Ronin Taliesin
but they haven't seen the best of me
It's better than he might have imagined, and Ronin has to bite down hard on his lip not to burst out laughing at the sight of the jam-smeared, claw-painted fluffball in his arms. "I am so sorry," he gushes, snuggling the furry iteration of chaos close into his arms. "I will make us whatever you want right now, you name it." As he speaks, his fingers come to scritch behind inky black ears and into the thick ruff of fur around Remi's neck.
"I met Mort," he says, softly and quietly in response to where, precisely, he has been, the Huntsman shifting off the bed and to his feet so he can carry Remi over to the stove and start concocting whatever feast he's in the mood for. "Like... I met him. He... He was everything you told me he was." And more, still.
"I met Mort," he says, softly and quietly in response to where, precisely, he has been, the Huntsman shifting off the bed and to his feet so he can carry Remi over to the stove and start concocting whatever feast he's in the mood for. "Like... I met him. He... He was everything you told me he was." And more, still.
