i'm not the man they think i am at home
Remi stands near a small table with one of the twins cradled against his chest, bouncing the infant with the slow, practiced rhythm of someone who has learned that stopping even briefly invites immediate protest. Which child it is remains a mystery he has stopped pretending to solve for the moment; the baby in his arms is equally red-faced and indignant as his brother, and the distinction between Carlo and Calan feels more theoretical than practical right now.
One of his tentacles curls upward from behind his back, waggling its tip in what he hopes is an entertaining distraction while another gently nudges a bottle toward the baby’s mouth. The infant swats it away with surprising accuracy, tiny fists batting the rubber nipple aside with a ferocity that would be impressive if it were not so inconvenient. Remi exhales a quiet sound of exaggerated suffering through his nose. "You cannot possibly be this offended by milk," he murmurs to the baby, nudging the bottle forward again only to watch it be rejected with equal indignation. The tentacle tries again, wiggling theatrically; the baby responds by attempting to grab it with the singular determination of someone who has no concept of personal safety.
Looking up at Ronin across the crowded room, Remi nods slowly at the suggestion of moving inland, his seaglass eyes briefly drifting toward the rain-blurred window before settling again on his husband. A crooked smile pulls across his mouth, warmth threaded through the exhaustion.
"Shall we rock-paper-scissors to see who does the pulling?" The suggestion is offered with a flicker of quiet amusement through the bond, because Leafchange has a way of sharpening Ronin’s instincts into something watchful and territorial, and sending one of them out alone into the rain while the other remains behind with the twins suddenly seems like a hill Ronin might well die on, despite it having been his idea. There is also, of course, the unspoken reward attached: whoever wins gets the brief, cold freedom of the swim, and whoever loses earns the infinitely softer prize of sitting inside with two warm, squirming newborns tucked safely against their chest.
Remi shrugs one shoulder, bouncing the baby again when the protesting begins to ramp up another notch, his tentacle making a second hopeful attempt with the bottle. "Though," he adds after a moment, his smile turning lopsided, "I could always call Vai down to look after them." He glances down at the baby attempting to wrestle the bottle nipple into submission and huffs a quiet laugh. "I’m almost certain she could calm them down and tell them apart."
One of his tentacles curls upward from behind his back, waggling its tip in what he hopes is an entertaining distraction while another gently nudges a bottle toward the baby’s mouth. The infant swats it away with surprising accuracy, tiny fists batting the rubber nipple aside with a ferocity that would be impressive if it were not so inconvenient. Remi exhales a quiet sound of exaggerated suffering through his nose. "You cannot possibly be this offended by milk," he murmurs to the baby, nudging the bottle forward again only to watch it be rejected with equal indignation. The tentacle tries again, wiggling theatrically; the baby responds by attempting to grab it with the singular determination of someone who has no concept of personal safety.
Looking up at Ronin across the crowded room, Remi nods slowly at the suggestion of moving inland, his seaglass eyes briefly drifting toward the rain-blurred window before settling again on his husband. A crooked smile pulls across his mouth, warmth threaded through the exhaustion.
"Shall we rock-paper-scissors to see who does the pulling?" The suggestion is offered with a flicker of quiet amusement through the bond, because Leafchange has a way of sharpening Ronin’s instincts into something watchful and territorial, and sending one of them out alone into the rain while the other remains behind with the twins suddenly seems like a hill Ronin might well die on, despite it having been his idea. There is also, of course, the unspoken reward attached: whoever wins gets the brief, cold freedom of the swim, and whoever loses earns the infinitely softer prize of sitting inside with two warm, squirming newborns tucked safely against their chest.
Remi shrugs one shoulder, bouncing the baby again when the protesting begins to ramp up another notch, his tentacle making a second hopeful attempt with the bottle. "Though," he adds after a moment, his smile turning lopsided, "I could always call Vai down to look after them." He glances down at the baby attempting to wrestle the bottle nipple into submission and huffs a quiet laugh. "I’m almost certain she could calm them down and tell them apart."
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.
