muses: ronan & [open!]
location: outside of blodeuwedd
the day was taxing, as they tended to be for ronan ever since his metaphorical beaching. despite the ache settling down into his old bones, he was reluctant to go home. the first couple months of his stay in afon vale has been spent as a miserable hermit. as his spirits lifted, he found it less and less desirable to fall into old habitsâeven if he was still a hermit, relative to the rest of the townâs population.
ronan had been steering clear of blodeuwedd forest for a while. he wasnât particularly âin the loop,â but he read the paper near religiously. heâd heard about the gruesome sight they discovered. it was truly a damn shame. aside from the cove, the forest had become one of his favorite places to relax. now, he supposed, it had a bit of bad luck associated with it.
but the sky was clear and the day was perfect for him: just on this side of cool, where he could feel comfortable in a cardigan. he had his bag and a blanket, his journal, and a bag of veggie crisps (another delightful human creation, in his mindâright up there with writing paper and whatever it was that eased his back pain when he took two tablets with a glass of water). oh, why shouldnât he have a day out? he hated to think of himself as some defenseless little thing. and death had never particularly scared him anyway, nor did he often fall victim to superstition.
yes, heâd have a day out, and maybe heâd find one of those delightful little skinks that skittered up trees in the forest again, the ones with the spots down their backs. mind set, ronan took off on the paved path towards the forest. he was feeling better already, he thought, making his way down a set of stairs. maybe he could finally finish transcribing his travels in the indian sea, the passage in his notebook remaining unfinished for quite a while. he only wished he could rememberâ
for the first time in a century, ronan exclaimed âah, fuck!â
heâd slipped while lost in thought, one of his crutches sliding off the step earlier than heâd anticipated and tumbling out of his grasp. he glared at it with malice from the top of the stairs. luckily heâd caught himself, his free arm hooked over the rail and his other cane still firmly in place, but he was stuck in an awkward situation. blasted stairs.
âmaybe this place is right bad luck,â ronan muttered. someone passing by caught his eye.
âsorry,â he said, sheepish, âcould you grab that for me?â
blakekathryn
discoholicmusic
jbbartram-illu
origamiaround
romaincrisis
2087
