers them to a booth at one of the windows so they might enjoy the last of the sun before it sets. "There are cocktail specials," he announces with a bounce of his eyebrows as he sidles into his seat, sliding the menu towards Remi. "Not that they will remotely touch your sobriety, but perhaps you can enjoy one as part of a job well done?"
He knows the other man is more for gin when it comes to liquor, but hey, life is all about variety, no?
