remi
Remi moves with an enthusiasm that feels strangely youthful in this shape, shoulders rolling in a soft, rounded swagger as he scrambles over a jut of rib-like stone and vanishes again beneath the canopy of carnivorous red leaves. His chittering continues in irregular bursts; sometimes sharp and taunting, sometimes a low muttering noise that sounds suspiciously like he’s narrating his own search in raccoon-grumbles.
Then—something. A sound that doesn’t match the rhythm of his own paws or Kaisel’s more careful footwork. Remi freezes mid-step, tail going stick-straight, little masked face pointed toward a cluster of thick, blood-red ferns. His body sinks low, cautious, curious, sniffing the air in a series of high, quick snorffles. Whatever it is, it’s small, and warm, and alive, and a flash of movement bursts through the foliage.
Remi jolts backward with a startled chit! as a blue-tailed skink skitters right across his front paws, its neon tail whipping behind it like a tiny tropical flag. The lizard pauses just long enough to glare (or whatever the reptile equivalent is), then flicks its tail again and darts straight up a lattice of crimson roots, disappearing as fast as it arrived.
The raccoon stares after it, offended in turn.
Snorffling once—loud, unimpressed—Remi gives a final glance in the wrong direction, spins on his paws with a little shake to reset his composure, and darts off toward a new pocket of sound. His chatter resumes with purpose, now clearly broadcasting his opinion that lizards are dramatic nuisances and absolutely not the dog he is looking for.
Then—something. A sound that doesn’t match the rhythm of his own paws or Kaisel’s more careful footwork. Remi freezes mid-step, tail going stick-straight, little masked face pointed toward a cluster of thick, blood-red ferns. His body sinks low, cautious, curious, sniffing the air in a series of high, quick snorffles. Whatever it is, it’s small, and warm, and alive, and a flash of movement bursts through the foliage.
Remi jolts backward with a startled chit! as a blue-tailed skink skitters right across his front paws, its neon tail whipping behind it like a tiny tropical flag. The lizard pauses just long enough to glare (or whatever the reptile equivalent is), then flicks its tail again and darts straight up a lattice of crimson roots, disappearing as fast as it arrived.
The raccoon stares after it, offended in turn.
Snorffling once—loud, unimpressed—Remi gives a final glance in the wrong direction, spins on his paws with a little shake to reset his composure, and darts off toward a new pocket of sound. His chatter resumes with purpose, now clearly broadcasting his opinion that lizards are dramatic nuisances and absolutely not the dog he is looking for.
we're only human but we've got hands & hearts & noses
So stop and smell the fuckin' roses
So stop and smell the fuckin' roses
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.
