the things we hold are always the first to go
In retrospect, maybe it's being called Safrin's pet that does it. Ronin doesn't really know. He'll probably reflect on it later and join the fiery dots that led to this place and this moment. For now, he's barely registered that he's seized the empty glass in his hand, only recognising that he's thrown it when it shatters against the piano (rather that than Cian, which was where it was almost aimed).
His chair scrapes as he rises to his feet, starlight all but crackling out of him in his temper, and it's with an expression as dark as the moniker he's been given that he regards the Eye. "You know what," he almost whispers, "it does matter. And this fucking demigod doesn't give respect where it hasn't been earned."
He rolls his shoulders, as if trying to disperse some of the tension in them, the little good it will do. "I'd tell you to put up or shut up, but I don't want to embarrass you. So if you want anything from me, you know where to find me."
His chair scrapes as he rises to his feet, starlight all but crackling out of him in his temper, and it's with an expression as dark as the moniker he's been given that he regards the Eye. "You know what," he almost whispers, "it does matter. And this fucking demigod doesn't give respect where it hasn't been earned."
He rolls his shoulders, as if trying to disperse some of the tension in them, the little good it will do. "I'd tell you to put up or shut up, but I don't want to embarrass you. So if you want anything from me, you know where to find me."
