REMI
the bastion
What good are hands
if there's nothing that they hold
if there's nothing that they hold
Remi listens without interrupting, the relief in her posture registering even if he does not comment on it, his attention steady and kind as she explains herself. When she finally lowers the hood and exposes the problem in full, his mouth twitches despite his best efforts, not unkindly, but with a quiet appreciation for the sheer ingenuity of it all. It is...inventive. Admirably so.
He reaches out with his foot and hooks a nearby stool, dragging it closer with a soft scrape of wood against stone before nudging it into place and tipping his head toward it in gentle invitation. "Why don’t you sit," he suggests with a nod and and small smile.
As she settles and continues, Remi bites briefly at the inside of his cheek, considering. One hand comes up to fold loosely over the other, forearms resting against the edge of the worktable, posture open even as his thoughts turn inward. "A hair-growing potion is probably possible," he says slowly, honestly, the hesitation there not from doubt but from precision. "Though I would want to consult with some of the others here who are more experienced with that sort of design. Left entirely to me.." A faint wince crosses his expression, paired with a soft huff of self-aware humour. "It would almost certainly taste terrible, and there is a very real chance it would make all of your hair grow. Everywhere."
His shoulders lift in a small, apologetic shrug, palms turning up as if to show he is not hiding the truth from her. "I could make it safer with help, it would just take a few days." His gaze flicks back up to her head then, careful not to linger on the worst of the wig while still taking in what he needs. "A wig, though," he continues, a touch more confidence settling into his voice, "that I can do easily. Today, if you like."
Another small tilt of his head, curls darkened with sweat shifting against his brow/ "It’s your choice. I can make you something now, to look the way you want while things grow back on their own, or I can send you a potion in a few days and hope it behaves itself."
He reaches out with his foot and hooks a nearby stool, dragging it closer with a soft scrape of wood against stone before nudging it into place and tipping his head toward it in gentle invitation. "Why don’t you sit," he suggests with a nod and and small smile.
As she settles and continues, Remi bites briefly at the inside of his cheek, considering. One hand comes up to fold loosely over the other, forearms resting against the edge of the worktable, posture open even as his thoughts turn inward. "A hair-growing potion is probably possible," he says slowly, honestly, the hesitation there not from doubt but from precision. "Though I would want to consult with some of the others here who are more experienced with that sort of design. Left entirely to me.." A faint wince crosses his expression, paired with a soft huff of self-aware humour. "It would almost certainly taste terrible, and there is a very real chance it would make all of your hair grow. Everywhere."
His shoulders lift in a small, apologetic shrug, palms turning up as if to show he is not hiding the truth from her. "I could make it safer with help, it would just take a few days." His gaze flicks back up to her head then, careful not to linger on the worst of the wig while still taking in what he needs. "A wig, though," he continues, a touch more confidence settling into his voice, "that I can do easily. Today, if you like."
Another small tilt of his head, curls darkened with sweat shifting against his brow/ "It’s your choice. I can make you something now, to look the way you want while things grow back on their own, or I can send you a potion in a few days and hope it behaves itself."
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.
