RONIN
the darkstar
light is easy to love.
"I'm not a Brit, I'm an Irish National," Ronin informs Remi haughtily, though in all honesty as an ex-forces mechanic living in NYC, does it fucking matter? "Either way though, it's probably a correct assessment." Still, his eyes light up a bit as Bandcamp references his time in the army, a hand fluttering to his chest. "How kind of you to remember. And to not hit me in the face."
The People-in-Bands group chat has him scoffing, and he's just about to take an experimental sip of this magic coffee he's been made when suddenly motor-mouth really is rattling off Italian at an impressive speed, and Ronin raises his eyebrows with a thoroughly blank look on his face. "Ceart go leor," he says eventually, a whisper of two can play at that game in his expression.
"If that's the only lie then they're not really gossiping so much as being mistaken," he points out with a grin. "How are your full moon spirits, anyway?"
The People-in-Bands group chat has him scoffing, and he's just about to take an experimental sip of this magic coffee he's been made when suddenly motor-mouth really is rattling off Italian at an impressive speed, and Ronin raises his eyebrows with a thoroughly blank look on his face. "Ceart go leor," he says eventually, a whisper of two can play at that game in his expression.
"If that's the only lie then they're not really gossiping so much as being mistaken," he points out with a grin. "How are your full moon spirits, anyway?"
show me your darkness.
