REMI
the bastion
What good are hands
if there's nothing that they hold
if there's nothing that they hold
"Ah—" The protest leaves Remi half-shaped as Damien wades into the pool, but he swallows the rest behind a smile. Torchline’s sun would see the man’s boots dry quick enough, and the water wasn’t cruelly cold this far south.
"Thank you," he huffs instead, laughter softening the word. "If you can keep it braced against the bank, I’m sure I’ve got another tentacle somewhere." The grin that follows is sheepish, almost conspiratorial—but rather than conjure a fresh coil of blue-green, the existing ones unfurl and ease their burdens to the sand in an ungainly thud. The trunks settle heavy at his feet, and Remi drags a hand through damp curls with a sigh that sounds far more relieved than defeated. "Though truthfully, I could use the break anyway."
Damien’s words bring his head up. Remi studies him more carefully this time—the scar-shadowed features, the square weight of his shoulders—before memory catches. A small nod confirms it. "Oh, that's right." His tone warms, recognition smoothing across the vowels as he wipes a palm against his shirt before extending it, careful with his grip as always. "It’s good to meet you properly, Damien."
His gaze shifts toward the cub circling endlessly in her ridiculous fin, amusement tugging one corner of his mouth. "And Aria," he adds, voice light with approval as if she really might be learning the art of intimidation along with swimming.
With that, Remi crouches, scooping both hands into the shallows. The water gleams in his palms for a moment before he tips it down the back of his neck, a shiver rolling his shoulders as heat gives way to cool. Straightening, he glances sidelong at Damien, expression curious beneath the easy grin
"So—how do you know Theea?"
"Thank you," he huffs instead, laughter softening the word. "If you can keep it braced against the bank, I’m sure I’ve got another tentacle somewhere." The grin that follows is sheepish, almost conspiratorial—but rather than conjure a fresh coil of blue-green, the existing ones unfurl and ease their burdens to the sand in an ungainly thud. The trunks settle heavy at his feet, and Remi drags a hand through damp curls with a sigh that sounds far more relieved than defeated. "Though truthfully, I could use the break anyway."
Damien’s words bring his head up. Remi studies him more carefully this time—the scar-shadowed features, the square weight of his shoulders—before memory catches. A small nod confirms it. "Oh, that's right." His tone warms, recognition smoothing across the vowels as he wipes a palm against his shirt before extending it, careful with his grip as always. "It’s good to meet you properly, Damien."
His gaze shifts toward the cub circling endlessly in her ridiculous fin, amusement tugging one corner of his mouth. "And Aria," he adds, voice light with approval as if she really might be learning the art of intimidation along with swimming.
With that, Remi crouches, scooping both hands into the shallows. The water gleams in his palms for a moment before he tips it down the back of his neck, a shiver rolling his shoulders as heat gives way to cool. Straightening, he glances sidelong at Damien, expression curious beneath the easy grin
"So—how do you know Theea?"
And what good are hearts
if you bury them all alone?
if you bury them all alone?
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.
