REMI
the alchemist
What good are hands
if there's nothing that they hold
if there's nothing that they hold
Remi is already moving as Liam staggers, the space between them closing without thought as his hand comes to rest on the other man’s shoulder, fingers firm and grounding as he gives a brief, reassuring squeeze. The contact is steady, offered in the same quiet way he might brace someone against a sudden wave, and for a moment he simply lets Liam have it; lets the relief, the shock, the fragile, blooming hope settle without interruption. "I’m glad," he says softly.
Remi’s mouth curves faintly, though the expression carries a trace of something more distant behind it, his gaze drifting for just a moment as if pulled elsewhere by memory. "My abilities are...somewhat limited when the dead aren’t involved, but if there is more I can do, let me know" he says, the hint of dry humour there doing little to disguise the quiet weight beneath it. The Bastion sighs and for a heartbeat there is a flicker of something wistful in him, something shaped by knowing too well what it is to search for someone and find only absence, or, perhaps worse, to find them where one least expected. Four children lost, two returned; the arithmetic of it does not lend itself easily to peace, and yet here he stands, offering Liam what he can.
His attention shifts then, drawn by the basket Liam had brought, and the mood lifts just slightly as he steps over to it, his smile turning crooked as he takes in its contents. "This is very thoughtful," he says, reaching down to lift it with an appreciative glance back toward Liam. A quiet huff of amusement follows, his head shaking as though at himself. "You would think, given that they are not even our first children—and not even our first twins—that we might have remembered everything we needed. And yet.." The sentence dissolves into a soft laugh, the sort that carries equal parts fondness and fatigue, before he steps back toward Liam and gives his shoulder another, lighter pat.
"Thank you," Remi adds, and this time the sincerity in it is uncomplicated, easy.
There is a subtle shift in him then, not impatience so much as a quiet pull elsewhere, the kind that comes from knowing there are small, insistent lives waiting for him just beyond the horizon. He adjusts his grip on the basket, glancing briefly toward the direction of the sea as though he can already feel the Northaven beneath his feet again. "If there is anything more I can do," he says, turning back with a small nod, "you need only ask."
~FIN
Remi’s mouth curves faintly, though the expression carries a trace of something more distant behind it, his gaze drifting for just a moment as if pulled elsewhere by memory. "My abilities are...somewhat limited when the dead aren’t involved, but if there is more I can do, let me know" he says, the hint of dry humour there doing little to disguise the quiet weight beneath it. The Bastion sighs and for a heartbeat there is a flicker of something wistful in him, something shaped by knowing too well what it is to search for someone and find only absence, or, perhaps worse, to find them where one least expected. Four children lost, two returned; the arithmetic of it does not lend itself easily to peace, and yet here he stands, offering Liam what he can.
His attention shifts then, drawn by the basket Liam had brought, and the mood lifts just slightly as he steps over to it, his smile turning crooked as he takes in its contents. "This is very thoughtful," he says, reaching down to lift it with an appreciative glance back toward Liam. A quiet huff of amusement follows, his head shaking as though at himself. "You would think, given that they are not even our first children—and not even our first twins—that we might have remembered everything we needed. And yet.." The sentence dissolves into a soft laugh, the sort that carries equal parts fondness and fatigue, before he steps back toward Liam and gives his shoulder another, lighter pat.
"Thank you," Remi adds, and this time the sincerity in it is uncomplicated, easy.
There is a subtle shift in him then, not impatience so much as a quiet pull elsewhere, the kind that comes from knowing there are small, insistent lives waiting for him just beyond the horizon. He adjusts his grip on the basket, glancing briefly toward the direction of the sea as though he can already feel the Northaven beneath his feet again. "If there is anything more I can do," he says, turning back with a small nod, "you need only ask."
~FIN
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.
