RONIN
the darkstar
light is easy to love.
"You're right. No one did," Ronin replies simply, bobbing his eyebrows over the jar as he takes another drink from it. It's going down too easy, and the heat in his belly is far too pleasant for the long as hell walk home he's got to look forward to. As he hands the booze back across as Bandcamp insults his skills, he can't help the way his jaw drops incredulously. "You know they call us the fighting Irish, right?" It's half a warning, half a joke, and honestly - Ronin is too battered already to be bothered with another punch up. Especially not in some carelessly handsome musician's apartment.
"Lucky for some," he remarks about the silver spoon comment, deciding to put that the fuck to bed before it dances right across the line of banter and into an argument. "And I read it off a tshirt, actually. Probably the same place you got yours." He nods at the other man's fashion choices.
Only then wow, they're really getting into the meat of the conversation, and Ronin runs his tongue along his teeth. "Most don't get the phone number," he points out. "So is this your way of saying that I owe you one, or...?" Tilting his head, he barks out a laugh. "You're a bit of a dick, aren't you?" he says. "I like it." A lot.
"Lucky for some," he remarks about the silver spoon comment, deciding to put that the fuck to bed before it dances right across the line of banter and into an argument. "And I read it off a tshirt, actually. Probably the same place you got yours." He nods at the other man's fashion choices.
Only then wow, they're really getting into the meat of the conversation, and Ronin runs his tongue along his teeth. "Most don't get the phone number," he points out. "So is this your way of saying that I owe you one, or...?" Tilting his head, he barks out a laugh. "You're a bit of a dick, aren't you?" he says. "I like it." A lot.
show me your darkness.
