REMI
the bastion
& my heart ran away with me
The late afternoon light spills through the windows in soft golds, pooling across the worn wood of the kitchen table. Everything about the scene is familiar—comfortably lived-in, sun-warmed, filled with the quiet cadence of domesticity—but instead of bread or something on fire, today the Taliesin's table is strewn with yards of black fabric, spools of thread, a few scattered pins, and a pair of shears that Remi keeps turning in his hand like they might cut faster if properly fidgeted with.
He's barefoot, curls tied back loosely (gods, does he need a haircut), and there’s a chalk smudge along his jaw where he'd forgotten he touched his face. Across the table, Ronin sits opposite him, his own half-finished material draped in a way that’s either careless or strategic, and Remi’s eyes flick toward it with a twitch of amusement as he tries to figure out which, before settling back on the task at hand. "I don’t think Ludo is actually going to care what any of us wear," Remi says at last, threading a needle with the sort of fluidity that suggests too many past lives mending things, owing to being a commoner. "But they’ll absolutely notice if we don’t put in the effort."
He lifts his eyes, smiling faintly, boyish and conspiratorial in the same breath. "So I’m making my cloak with pockets." He gestures vaguely to the mass of dark fabric bunched on his side of the table. "And I’m going to fill them with snacks. Maybe some dice. Cards. Little wind-up toys, if I can find any before the end of the week."
He's barefoot, curls tied back loosely (gods, does he need a haircut), and there’s a chalk smudge along his jaw where he'd forgotten he touched his face. Across the table, Ronin sits opposite him, his own half-finished material draped in a way that’s either careless or strategic, and Remi’s eyes flick toward it with a twitch of amusement as he tries to figure out which, before settling back on the task at hand. "I don’t think Ludo is actually going to care what any of us wear," Remi says at last, threading a needle with the sort of fluidity that suggests too many past lives mending things, owing to being a commoner. "But they’ll absolutely notice if we don’t put in the effort."
He lifts his eyes, smiling faintly, boyish and conspiratorial in the same breath. "So I’m making my cloak with pockets." He gestures vaguely to the mass of dark fabric bunched on his side of the table. "And I’m going to fill them with snacks. Maybe some dice. Cards. Little wind-up toys, if I can find any before the end of the week."
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.
