Ronan sat at the kitchen table, his hands around his coffee mug -- he wasn't drinking out of it, not more than the occasional, absent sip, so much as trying to absorb the warmth through the mug.

It wasn't working; his heart? Still kinda chilled. Whatever was going on in the multiverse had him shaken to the core.

[Up late because I am made of ( Read more... )

After work, Ronan rushed home to check on a few things -- he had a bacon-wrapped pork tenderloin in the slowcooker, a Thai green curry simmering in the other slowcooker (because why would Ronan only have one of those?), and a batch of steaks marinating in the fridge, ready to be grilled ( Read more... )

Ronan was staring at his computer screen, trying to figure out how the hell to write, "People are disappearing in such a way that even the Manual doesn't have a record of them," into a precis. For the Manual. Because that was going to go over well, obviously.

Yeah, he was going to go and check his messages instead, smiling softly at Isabel's voice ( Read more... )

"Dai, Nita," Ronan said, slipping his phone between ear and shoulder before reaching into the oven to pull out a casserole dish. "Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. Nah, it's not a bad time, I'm just doing some cooking. Which reminds me -- have you been talking to Annie lately? I left her a message a while ago and never heard back ( Read more... )

Ronan bustled around the house -- his house, which was new and interesting -- as he figured out where he was going to put everything. The last few days, the deal seemed like it had been stuck in limbo, but just this morning everything fell into place.

Of course, the first room Ronan started actually unpacking? Was the kitchen.

[Open for visitors ( Read more... )