the bastion
Maybe I'm a runaway train
Maybe I'm a feather in a hurricane
Maybe I'm a feather in a hurricane
The slow smile that climbs Remi’s face is warm, but shadowed at the edges. "Not many people did," he admits softly, his fingers brushing over the curve of Theea’s back in slow, grounding circles. "Not at first,"" he huffs a quiet breath, not quite bitter, but something close, though it's a good deal softer than it might once have been. "Most were too busy wondering why we left in the first place. What we were trying to prove, or maybe why we felt like we'd been hurt so much worse than they had that we had to go away for a time."
His head tilts slightly, wings twitching gently around her like they might pull the forest in tighter. "But Ronin—" A quiet laugh slips free, boyish and fond. "Ronin never left my side. Not once. And worse, I suppose, he never told me to snap out of it or pull my head out of my ass when he probably should have. So when I finally looked up and saw what it was doing to him, to be alone up there on that mountain...I couldn’t let it keep happening."
He shifts, pulling back just enough to glance down at her, eyes lined with something that isn’t regret, exactly, but carries the same weight. "My whole right arm was damaged during the war. I couldn't do much alchemy, couldn’t even write with it. I told myself that was the reason I stayed up there. That it was practical. But really..." He shakes his head, rueful. "I was just hiding. It was easier to be broken up in the clouds than to come down and see what had cracked apart while we were gone."
Then, as she asks—so quiet, so brave—about her mother, Remi softens again. He reaches out and gently tips her chin up so he can see her properly, not just curled into him, but facing him fully. His voice is warm and certain when he answers. "Of course you can," he says, then a flicker of mischief warms his tone. "And I’ll give you one of my feathers to tuck into it, so she knows she’s not just welcome by her daughter, but by someone who’d fly halfway across the world if it meant seeing her again." His thumb brushes gently beneath her eye. "She deserves to know that, even if she isn't ready."
His head tilts slightly, wings twitching gently around her like they might pull the forest in tighter. "But Ronin—" A quiet laugh slips free, boyish and fond. "Ronin never left my side. Not once. And worse, I suppose, he never told me to snap out of it or pull my head out of my ass when he probably should have. So when I finally looked up and saw what it was doing to him, to be alone up there on that mountain...I couldn’t let it keep happening."
He shifts, pulling back just enough to glance down at her, eyes lined with something that isn’t regret, exactly, but carries the same weight. "My whole right arm was damaged during the war. I couldn't do much alchemy, couldn’t even write with it. I told myself that was the reason I stayed up there. That it was practical. But really..." He shakes his head, rueful. "I was just hiding. It was easier to be broken up in the clouds than to come down and see what had cracked apart while we were gone."
Then, as she asks—so quiet, so brave—about her mother, Remi softens again. He reaches out and gently tips her chin up so he can see her properly, not just curled into him, but facing him fully. His voice is warm and certain when he answers. "Of course you can," he says, then a flicker of mischief warms his tone. "And I’ll give you one of my feathers to tuck into it, so she knows she’s not just welcome by her daughter, but by someone who’d fly halfway across the world if it meant seeing her again." His thumb brushes gently beneath her eye. "She deserves to know that, even if she isn't ready."
Maybe it's a long play game
But maybe that's a good thing
But maybe that's a good thing
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
