I shouldn't laugh, but I know I'm a failure in your eyes
Cozy and ominous with a storm brewing on the horizon; it's exactly Ronin's sort of place. In this non-reality they've crafted, he's wearing leather and furs, sitting on the porch before the crackling fire as he sharpens an impossibly large battleaxe. With hair ruffled by the mountain wind and scars on his face, this version of Ronin is a monster hunter in every way and then some. With a crooked smile, he eyes the grinning mists, glancing over his shoulder for his husband.
"Do you want to wait for them to come to us, or shall we get a head start?" he asks, rolling to get to his feet and setting down the whetstone he's been using. Thunder purrs overhead, preceded by a few flashes within the lavender smog. A suitable backdrop for forgetting, but the violence on the horizon says otherwise.
"Do you want to wait for them to come to us, or shall we get a head start?" he asks, rolling to get to his feet and setting down the whetstone he's been using. Thunder purrs overhead, preceded by a few flashes within the lavender smog. A suitable backdrop for forgetting, but the violence on the horizon says otherwise.
RONIN
