we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead
Ronin has just about reached the porch, and suddenly there’s a bat on one shoulder and a hawk on the other, the Star feeling like the most unorthodox pirate who ever lived (quiet, all of you). He considers, for a moment, kicking over his half finished cup of tea - because honestly, he needs something much stronger when this is his day-to-day. Ronin is consistently playing audience to the madness of his loved ones, and there’s only so much he can take.
At they start dissing his horns again, though, he turns his head to scowl up at his husband, trying to hide the smile that wants to spread across his face. ”I’ll do a lot more than grumble if you two don’t behave yourself,” he informs them, ducking into the shade and relative normality of the house he shares with Remi. ”Right. Go. Sit, perch, whatever,” he tells Jata, reaching up to scritch at Remi’s feathers (fully expecting to get his fingers nipped). ”Not you, though. I’ve missed you.”
At they start dissing his horns again, though, he turns his head to scowl up at his husband, trying to hide the smile that wants to spread across his face. ”I’ll do a lot more than grumble if you two don’t behave yourself,” he informs them, ducking into the shade and relative normality of the house he shares with Remi. ”Right. Go. Sit, perch, whatever,” he tells Jata, reaching up to scritch at Remi’s feathers (fully expecting to get his fingers nipped). ”Not you, though. I’ve missed you.”
THE DARK STAR
and continue fighting
