REMI
the bastion
Darling, you never could scare me
Set me ablaze like you do
Set me ablaze like you do
Remi follows Mateo’s pointing hand as though he has never seen the plant before in his life. His gaze traces the first stem up to the swelling bud, then shifts—slowly, disbelievingly—to the second. It is not as though they have appeared out of nowhere. He has watched them grow. He has shaded them, watered them, guarded them from harsh light and careless boots. He simply thought, well, that it was one plant, however many blooms it had.
Mateo’s words about Flora drift past him in fragments, something about extra supplies and knowing what they were getting into, but Remi only glances vaguely over his shoulder at the mention of scheming, the sound of his own huff of laughter distant and muffled in his ears. The meadow feels suddenly too large, too bright, the umbrella’s shade no longer quite enough to steady him.
"Oh miei dei.." he breathes under his breath as his hand rakes back through his curls. His fingers stay there for a moment, pressing lightly against his scalp as if to ground himself in something physical and real.
As Mateo nudges him, that small, solid touch seems to anchor him more than anything else has. Remi turns back to his son, and for a heartbeat his expression is still dazed, then it breaks open entirely. A laugh bursts from him, full and unrestrained, the sound escaping before he can contain it. It grows, warm and disbelieving, until it nearly steals his breath, and with it come tears, bright and unashamed at the corners of his eyes. He shakes his head, overwhelmed not with fear but with something far larger and brighter.
"Gemelli!" he repeats, this time with unmistakable wonder, the word ringing out into the meadow as though he needs the grass and sky to hear it too. He looks at Mateo with a grin so wide it feels almost boyish, almost young. "Grazie," he says, voice thick but steadying, reaching out to clasp his son’s shoulder with one large, trembling hand. "For telling me, though..gods, I have no idea how I am going to tell Ronin."
Mateo’s words about Flora drift past him in fragments, something about extra supplies and knowing what they were getting into, but Remi only glances vaguely over his shoulder at the mention of scheming, the sound of his own huff of laughter distant and muffled in his ears. The meadow feels suddenly too large, too bright, the umbrella’s shade no longer quite enough to steady him.
"Oh miei dei.." he breathes under his breath as his hand rakes back through his curls. His fingers stay there for a moment, pressing lightly against his scalp as if to ground himself in something physical and real.
As Mateo nudges him, that small, solid touch seems to anchor him more than anything else has. Remi turns back to his son, and for a heartbeat his expression is still dazed, then it breaks open entirely. A laugh bursts from him, full and unrestrained, the sound escaping before he can contain it. It grows, warm and disbelieving, until it nearly steals his breath, and with it come tears, bright and unashamed at the corners of his eyes. He shakes his head, overwhelmed not with fear but with something far larger and brighter.
"Gemelli!" he repeats, this time with unmistakable wonder, the word ringing out into the meadow as though he needs the grass and sky to hear it too. He looks at Mateo with a grin so wide it feels almost boyish, almost young. "Grazie," he says, voice thick but steadying, reaching out to clasp his son’s shoulder with one large, trembling hand. "For telling me, though..gods, I have no idea how I am going to tell Ronin."
I'd walk over coals in my bare feet
If that gets me closer to you
If that gets me closer to you
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.
