but that was then, and this is now
The stillness that follows is the kind that gets under your skin. The kind that makes every muscle want to coil and every sense sharpen until you’re halfway to growing claws without realising it. Remi draws in a slow breath instead, grounding himself in the frost-crunch beneath his boots, in the familiar ache of cold on his cheeks. No need to turn into something massive and bristling just because the mist has decided to play tricks.
Then, the trick rolls right into him.
A small rubber duck bounces to a stop against his boot, its painted skin the colour of driftwood instead of the usual sunny yellow. For an absurd moment, he can only think of Melita—he’s been on the receiving end of enough Honeybee chaos to recognise the calling card.
Mel? he sends into the quiet, the question soft but touched with a flicker of amusement, wondering if she’s finally gone and gotten herself a shift.
The fog parts enough to reveal not Melita at all, but a husky with pale eyes, and an expression far too intent for the average stray. Remi blinks, surprise breaking across his face as the dog’s gaze bounces between him and the duck like they’re in on some joke together. Iskra’s voice cuts through the frost then, sharp and searching, the name Goose chased by a whistle with just enough worry in it to scrape the air thin. Ah. Not Melita, then—just a dog.
With a boyish grin, Remi stoops to retrieve the duck. "Well, I suppose you’re not the worst company I could have," he murmurs, thumb brushing the damp paint before he gives it a tentative squeeze, curious if it will squeak.
The sound, if it comes, is carried with his voice as he straightens and calls into the haze, "Over here!"
Then, the trick rolls right into him.
A small rubber duck bounces to a stop against his boot, its painted skin the colour of driftwood instead of the usual sunny yellow. For an absurd moment, he can only think of Melita—he’s been on the receiving end of enough Honeybee chaos to recognise the calling card.
Mel? he sends into the quiet, the question soft but touched with a flicker of amusement, wondering if she’s finally gone and gotten herself a shift.
The fog parts enough to reveal not Melita at all, but a husky with pale eyes, and an expression far too intent for the average stray. Remi blinks, surprise breaking across his face as the dog’s gaze bounces between him and the duck like they’re in on some joke together. Iskra’s voice cuts through the frost then, sharp and searching, the name Goose chased by a whistle with just enough worry in it to scrape the air thin. Ah. Not Melita, then—just a dog.
With a boyish grin, Remi stoops to retrieve the duck. "Well, I suppose you’re not the worst company I could have," he murmurs, thumb brushing the damp paint before he gives it a tentative squeeze, curious if it will squeak.
The sound, if it comes, is carried with his voice as he straightens and calls into the haze, "Over here!"
the bastion
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.
