REMI
the alchemist
What good are hands
if there's nothing that they hold
if there's nothing that they hold
Remi steps forward to meet the offered hand, his own closing around Liam’s in a firm but careful shake, the strength in his grip deliberately moderated so the other man’s fingers aren’t ground into dust by a demigod’s thoughtless enthusiasm. A quiet chuckle slips from him at the reassurance, warm and low, the sound carrying the tired gratitude of someone who has recently discovered just how elastic the concept of time becomes when measured in the cries of infants rather than the ticking of a clock.
The moment their hands meet, however, something else arrives alongside the warmth of the handshake. Liam’s emotions do not present themselves to Remi in neat, sensible shapes but rather as a rush of colour and texture that presses softly against the edges of his thoughts, grief and uncertainty washing through him like a tide that has learned patience after years of repetition. It is not overwhelming, merely present, the sort of ache that has settled so deeply into a man that it no longer needs to shout in order to be heard. Remi lets the contact linger only briefly before releasing the other man’s hand, his expression settling into something quieter as he listens.
He doesn’t interrupt, nor does he rush the pauses that break Liam’s words apart, allowing the story to find its own pace while he folds one arm loosely across his chest and lets the other hand drift absently through his curls again. When the explanation finally reaches its end, the demigod exhales slowly, the breath carrying with it a soft weight of sympathy that he does not attempt to hide. "That must be very difficult," Remi says gently, the words offered without embellishment or hollow comfort, because there is little point pretending such a loss can be softened by language. His gaze drifts briefly toward the sea beyond the window before returning to Liam, thoughtful now, his throat clearing quietly as he gathers the shape of the question that follows.
"If Wren was in Mort’s halls," he continues after a moment, the cadence of the travelling tongue smoothing the edges of the words, "would you wish her to be brought back through to speak with, or are you only hoping to know if she is there at all?"
The moment their hands meet, however, something else arrives alongside the warmth of the handshake. Liam’s emotions do not present themselves to Remi in neat, sensible shapes but rather as a rush of colour and texture that presses softly against the edges of his thoughts, grief and uncertainty washing through him like a tide that has learned patience after years of repetition. It is not overwhelming, merely present, the sort of ache that has settled so deeply into a man that it no longer needs to shout in order to be heard. Remi lets the contact linger only briefly before releasing the other man’s hand, his expression settling into something quieter as he listens.
He doesn’t interrupt, nor does he rush the pauses that break Liam’s words apart, allowing the story to find its own pace while he folds one arm loosely across his chest and lets the other hand drift absently through his curls again. When the explanation finally reaches its end, the demigod exhales slowly, the breath carrying with it a soft weight of sympathy that he does not attempt to hide. "That must be very difficult," Remi says gently, the words offered without embellishment or hollow comfort, because there is little point pretending such a loss can be softened by language. His gaze drifts briefly toward the sea beyond the window before returning to Liam, thoughtful now, his throat clearing quietly as he gathers the shape of the question that follows.
"If Wren was in Mort’s halls," he continues after a moment, the cadence of the travelling tongue smoothing the edges of the words, "would you wish her to be brought back through to speak with, or are you only hoping to know if she is there at all?"
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.
