remi
Remi halts mid-snuffle at Kaisel’s accusation, tail giving one slow, offended flick. He turns with great ceremony—rolling from shoulder to shoulder like a damp little emperor pivoting on his axis—and fixes Kaisel with a stare that is half raccoon, half Bastion, and entirely unimpressed. His beady eyes narrow. His whiskers bristle. Every inch of him radiates: How dare you question my methods, which are both mysterious and flawless. He opens his mouth—perhaps to chitter a rebuttal, perhaps to mime some grand explanation involving complex scent patterns only raccoons can decipher—but then Kaisel is yelling for the dog and the dog is answering?
A bark snaps through the undergrowth, bright and distant and wonderfully dog-like. Remi freezes, ears pricking forward. His tail lifts like a little plume of exclamation. Before Remi can even react properly, Kaisel surges past him in a burst of excitement, and instinct (plus a raccoon’s opportunistic nature) takes over.
Remi launches.
It isn’t graceful. It isn’t dignified. It’s a full-bodied yeet of damp fur and enthusiasm as he flings himself onto Kaisel’s side, claws scrabbling harmlessly until he catches onto the man’s backpack straps. Once latched, he hauls himself up in a single determined wiggle and becomes an instant, soggy backpack accessory.
His round body settles against Kaisel’s shoulder blades like a loaf of furry bread. Tiny paws hook in for stability, his tail curls for balance, and from this new and decidedly more convenient perch, he chitters encouragement directly into Kaisel’s ear—high-pitched, breathy, urgent, the raccoon equivalent of go, go, go, go!
He contributes absolutely nothing of value to the sprint except moral support and additional weight.
A bark snaps through the undergrowth, bright and distant and wonderfully dog-like. Remi freezes, ears pricking forward. His tail lifts like a little plume of exclamation. Before Remi can even react properly, Kaisel surges past him in a burst of excitement, and instinct (plus a raccoon’s opportunistic nature) takes over.
Remi launches.
It isn’t graceful. It isn’t dignified. It’s a full-bodied yeet of damp fur and enthusiasm as he flings himself onto Kaisel’s side, claws scrabbling harmlessly until he catches onto the man’s backpack straps. Once latched, he hauls himself up in a single determined wiggle and becomes an instant, soggy backpack accessory.
His round body settles against Kaisel’s shoulder blades like a loaf of furry bread. Tiny paws hook in for stability, his tail curls for balance, and from this new and decidedly more convenient perch, he chitters encouragement directly into Kaisel’s ear—high-pitched, breathy, urgent, the raccoon equivalent of go, go, go, go!
He contributes absolutely nothing of value to the sprint except moral support and additional weight.
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.
