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
Remi clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head as if disappointed. "If only it were as simple as that," he laments, though the glint in his eyes makes it clear he’s not above doing either if the mood struck, just to mess with the Knight.
As Isla arches her brows at him, Remi matches the gesture without hesitation, one dark eyebrow rising in slow, deliberate amusement. And then, as she peels off her dress, revealing pale blue swaths of fabric that once might have turned his thoughts to static and his tongue to knots, Remi only chuckles warmly. Whatever those old sparks once were and however confusingly tight they were once tied, they’ve been folded neatly into something far deeper: an unshakeable bond that no longer burns, but glows.
With a long breath, Remi turns and wades deeper, water curling around his waist before he pauses. His wings flare slightly, more for balance than display, and then with a moment’s focus, four thick tentacles unfurl from his hips—slick and shadowed, disappearing into the water. They press against the underside of the hull like patient hands, and then with a groan, the bow of the Northaven begins to lift. It rises slowly but steadily, seawater sluicing off the boards in rivulets. An impossible feat of strength, yes, but likely Isla is used to seeing such things from the Bastion by now.
The muscles in Remi’s arms tighten with the effort, shoulders drawn taut and jaw set—not strained, but certainly engaged. Glancing back at Isla with a crooked grin, he nods toward one of the boards just above the waterline, its edges warped and salt-brittle. "That one there," he says, chin lifting in its direction. "Think you can pry it loose?"
As Isla arches her brows at him, Remi matches the gesture without hesitation, one dark eyebrow rising in slow, deliberate amusement. And then, as she peels off her dress, revealing pale blue swaths of fabric that once might have turned his thoughts to static and his tongue to knots, Remi only chuckles warmly. Whatever those old sparks once were and however confusingly tight they were once tied, they’ve been folded neatly into something far deeper: an unshakeable bond that no longer burns, but glows.
With a long breath, Remi turns and wades deeper, water curling around his waist before he pauses. His wings flare slightly, more for balance than display, and then with a moment’s focus, four thick tentacles unfurl from his hips—slick and shadowed, disappearing into the water. They press against the underside of the hull like patient hands, and then with a groan, the bow of the Northaven begins to lift. It rises slowly but steadily, seawater sluicing off the boards in rivulets. An impossible feat of strength, yes, but likely Isla is used to seeing such things from the Bastion by now.
The muscles in Remi’s arms tighten with the effort, shoulders drawn taut and jaw set—not strained, but certainly engaged. Glancing back at Isla with a crooked grin, he nods toward one of the boards just above the waterline, its edges warped and salt-brittle. "That one there," he says, chin lifting in its direction. "Think you can pry it loose?"
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.
