Let's not get lost in the dark blue
But darling if we do, just find me and I'll find you
But darling if we do, just find me and I'll find you
The tide is low and the air thick with Longheat warmth as Remi walks barefoot into the surf, the sand hot beneath his soles until the waves cool it into silk. The sun is beginning to dip, casting the sky in amber and rose, but the heat lingers—humming against his skin, catching in the hollows of his collarbones and various scars.
He wears only a pair of dark swimming trunks, soaked to the waistband from earlier dives, and the sea spray kisses hugs his curls that hang loose around his face. Muscles coil and flex as he exhales and reaches out, hands gripping the thick hemp rope that tethers the Northaven further out to sea.
One foot braces in the shallows, then the other, and with the slow grind of stubborn resistance, the ship begins to shift.
The Northaven creaks like an old bone as she comes, hull groaning, groaning—then gliding. Remi pulls steadily, shoulder muscles bunching beneath sun-darkened skin, until the keel scrapes against sand in a low sigh of arrival. It’s not perfect, not docked, but it’s close enough to keep her steady while he works.
He releases the rope and shakes out his arms, water flicking from his wrists. Then he wades around the side of the ship, assessing the damage she's sustained over the past few seasons. A few smaller cracks spider along the hull, and seaweed clings stubbornly in the seams. Dropping into the water with a quiet grunt, Remi runs a hand along the damage. "Alright," he murmurs. "Let’s patch you up."
He wears only a pair of dark swimming trunks, soaked to the waistband from earlier dives, and the sea spray kisses hugs his curls that hang loose around his face. Muscles coil and flex as he exhales and reaches out, hands gripping the thick hemp rope that tethers the Northaven further out to sea.
One foot braces in the shallows, then the other, and with the slow grind of stubborn resistance, the ship begins to shift.
The Northaven creaks like an old bone as she comes, hull groaning, groaning—then gliding. Remi pulls steadily, shoulder muscles bunching beneath sun-darkened skin, until the keel scrapes against sand in a low sigh of arrival. It’s not perfect, not docked, but it’s close enough to keep her steady while he works.
He releases the rope and shakes out his arms, water flicking from his wrists. Then he wades around the side of the ship, assessing the damage she's sustained over the past few seasons. A few smaller cracks spider along the hull, and seaweed clings stubbornly in the seams. Dropping into the water with a quiet grunt, Remi runs a hand along the damage. "Alright," he murmurs. "Let’s patch you up."
the bastion
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.
