we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead
Monsoon season is crap. That’s Ronin’s honest opinion, after endless, endless rain. He’s been trapped in the house, at least that’s how it feels - and it’s messed with him.
Sleep hasn’t come easily, and his stupid antler nub things are itchy, and he’s generally annoyed with the world. It explains why he’s napping fitfully on the couch in their living room, a cold compress on his forehead to cover his embarrassment of a partial shift.
He’s not alone at least - Sugar is curled up on the back of the couch, and - wonder of wonders - Ianto is sprawled across his lap as a fox; a streak of copper in the shadows. They’re all asleep, in the ruddy light of the fire, snoring softly, making a pretty little picture. If only someone could come along and ruin it.
Sleep hasn’t come easily, and his stupid antler nub things are itchy, and he’s generally annoyed with the world. It explains why he’s napping fitfully on the couch in their living room, a cold compress on his forehead to cover his embarrassment of a partial shift.
He’s not alone at least - Sugar is curled up on the back of the couch, and - wonder of wonders - Ianto is sprawled across his lap as a fox; a streak of copper in the shadows. They’re all asleep, in the ruddy light of the fire, snoring softly, making a pretty little picture. If only someone could come along and ruin it.
THE DARK STAR
and continue fighting
