[His hands lower and he looks at Ronan with level eyes. The cold had bitten through his threadbare jacket on their barn excursion, taking away any of the substantial warmth he had gained inside the farmhouse. He blows out a breath— just an exhale, but he’s aware it might sound like a sigh.
And Ronan’s words sound like a challenge. Parrish, are you hard enough to blast these fuckin’ dream birds? Adam is hard enough. Adam once stared their Latin teacher down, gun held in front of him, preventing him from running from his just death.
His hand closes around the hose.] I got it. Turn the water on?
[ Hell hath no fury like a redneck scorned. It's not that Ronan fears the mean cut of his boyfriend, now and then, so much as he's come to accept certain worldly inevitabilities: roses are red, violets come blue. Adam might fit the poster boy image of a serial killer wholesomely intent of ridding the world of every last nuisance, when he dons his college interview suits and his steel look, but he's soft and cuddly inside.
Deep down. Somewhere. In depths unseen, but suspected.
He gives his order, and who's Ronan to ignore it? With a careful nod, he waits for the ravens to righteously assemble, before one wrist bend unleashes true menace by way of a hungering water jet. To his credit, he didn't dream his flock stupid: they disperse before there's casualty, and maybe (just maybe) Ronan takes personal pride in the last protesting caw, before he elbows Adam like every dutiful accomplice and nods ahead: ]
Adam Ravenslayer. Come on. It's got a ring to it.
[ But the enemy hasn't been completely driven back, and there's no time like the present to be proactive. ]
Want to do the rounds, Parrish?
[ Kick'em while they're down. ]
I am so sorry this took so long!! It's been a rough couple of weeks
[It's a bit exhilarating; the stream of water blasting out if the nozzle, watching the dream creatures fly quickly away. A smile tugs at the corner of Adam's mouth as he aims his weapon and the raven's scream.
There are days when Adam Parrish pretends to be perfect, pretends to belong at Aglionby, pretends to be someone like Richard Campbell Gansey III, and then there are days like this. Days where Adam find a bit of joy in chaos.
It probably has something to do with the man next to him. And it probably has something to do with his upbringing. A deadly combination.
Adam Ravenslayer... the name makes him laugh, makes his smile grow, makes him want to grab Ronan by the collar and pull him in for a kiss so hot it would melt the snow around them.]
Yeah. [He doesn't know what Ronan means by "the rounds," if they're just going to force the birds back further or what, but he'll follow Ronan anywhere at this point.]
Let's hurry up, though. It's fuckin' freezing. [A dropped 'g'; his accent slips through the cracks as his teeth chatter together. Cold seeps in as they stand still.]
[ The trouble (inevitable) with owning so much land is that now and then, Ronan's condemned to walk it — and here's Adam, trailing after him, a grudging but benevolent acolyte, dragging the hose along like an impudent instrument to their crime.
They face off ravens at every turn, smudges and battalions of them, receding before the first nips of water as if they're the devil himself, expelled. Ronan wants to say, You assholes had it coming. Knows they get it, even without the pronouncement.
And then there's Adam, with him, faithful knight in shining armor, waving the hose around like Excalibur, in glory. Ronan concedes him the honor of exterminating their winged threat, neither feather nor beak of them left by the time he's done.
Then, carefully, one arm fastened around his boyfriend's shoulders: ]
[He melts into the touch, the weight of Ronan's arm around his shoulders. The hose, turned off now that the last raven has left their vicinity, hangs limp in his hand.
"You're my hero," Ronan says, and Adam snorts, rubs his cheek against the scratch of Ronan's shirt.]
Come on, Lynch. [Adam's arm winds around Ronan's waist, his fingers dropping the hose to the ground as they move back towards the farmhouse, where central heating lives. And, if Adam recalls, Ronan had promised cuddling. Or something.
They walk, and Adam's mind wanders as they move. Sometimes, Ronan's dreaming was a nuisance; an inconvenience. But at least he had...something. Ronan still had that other worldly, magical something to hold on to.
What did Adam have without Cabeswater? He was still trying to figure that out. His fingers itched for his cards.
They make it back to Ronan's childhood home still wrapped in each other, though it made walking quickly hard. But Adam didn't want to let go: he goes through moods of pulling away from any physical affection to wanting to be in constant contact.
He kicks his shoes off as they enter, and sighs.]
Issue solved. Crisis averted. Another victory for team Parrish-Lynch.
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And Ronan’s words sound like a challenge. Parrish, are you hard enough to blast these fuckin’ dream birds? Adam is hard enough. Adam once stared their Latin teacher down, gun held in front of him, preventing him from running from his just death.
His hand closes around the hose.] I got it. Turn the water on?
no subject
Deep down. Somewhere. In depths unseen, but suspected.
He gives his order, and who's Ronan to ignore it? With a careful nod, he waits for the ravens to righteously assemble, before one wrist bend unleashes true menace by way of a hungering water jet. To his credit, he didn't dream his flock stupid: they disperse before there's casualty, and maybe (just maybe) Ronan takes personal pride in the last protesting caw, before he elbows Adam like every dutiful accomplice and nods ahead: ]
Adam Ravenslayer. Come on. It's got a ring to it.
[ But the enemy hasn't been completely driven back, and there's no time like the present to be proactive. ]
Want to do the rounds, Parrish?
[ Kick'em while they're down. ]
I am so sorry this took so long!! It's been a rough couple of weeks
There are days when Adam Parrish pretends to be perfect, pretends to belong at Aglionby, pretends to be someone like Richard Campbell Gansey III, and then there are days like this. Days where Adam find a bit of joy in chaos.
It probably has something to do with the man next to him. And it probably has something to do with his upbringing. A deadly combination.
Adam Ravenslayer... the name makes him laugh, makes his smile grow, makes him want to grab Ronan by the collar and pull him in for a kiss so hot it would melt the snow around them.]
Yeah. [He doesn't know what Ronan means by "the rounds," if they're just going to force the birds back further or what, but he'll follow Ronan anywhere at this point.]
Let's hurry up, though. It's fuckin' freezing. [A dropped 'g'; his accent slips through the cracks as his teeth chatter together. Cold seeps in as they stand still.]
it's all good!
They face off ravens at every turn, smudges and battalions of them, receding before the first nips of water as if they're the devil himself, expelled. Ronan wants to say, You assholes had it coming. Knows they get it, even without the pronouncement.
And then there's Adam, with him, faithful knight in shining armor, waving the hose around like Excalibur, in glory. Ronan concedes him the honor of exterminating their winged threat, neither feather nor beak of them left by the time he's done.
Then, carefully, one arm fastened around his boyfriend's shoulders: ]
You're my hero, Parrish.
no subject
"You're my hero," Ronan says, and Adam snorts, rubs his cheek against the scratch of Ronan's shirt.]
Come on, Lynch. [Adam's arm winds around Ronan's waist, his fingers dropping the hose to the ground as they move back towards the farmhouse, where central heating lives. And, if Adam recalls, Ronan had promised cuddling. Or something.
They walk, and Adam's mind wanders as they move. Sometimes, Ronan's dreaming was a nuisance; an inconvenience. But at least he had...something. Ronan still had that other worldly, magical something to hold on to.
What did Adam have without Cabeswater? He was still trying to figure that out. His fingers itched for his cards.
They make it back to Ronan's childhood home still wrapped in each other, though it made walking quickly hard. But Adam didn't want to let go: he goes through moods of pulling away from any physical affection to wanting to be in constant contact.
He kicks his shoes off as they enter, and sighs.]
Issue solved. Crisis averted. Another victory for team Parrish-Lynch.