we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead
Okay so it's been a while since Ronin played darts, clearly. Last time he hadn't been able to throw them quite so easily or with quite as much force, and the flush beneath his collar is as much embarrassment as it is a result of the liquor churning in his belly. Still, Sunjata fixes it with a laugh, Ronin stepping aside to let the other man have his turn, and he sinks another glass of whiskey by the time he needs to step up again.
"Alright, alright," he says through a chuckle, holding up his hands placatingly. "What happened there Jata? There's plenty of room in my bullseye for two." Waggling a hand at the blue tipped dart on the inner circle, Ronin will demonstrate. Except no he won't, and his version of gentle means that he doesn't throw the dart nearly hard enough. It clacks sideways against the board and falls to the ground.
And naturally, Ronin bursts out laughing.
"Alright, alright," he says through a chuckle, holding up his hands placatingly. "What happened there Jata? There's plenty of room in my bullseye for two." Waggling a hand at the blue tipped dart on the inner circle, Ronin will demonstrate. Except no he won't, and his version of gentle means that he doesn't throw the dart nearly hard enough. It clacks sideways against the board and falls to the ground.
And naturally, Ronin bursts out laughing.
THE DARK STAR
and continue fighting
