REMI
Remi wears the new suit like it’s always belonged to him, though the lines are sharper than he’s used to, the tailoring more precise. The colour is warm earth—soft ochres and burnished clay—offset by a crisp white shirt and a bowtie that Ronin had picked, his reasoning lost somewhere between sentiment and mischief. The boutonniere at his lapel is delicate, thoughtful: a bloom of pale ivory and soft blue, cradled in green and copper leaves; Mateo had made it to match the one from their wedding ten years ago.
The music winds around them like silk, laughter trailing along the sand, though Remi isn't really paying attention to any of it. Instead, his focus is only on the hand he’s holding—broad, calloused, impossibly familiar—and to the man beside him who has been his every beginning and his every again.
Remi squeezes Ronin’s hand gently, his thumb sweeping once over knuckles he knows like his own breath. Then, leaning close, he lets his voice brush against his husband’s ear, quiet and warm. [say}"The gift I have for you will probably make you cry," he says, lips twitching with fondness. "And I know it’s absolutely the wrong season for it, but...I hope you’ll like it anyway."
There’s no time for Ronin to respond—not properly—before Remi leans in and kisses him. It’s not for show, not the kind of kiss you offer in front of guests. It’s something far older, something full. A kiss made from early mornings and sleepless nights, from battles fought back to back, from long winters and hot, tangled summers. A kiss that speaks of promises kept, and chosen again, and chosen still.
When he draws back, there’s a light in his eyes that hasn't dimmed with time. He winks, the gesture teasing but soft, and then steps away—reluctantly, but without hesitation. The lantern waits for him just beyond the garlanded tents, where the sand grows smoother and the torchlight flickers over the waves. Mort’s gift is small in his hands but heavy with meaning, and as he lifts it gently into place, the metal cool against his fingers, he draws a match from his pocket. One strike, the flare of sulphur and light, and he shields the tiny flame with his palm as he lights the lantern.
It flickers once, then steadies, a soft golden pulse in the dusk.
Remi lights Mort's lantern!
Type: Light | Style: Other | Level: Mastered
Mort's Lantern | A lantern from the god of death himself which will open the doorway to his realm for one night, allowing the dead to walk freely.
The music winds around them like silk, laughter trailing along the sand, though Remi isn't really paying attention to any of it. Instead, his focus is only on the hand he’s holding—broad, calloused, impossibly familiar—and to the man beside him who has been his every beginning and his every again.
Remi squeezes Ronin’s hand gently, his thumb sweeping once over knuckles he knows like his own breath. Then, leaning close, he lets his voice brush against his husband’s ear, quiet and warm. [say}"The gift I have for you will probably make you cry," he says, lips twitching with fondness. "And I know it’s absolutely the wrong season for it, but...I hope you’ll like it anyway."
There’s no time for Ronin to respond—not properly—before Remi leans in and kisses him. It’s not for show, not the kind of kiss you offer in front of guests. It’s something far older, something full. A kiss made from early mornings and sleepless nights, from battles fought back to back, from long winters and hot, tangled summers. A kiss that speaks of promises kept, and chosen again, and chosen still.
When he draws back, there’s a light in his eyes that hasn't dimmed with time. He winks, the gesture teasing but soft, and then steps away—reluctantly, but without hesitation. The lantern waits for him just beyond the garlanded tents, where the sand grows smoother and the torchlight flickers over the waves. Mort’s gift is small in his hands but heavy with meaning, and as he lifts it gently into place, the metal cool against his fingers, he draws a match from his pocket. One strike, the flare of sulphur and light, and he shields the tiny flame with his palm as he lights the lantern.
It flickers once, then steadies, a soft golden pulse in the dusk.
Remi lights Mort's lantern!
Type: Light | Style: Other | Level: Mastered
Mort's Lantern | A lantern from the god of death himself which will open the doorway to his realm for one night, allowing the dead to walk freely.
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.
