RONIN
the white knight
light is easy to love.
Things have gone wrong.
Not wrong like when you accidentally leave your shoes on deck overnight and it rains. Not wrong like falling asleep and leaving dinner in the oven and waking up to a houseboat full of smoke. Wrong like my two baby boys have vanished and they are nowhere to be found.
That kind of wrong is what has Ronin frantically out on the Northaven at the first fingers of dawn, looking in coils of rope, in a storage crate, anywhere that seems vaguely as if it might fit a tiny child. His dark hair is a desperate mess made worse by the hands he keeps running through it, and the high points of colour in his cheeks are physical evidence of a panic attack barely kept under wraps.
"Nothing out here," he calls in a voice that seems both too tight and also wavers a little at the end. They'd already turned The Northaven upside down in search of the twins - Ronin had even checked their cutlery drawer, the ice box and in the bathroom sink - and the fact that he can't hear them squalling for attention, that's the worst thing of all. That kind of silence has heralded far too many endings in his time.
Then he hears it, though it makes no sense and seems to repeat itself in a very similar voice: DADS.
Ronin glances up slowly to see, across the beach, two disembodied rain slickers holding burritos. One is waving at him.
"I've lost my fucking mind," the Knight whispers, quietly convinced of that fact.
Not wrong like when you accidentally leave your shoes on deck overnight and it rains. Not wrong like falling asleep and leaving dinner in the oven and waking up to a houseboat full of smoke. Wrong like my two baby boys have vanished and they are nowhere to be found.
That kind of wrong is what has Ronin frantically out on the Northaven at the first fingers of dawn, looking in coils of rope, in a storage crate, anywhere that seems vaguely as if it might fit a tiny child. His dark hair is a desperate mess made worse by the hands he keeps running through it, and the high points of colour in his cheeks are physical evidence of a panic attack barely kept under wraps.
"Nothing out here," he calls in a voice that seems both too tight and also wavers a little at the end. They'd already turned The Northaven upside down in search of the twins - Ronin had even checked their cutlery drawer, the ice box and in the bathroom sink - and the fact that he can't hear them squalling for attention, that's the worst thing of all. That kind of silence has heralded far too many endings in his time.
Then he hears it, though it makes no sense and seems to repeat itself in a very similar voice: DADS.
Ronin glances up slowly to see, across the beach, two disembodied rain slickers holding burritos. One is waving at him.
"I've lost my fucking mind," the Knight whispers, quietly convinced of that fact.
show me your darkness.
