I swear I still believe but I don't know
They've vented to each other before, but never has Ronin felt so much like the enemy before. He's helpless in the wake of Sunjata's rage and frustration and upset, flinching as his words pierce the silence that has stretched between them since the Star's vow to be there for the Flood. He watches as he gets up and goes to linger by the fire like a gargoyle, bathed in shadows and flame. The wing is a ragged thing, a broken reminder of yet another truth that is not self-evident.
But ultimately it's the last part that riles Ronin back to himself; he frowns over at Jata and shakes his head. "No," he says firmly, and already the cabin around them is altering in subtle ways. There's the smell of blackberries, of sugar and pancakes. "No, you don't fucking deserve it. If you think you do, tell him that."
Beside Ronin, a child with steel grey eyes sits. His mouth is purple from the blackberries, and his feet swing gently from the chair. "He doesn't, and neither do you."
But ultimately it's the last part that riles Ronin back to himself; he frowns over at Jata and shakes his head. "No," he says firmly, and already the cabin around them is altering in subtle ways. There's the smell of blackberries, of sugar and pancakes. "No, you don't fucking deserve it. If you think you do, tell him that."
Beside Ronin, a child with steel grey eyes sits. His mouth is purple from the blackberries, and his feet swing gently from the chair. "He doesn't, and neither do you."
the dark star
