REMI
the bastion
Darling, you never could scare me
Set me ablaze like you do
Set me ablaze like you do
Remi tilts his head, expression thoughtful in the way only he can manage when humour and skepticism blend together. "The marketplace in King’s End always looked like a graveyard for boats that got too sentimental to leave," he muses. "We’d never be so reckless. Besides, we could always just lift them out if they got stuck."
He chuckles as Ronin turns them down the quieter path, brushing a few stray leaves from his shoulder. "Though gods, you’re right. I can already hear Mateo giving a twenty-minute lecture about moisture damage, and Flora threatening to throw a party on each boat just to prove a point." There’s no sharpness to it, no sting. Just a fond, exaggerated roll of his eyes like he’s learned to expect nothing less from their wonderfully infuriating children.
But as the shape of the wagon starts to take form ahead, Remi’s expression shifts. The breath he draws in is quiet but caught, a soft hiss slipping between his teeth as the vines part and memory spills into view. All of it comes back—not just the creaking wheels and the smell of damp wood, but the salt-soaked nights they spent huddled inside, the ache of starting over, the sharp joy of building something that was just theirs.
"Alright then," he says, softer now. "Let's see what you've been hiding while I've been playing coastguard." Then, almost under his breath, as his hand grazes the old wood: "I remember when you could barely finish a sketch without getting frustrated." His smile deepens, crooked and fond. "Now look at you. With a secret studio."
He chuckles as Ronin turns them down the quieter path, brushing a few stray leaves from his shoulder. "Though gods, you’re right. I can already hear Mateo giving a twenty-minute lecture about moisture damage, and Flora threatening to throw a party on each boat just to prove a point." There’s no sharpness to it, no sting. Just a fond, exaggerated roll of his eyes like he’s learned to expect nothing less from their wonderfully infuriating children.
But as the shape of the wagon starts to take form ahead, Remi’s expression shifts. The breath he draws in is quiet but caught, a soft hiss slipping between his teeth as the vines part and memory spills into view. All of it comes back—not just the creaking wheels and the smell of damp wood, but the salt-soaked nights they spent huddled inside, the ache of starting over, the sharp joy of building something that was just theirs.
"Alright then," he says, softer now. "Let's see what you've been hiding while I've been playing coastguard." Then, almost under his breath, as his hand grazes the old wood: "I remember when you could barely finish a sketch without getting frustrated." His smile deepens, crooked and fond. "Now look at you. With a secret studio."
I'd walk over coals in my bare feet
If that gets me closer to you
If that gets me closer to you
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.
