remi
A lot's been changin' lately and I can't tell
If it's me or if it's everybody else
If it's me or if it's everybody else
"Oh babe," Remi calls out sweetly through the leaves, his voice echoing from somewhere just beyond the twisting path ahead, "you’ve always had a problem keeping your feet under you." A soft tsk follows, feathered with affection and teasing in equal measure.
He could have run. Could have melted into the underbrush like a ghost or a manticore or something far more dramatic. But there’s something delightfully impish about choosing a more unassuming option. So with a ripple of energy that barely rustles the air around him, Remi’s form shrinks until there are small paws against bark, the shift so seamless it might’ve been mistaken for a blink of light between the leaves.
Where a man once stood, now a raccoon clings to the trunk of a nearby tree, ringed tail flicking like a metronome of mischief. He’s plump in that charming, wild way, with clever paws already tugging a few leafy twigs loose to make his perch look more accidental, more coincidental.
He nestles in like an opportunist—because he is one—and peers out with black-button eyes, watching the path below like a bandit casing a mark.
Let’s see what you do when I cheat, he thinks, smug and small and hidden just well enough that Ronin might stroll past without ever knowing he’s being stalked by a masked menace. Remi crouches, tail curling close, ready to launch down at just the right moment—ideally with a squeak and a dramatic tangle of limbs to mark his triumphant ambush.
~FIN
He could have run. Could have melted into the underbrush like a ghost or a manticore or something far more dramatic. But there’s something delightfully impish about choosing a more unassuming option. So with a ripple of energy that barely rustles the air around him, Remi’s form shrinks until there are small paws against bark, the shift so seamless it might’ve been mistaken for a blink of light between the leaves.
Where a man once stood, now a raccoon clings to the trunk of a nearby tree, ringed tail flicking like a metronome of mischief. He’s plump in that charming, wild way, with clever paws already tugging a few leafy twigs loose to make his perch look more accidental, more coincidental.
He nestles in like an opportunist—because he is one—and peers out with black-button eyes, watching the path below like a bandit casing a mark.
Let’s see what you do when I cheat, he thinks, smug and small and hidden just well enough that Ronin might stroll past without ever knowing he’s being stalked by a masked menace. Remi crouches, tail curling close, ready to launch down at just the right moment—ideally with a squeak and a dramatic tangle of limbs to mark his triumphant ambush.
~FIN
we're only human but w?'ve got hands & hearts & noses
So stop and sm?ll the fuckin' roses
So stop and sm?ll the fuckin' roses
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.
