little white lies

RONIN if there's one thing i'm good at, it's surviving "Oh, I could think of a few people who would care," Ronin says with a chuckle, the Star well able to imagine the faces of the Dragoons if he were to rock up in a waistcoat and cravat. It wouldn't stop him from fighting - indeed, it hasn't ever done so in the past - and... actually, and what? "You do make a good point," he admits, glancing into one of the windows and imagining himself in one of the thoroughly impractical suits. Sera's remarks about her workshop reassure him enough that he has already imagined what he'll paint first by the time they're ducking into the supplies shop, and Ronin inhales deeply the scent of wood and canvas and paint. "It has been a long time since I've seen materials like this," he admits. They're beyond what Northaven had to offer, even, and he's ducking away between shelves to select things before he knows it. If Sera doesn't keep up, she'll have lost him to the stacks. Ronin finds himself, eventually, sitting on the floor with his hot chocolate beside him, comparing two sets of paints and wondering if he's able to open them up to try them out.