Just for now

"Resentment?" Remi repeated, his expression one of thoughtful disagreement. "No ... not that. Not for me at least." Looking across at Rory as he fidgeted with the reins and the material of his pants, Remi tried to think of a way to explain just what it was which was driving him. "I did not ever expect freedom back home," Remi began, gaze softly falling over the side of Rory's face. "But I had hoped for at least the ability to leave our small city without an armed escort. Then coming here..." Remi looked out towards the barrier, expression still soft and contemplative. "...I do not have the words for it." He admitted almost reluctantly, glancing tentatively towards Rory with a growing and crooked smile. "But it is not resentment. It is just..." Lips remaining parted for a moment, Remi sort of chuckle-sighed and shrugged. "..a dream perhaps. Swallowing down his immediate feelings of awkwardness at having described his situation with such an uncharacteristic lack of clarity, Remi was grateful for the slight shift in conversation.  "I—" am an alchemist. But for some reason that isn't what he said. Instead, gazing silently at the man seated next to him, the words died on his tongue, feeling inappropriate somehow as if he didn't have the right to claim that he was anything, especially not in a world to which he didn't belong. "—I make things. Teas and liquors for the Rathskeller, paints and inks...other various small machines and the like." He made weapons too, but that was merely a hang-up from Northaven that he'd rather not mention. Besides, his last weapon had been given to Kalt, and truthfully the alchemist was glad that the sword was no longer in his shop. "My father was a merchant, though quite a bad one. He swindled and stole and ended up whoring or gambling or drinking away most of what he did earn. So I began to try and make things that our customers wanted." A skill born out of necessity, but Remi had always rather liked it. Without any proper schooling what he made was likely quite crude and unskilled, but without any real bench mark as a child he had no way of knowing. And at least it afforded the boy enough to buy himself a blanket to keep himself warm with. Finding Rory's blue stare, so still and deep, Remi searched within it for the answers that the man had quite literally said he didn't hold. Still, something in the gently sculpted canvas of Rory's expression made Remi believe that perhaps he did. Or maybe that he could. REMI So come on, get higher, loosen my lips, faith and desire and the swing of your hips Just pull me down hard and drown me in love