Let's not get lost in the dark blue
But darling if we do, just find me and I'll find you
But darling if we do, just find me and I'll find you
Remi barely registers the violent grace of Ronin’s return, only the flare of luxere-light through the rain and the abrupt absence of distance in the bond where there had been too much of it a heartbeat ago. He is already lowering himself fully into the wet grass, sinking onto one hip as though his legs have forgotten their purpose, one broad wing drawn instinctively around the newborn in his arms to create a small, private hollow of warmth against the rain. The infant’s cries slice sharp and indignant into the air, fists pounding uselessly at the dark curve of feather before latching on with astonishing determination, and Remi lets out a soft, breathless sound that might be laughter if it weren’t so close to awe.
His seaglass eyes lift at Ronin’s whisper, catching the sheen in them despite the rain’s convenient camouflage, and through the bond he feels the shape of the thought before it is fully spoken—identical—an echo of wonder threaded with dawning panic. Remi swallows hard and nods once, slow and disbelieving, because yes, they do, and that realization settles over him with a weight both exquisite and terrifying.
"At least with Flora and Enzo they were.." he begins, voice roughened by too much feeling and not enough air, trailing off because he doesn’t need to finish the thought. A boy and a girl had given them a mercy in their difference, something obvious to anchor themselves to in those first bewildering moments; this, however, feels like the universe has handed them two mirrored stars and dared them to tell one constellation from the other.
The baby in his arms gives a particularly fierce tug, nearly wrenching a feather free, and Remi huffs a startled laugh. The boy's face is flushed and furious and impossibly small against the breadth of his hand, and something in Remi’s chest caves inward in the most welcome way. He hesitates, then ventures, almost shyly, "Carlo?" The name leaves him like a fragile offering, and he looks up at Ronin as though seeking confirmation not just of the sound but of the future it suggests.
His seaglass eyes lift at Ronin’s whisper, catching the sheen in them despite the rain’s convenient camouflage, and through the bond he feels the shape of the thought before it is fully spoken—identical—an echo of wonder threaded with dawning panic. Remi swallows hard and nods once, slow and disbelieving, because yes, they do, and that realization settles over him with a weight both exquisite and terrifying.
"At least with Flora and Enzo they were.." he begins, voice roughened by too much feeling and not enough air, trailing off because he doesn’t need to finish the thought. A boy and a girl had given them a mercy in their difference, something obvious to anchor themselves to in those first bewildering moments; this, however, feels like the universe has handed them two mirrored stars and dared them to tell one constellation from the other.
The baby in his arms gives a particularly fierce tug, nearly wrenching a feather free, and Remi huffs a startled laugh. The boy's face is flushed and furious and impossibly small against the breadth of his hand, and something in Remi’s chest caves inward in the most welcome way. He hesitates, then ventures, almost shyly, "Carlo?" The name leaves him like a fragile offering, and he looks up at Ronin as though seeking confirmation not just of the sound but of the future it suggests.
the bastion
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.
