and my heart ran away with me
Remi is leaned lazily against the edge of the cloud, one arm slung over it with the languid comfort of someone perfectly at ease—at least in appearance. The truth pools deeper beneath the surface, but for now he lets the music drown it out. His curls are damp at the ends, salt-framed and tousled, and his swim shorts—bright red, just like Ronin’s—cling a little at the hips, sun-warmed and undeniably cheerful.
The illusion of ease shatters only slightly when Deimos approaches. Remi doesn’t move, but his brows lift above the rim of his sunglasses the moment his daughter's name echoes in his mind. Slowly, deliberately, he turns his head toward Deimos, blinking once.
Her what? The question doesn’t come with panic, not yet. But it does come with the slow, creeping coil of concern that begins to wind through his chest. His hand drifts, unhurried, to brush a bit of sand from Ronin’s knee, if only to feel the warmth of something despite it seeming as though once again Flora was up to something without having told them.
The illusion of ease shatters only slightly when Deimos approaches. Remi doesn’t move, but his brows lift above the rim of his sunglasses the moment his daughter's name echoes in his mind. Slowly, deliberately, he turns his head toward Deimos, blinking once.
Her what? The question doesn’t come with panic, not yet. But it does come with the slow, creeping coil of concern that begins to wind through his chest. His hand drifts, unhurried, to brush a bit of sand from Ronin’s knee, if only to feel the warmth of something despite it seeming as though once again Flora was up to something without having told them.
remi
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.
