REMI
the bastion
What good are hands
if there's nothing that they hold
if there's nothing that they hold
Remi inhales sharply, brows climbing as if to bite back a disagreement. The sound hovers between amusement and disbelief, and after a moment he lets it out with a shrug. "I’d only just arrived in Caido then," he admits, the words outing him as Outlander if that wasn't already something Damien knew about him. His shoulders roll, curls sticking damp to his forehead. "I imagine anyone who grew up knowing Ludo might have gone into that bargain with their eyes open. I certainly didn’t." The smile he offers with it is wry, tempered by memory.
Damien’s next question stills him. He blinks, a little stunned, before immediately shaking his head. "None," he says simply, firmly. "I wouldn’t choose any of them." His gaze drops toward the water, a ripple of thought moving across his features before he adds, quieter, "I’m grateful for the strength being a demigod has given me. It lets me protect the people I care about. But—" his mouth twists, awkward as he rakes a hand back through his curls—"I’d never have chosen this life for myself. Others wear it far better than I do." The grin that follows is crooked, sheepish, his tone self-deprecating rather than bitter.
At the mention of Frey, though, he balks outright. "Gods, no, never them." The words come with a huff of incredulous laughter, head shaking hard enough to fling a few droplets from his curls. "I’ve never had anything but terrible interactions with Frey. So certainly not them." He rubs the back of his neck, half-grinning as if the idea alone is absurd enough to need no further explanation.
Damien’s next question stills him. He blinks, a little stunned, before immediately shaking his head. "None," he says simply, firmly. "I wouldn’t choose any of them." His gaze drops toward the water, a ripple of thought moving across his features before he adds, quieter, "I’m grateful for the strength being a demigod has given me. It lets me protect the people I care about. But—" his mouth twists, awkward as he rakes a hand back through his curls—"I’d never have chosen this life for myself. Others wear it far better than I do." The grin that follows is crooked, sheepish, his tone self-deprecating rather than bitter.
At the mention of Frey, though, he balks outright. "Gods, no, never them." The words come with a huff of incredulous laughter, head shaking hard enough to fling a few droplets from his curls. "I’ve never had anything but terrible interactions with Frey. So certainly not them." He rubs the back of his neck, half-grinning as if the idea alone is absurd enough to need no further explanation.
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.
