oh but that's the irony: broken people are not fragile
Remi’s attention lifts at the soft knock of glass against wood, his gaze flicking first to the bottle, then to Colt, one brow arching before the other follows in quiet surprise. The condensation tracing its way down the champagne catches the light in a way that feels almost indulgent against the grit and heat of the forge, and it draws from him a soft, boyish huff of a laugh that he doesn’t quite try to hide.
"That’s very kind of you," he says, the warmth in his voice settling easily into the space between them as he dips his head in a small nod of thanks, one hand still braced lightly against the saddle tree. "They were... quite the surprise. To us, at least." The corner of his mouth lifts a fraction more as he draws his hand briefly through his curls, the gesture smoothing back heat-damp strands as memory catches up with him. "Mateo and Flora had it all worked out well before we did, so luckily we were not entirely blindsided."
At her next admission, his attention sharpens, curiosity settling into the lift of his brows as he glances over his shoulder properly this time, turning just enough to face her without abandoning his place at the bench. "Oh?" he prompts, the single syllable carrying an open invitation for her to elaborate. "That is nearly just as big of a change."
The forge crackles beside him, and the shift in its tone draws him back just long enough to reach out and make a small adjustment, the heat responding with a subtle change that he seems to feel more than hear. The molten mixture settles into a steadier churn, and only then does he gesture lightly toward the saddle resting between them, his fingers hovering rather than touching.
"I took the liberty of adjusting the seat and the fenders as well," he adds, his gaze flicking briefly to her before settling back on the piece. "So not only will it fit any mount, but it should adapt to any rider, too." His thumb brushes once along the edge of the saddle tree, a small, absent motion, before his hand falls away again. "I hope that is alright."
"That’s very kind of you," he says, the warmth in his voice settling easily into the space between them as he dips his head in a small nod of thanks, one hand still braced lightly against the saddle tree. "They were... quite the surprise. To us, at least." The corner of his mouth lifts a fraction more as he draws his hand briefly through his curls, the gesture smoothing back heat-damp strands as memory catches up with him. "Mateo and Flora had it all worked out well before we did, so luckily we were not entirely blindsided."
At her next admission, his attention sharpens, curiosity settling into the lift of his brows as he glances over his shoulder properly this time, turning just enough to face her without abandoning his place at the bench. "Oh?" he prompts, the single syllable carrying an open invitation for her to elaborate. "That is nearly just as big of a change."
The forge crackles beside him, and the shift in its tone draws him back just long enough to reach out and make a small adjustment, the heat responding with a subtle change that he seems to feel more than hear. The molten mixture settles into a steadier churn, and only then does he gesture lightly toward the saddle resting between them, his fingers hovering rather than touching.
"I took the liberty of adjusting the seat and the fenders as well," he adds, his gaze flicking briefly to her before settling back on the piece. "So not only will it fit any mount, but it should adapt to any rider, too." His thumb brushes once along the edge of the saddle tree, a small, absent motion, before his hand falls away again. "I hope that is alright."
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.
