Ramon opens the door quietly, not wanting to draw attention, and it's closed quickly behind him so that the noise of he bar doesn't filter through. He takes a moment to just lean against the wall, rubbing over his face with a bruised and bloodied hand, trying to calm down before seeing Random again. A cigarette is lit and after a few minutes, he walks quietly towards the dark kitchen to find a bottle of something strongly alcoholic. This evening is one he'd like to forget in a hurry.
It's been coming since the day they met and Ramon knows it. Right now, he can't think what took him so long. Because Sands needs to be taught a lesson, he's needed it for ages and it can't be put off any longer. There's only so long he can play nice.
Ramon exits the bar in a hurry, dragging Sands after him. It's dark enough and anyway, he's beyond caring if anyone sees. The thought that he shouldn't be doing this is drowned under waves of long-supressed anger, ignored to be dealt with later.
He lets him go eventually, when they're near the lake bank, a hard shove pushing him away. Then he spreads his arms wide and his face twists into a snarl.
'Come on then. You've been pushing for this, come and get it if you've got the guts.'
Ramon opens the door from the bar. The first thing Sands will probably notice is the warmth, because they're in Portugal at a hot time. It's late afternoon though so it's not stifling, and the living room beyond the door is large and airy, with french windows that open up onto a garden. Beyond that, beach and sea - the smell of the ocean is pretty strong, even here.
'I hope you don't mind crap for dinner Sands, because neither of us can cook. Unless you can?'
So not above making him do it now he's here. Although given that he and Random are practically carrying him after the drugs he took, there's a chance the man might not be able to hit his mouth with a fork anyway. And he knows he's not feeding him, that's for damn sure.