remi
Remi hits the ground like a furry cannonball. One moment he’s being hoisted by the armpits, stubby legs dangling in indignation, and the next he’s rolling out of the backpack in a perfectly round, perfectly chaotic tumble that ends with him sprawled on the wet earth like a raccoon who has known both glory and consequence.
He still has gummy worms in both paws. He shoves them into his mouth instantly. No hesitation. No shame. The candy disappears in a wet, frantic shove, cheeks pouched and whiskers twitching with the singular desperation of an animal whose loot is about to be confiscated.
And then, a shriek that pierces bone and sky and gods alike. "OH MY GOD, MY BABY! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY BABY?" Mrs. Thompson barrels toward them like a woman possessed, skirts flying, hair plastered wet against her face, eyes wide with maternal devastation. She sees the mud, the tangled leash, the rain, Kai’s bedraggled state, and then she sees Nacho, flopping around enthusiastically in front of the backpack as if nothing horrifying has ever happened in his life.
Remi freezes. Not out of guilt, (raccoons do not experience guilt), but out of calculation knowing there is only one solution to this impending social catastrophe.
In a sharp flash of magic, his small, rounded body ripples and implodes into feathers. The red flare of his Rarog form bursts upward in a blur; small bird, copper-bright wings, warm as a spark. He lands lightly on Kaisel’s shoulder, tiny talons gripping cloth, wings mantling once to steady himself. The aura washes out from him immediately—soft, warm, profoundly soothing—like someone opening a window in a stifling room.
Relief curls in gentle waves, smoothing the edges of Kaisel’s frayed fury.
Comfort drifts outward toward Mrs. Thompson, not erasing her dramatics but rounding them, coaxing the sharpest corners of panic into something manageable. Nacho barks once, confused, but even he seems less hell-bent on chaos.
Remi fluffs himself up—small, bright, impossibly pleased with how clever he is—and tucks his head against Kaisel’s ear in a gentle nudge of a job well done.
Magic: Raróg Ability | Causes an aura of happiness
Type: Light | Rank: Mastered | Cost: Action
~FIN
He still has gummy worms in both paws. He shoves them into his mouth instantly. No hesitation. No shame. The candy disappears in a wet, frantic shove, cheeks pouched and whiskers twitching with the singular desperation of an animal whose loot is about to be confiscated.
And then, a shriek that pierces bone and sky and gods alike. "OH MY GOD, MY BABY! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY BABY?" Mrs. Thompson barrels toward them like a woman possessed, skirts flying, hair plastered wet against her face, eyes wide with maternal devastation. She sees the mud, the tangled leash, the rain, Kai’s bedraggled state, and then she sees Nacho, flopping around enthusiastically in front of the backpack as if nothing horrifying has ever happened in his life.
Remi freezes. Not out of guilt, (raccoons do not experience guilt), but out of calculation knowing there is only one solution to this impending social catastrophe.
In a sharp flash of magic, his small, rounded body ripples and implodes into feathers. The red flare of his Rarog form bursts upward in a blur; small bird, copper-bright wings, warm as a spark. He lands lightly on Kaisel’s shoulder, tiny talons gripping cloth, wings mantling once to steady himself. The aura washes out from him immediately—soft, warm, profoundly soothing—like someone opening a window in a stifling room.
Relief curls in gentle waves, smoothing the edges of Kaisel’s frayed fury.
Comfort drifts outward toward Mrs. Thompson, not erasing her dramatics but rounding them, coaxing the sharpest corners of panic into something manageable. Nacho barks once, confused, but even he seems less hell-bent on chaos.
Remi fluffs himself up—small, bright, impossibly pleased with how clever he is—and tucks his head against Kaisel’s ear in a gentle nudge of a job well done.
Magic: Raróg Ability | Causes an aura of happiness
Type: Light | Rank: Mastered | Cost: Action
~FIN
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.
