remi
Remi ignores Kaisel with the full force and commitment of a raccoon who has absolutely heard the warning and has decided—out of principle, spite, or hunger—to do the exact opposite. His little paws continue to dig with unapologetic purpose. Wrappers crinkle. Fabric rustles. Something clacks. Kaisel’s outstretched hand smacks helplessly against the pack in a series of hollow thumps, each one brushing Remi’s damp fur but failing spectacularly to dislodge him. The raccoon barely even reacts until Kaisel changes tactics and the bouncing starts.
With a low, determined grunt, he wedges his entire fat little body straight down into the backpack. One scrabbling paw, then another, then his striped tail vanishes into the depths like a ferret diving for glory. Only his ears and the very top of his masked head remain poking out as he reaches up with both paws and—god help him—zips the bag partially shut around himself. It’s sloppy, crooked, and stops right around his neck, but it does the job. He is now a raccoon in a raccoon-proof bunker that just happens to have infinite space so there's plenty of room.
Inside the pack, something triumphantly tears followed by the crinkling doom of gummy worms meeting their fate. By the time Kaisel hears the first wet chew, Remi has already devoured several and is pawing greedily at the next handful. One chitter becomes a giddy purr. But, even in his snack-high, Remi remembers he is riding on Kaisel, which means, in some tiny, dignified corner of his raccoon heart, he feels compelled to share.
A long, furry arm emerges from the half-zipped pack, stretching around Kaisel’s neck like a little raccoon seatbelt. His claws rest lightly on Kaisel’s collarbone, guiding his attention sideways as he stuffs his paw right by Kaisel’s cheek, offering a squished, rain-damp, gummy worm for the soldier to take.
Remi chitters sweetly, insistently, as if saying: For you. I stole it myself.
With a low, determined grunt, he wedges his entire fat little body straight down into the backpack. One scrabbling paw, then another, then his striped tail vanishes into the depths like a ferret diving for glory. Only his ears and the very top of his masked head remain poking out as he reaches up with both paws and—god help him—zips the bag partially shut around himself. It’s sloppy, crooked, and stops right around his neck, but it does the job. He is now a raccoon in a raccoon-proof bunker that just happens to have infinite space so there's plenty of room.
Inside the pack, something triumphantly tears followed by the crinkling doom of gummy worms meeting their fate. By the time Kaisel hears the first wet chew, Remi has already devoured several and is pawing greedily at the next handful. One chitter becomes a giddy purr. But, even in his snack-high, Remi remembers he is riding on Kaisel, which means, in some tiny, dignified corner of his raccoon heart, he feels compelled to share.
A long, furry arm emerges from the half-zipped pack, stretching around Kaisel’s neck like a little raccoon seatbelt. His claws rest lightly on Kaisel’s collarbone, guiding his attention sideways as he stuffs his paw right by Kaisel’s cheek, offering a squished, rain-damp, gummy worm for the soldier to take.
Remi chitters sweetly, insistently, as if saying: For you. I stole it myself.
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.
