we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead
"No chance if they're yours, spider-arms," Ronin mumbles; the words are filled with all of the usual humour, but the tone is lack-lustre at best. Still, it's all the thanks he can give for the clothes, Ronin finishing pouring them a drink and clinking his glass against Sunjata's before taking a very (very) generous drink. That done, he sets the glass back down and shifts to get up, the towel pooling at his feet. He pulls on the clothes without much in the way of preamble, and soon Ronin is pushing up the sleeves of a soft grey sweater and slouching to sit back down.
"It's good," he says of the liquor, though however strong the drink might be, however comfortable the couch, it doesn't make Ronin feel any less raw. "Gods, I'm so tired," he all but whispers, rubbing at aching eyes and huffing out a sigh. "You don't have to babysit me, you must have so much to do. I'll be a'right here - won't do anything stupid."
"It's good," he says of the liquor, though however strong the drink might be, however comfortable the couch, it doesn't make Ronin feel any less raw. "Gods, I'm so tired," he all but whispers, rubbing at aching eyes and huffing out a sigh. "You don't have to babysit me, you must have so much to do. I'll be a'right here - won't do anything stupid."
THE DARK STAR
and continue fighting
