RONIN
the darkstar
”Cloaks and masks,” Ronin agrees, mimicking a sort of cloak-and-dagger movement, only to be entirely thrown off when a shirt covered in spit up is tossed his way. Snatching it from the air and balling it up, he tosses it carelessly over his shoulder into the wagon. ”I pack the clothes. Washing them is your remit,” he informs Remi with a grin, stepping down to the ground and pausing a moment simply to watch and enjoy as the alchemist gets their son to sleep.
Now that the boy is safely out of grabbing range, the Star carefully unravels the scarf from around his antlers, grumbling at the bloody velvet but leaving it to do its thing. ”You still want to fondle my nubs?” he asks with a shit eating grin, gazing up at the Wishing Wagon with something like pride on his face. ”We got there,” he says suddenly. ”It couldn’t be more different to our plan, but we did get there.”
Now that the boy is safely out of grabbing range, the Star carefully unravels the scarf from around his antlers, grumbling at the bloody velvet but leaving it to do its thing. ”You still want to fondle my nubs?” he asks with a shit eating grin, gazing up at the Wishing Wagon with something like pride on his face. ”We got there,” he says suddenly. ”It couldn’t be more different to our plan, but we did get there.”
