the bastion
I had a dream about a burning house
You were stuck inside, I couldn't get you out
You were stuck inside, I couldn't get you out
The flock descends like a gang of jewel-toned hooligans, and Remi watches with open amusement as one particularly daring Wader makes a beeline for what’s left of the breakfast spread. The table rocks slightly under the bird’s weight, and Oria lets out a distressed tchhht! from her perch in his curls as a beak comes far too close for her liking.
"Well," Remi murmurs, smiling as if he’s just been invited to play a very old game, "that didn’t take long."
Without further warning, his form begins to shift. Feathers erupt where flesh had been, fur rippling down his spine as his bones stretch and fold and reshape with the ease of long practice. In a breath, the man is gone, replaced by the gleaming, winged shape of a lion—the pixui—its coat the soft gold of dawn and its wings vast and dappled like sunlight through leaves.
Oria quickly scrambles to a new perch between his shoulders, chittering in what sounds suspiciously like glee.
The lion gives a single, impressive shake of its mane and then surges forward with the fluidity of a much younger creature, wings flaring as he bounds toward the birds. He doesn’t roar so much as bellow—a rolling sound that echoes off the trees and sends leaves fluttering in panic. It's not aggressive, exactly, but it is the kind of noise that makes one deeply reconsider the quality of one’s choices.
Remi shifts and chases the birds!
"Well," Remi murmurs, smiling as if he’s just been invited to play a very old game, "that didn’t take long."
Without further warning, his form begins to shift. Feathers erupt where flesh had been, fur rippling down his spine as his bones stretch and fold and reshape with the ease of long practice. In a breath, the man is gone, replaced by the gleaming, winged shape of a lion—the pixui—its coat the soft gold of dawn and its wings vast and dappled like sunlight through leaves.
Oria quickly scrambles to a new perch between his shoulders, chittering in what sounds suspiciously like glee.
The lion gives a single, impressive shake of its mane and then surges forward with the fluidity of a much younger creature, wings flaring as he bounds toward the birds. He doesn’t roar so much as bellow—a rolling sound that echoes off the trees and sends leaves fluttering in panic. It's not aggressive, exactly, but it is the kind of noise that makes one deeply reconsider the quality of one’s choices.
Remi shifts and chases the birds!
I lay beside you and pulled you close
And the two of us went up in smoke
And the two of us went up in smoke
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.
