we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead
"You don't need to apologise." Ronin has been soaking away the barely-there-bruises in the hotspring, content to let his husband process to his heart's content. Indeed, he's bonelessly relaxed against the stones of their hotspring, his hair damp with the steam, his eyes closed and a soft smile on his face. Only now that Remi is able to speak does he blink his eyes back open, reaching back for the cold, cold glass of whiskey he's poured for himself and taking a generous sip.
"It was a bit of an anticlimax," he remarks. "With the basilisk, I mean. And I know you'd been feeling wound up about it all since we got the letter." Murderous blueballs, then, was the result. "Just let me know if this isn't cutting it, and I'll go under the water and bite your toes."
"It was a bit of an anticlimax," he remarks. "With the basilisk, I mean. And I know you'd been feeling wound up about it all since we got the letter." Murderous blueballs, then, was the result. "Just let me know if this isn't cutting it, and I'll go under the water and bite your toes."
THE DARK STAR
and continue fighting
