oh but that's the irony: broken people are not fragile
Remi’s shoulders rise and fall in a quiet breath as he returns his attention to the saddle, his hands resuming their careful work along the tooling with the same steady precision as before, though there is a softness to his focus now, shaped by the conversation rather than interrupted by it. He does not rush to answer her, not out of reluctance, but because the truth of it settles slowly, like something that has been lived rather than decided.
"Some days I feel them more than others," he says at last, his voice gentle but unvarnished, the honesty in it left exactly as it is. His thumb traces along the edge of the leather before pressing lightly into place."But no..they do not really fill in." There is no attempt to soften it further, no dressing it into something easier to hold, and perhaps that is the kindness in it; the refusal to offer comfort that would not last. "You simply..learn the shape of it."
He exhales quietly through his nose, the faintest hint of a smile returning as he glances up at her again, one brow lifting just slightly. "They do say something about regretting the big swings you did not take, rather than the safe choices you did," he adds, the words carrying the shape of a well-worn thought, though not an empty one. "I know that it sounds like the sort of thing people say to make themselves feel better, but.."” a small shrug follows, easy and unforced, "I think there is some truth in it."
The forge draws him back again, and he steps away just long enough to tend to the moulds, lifting the pot once more with that same effortless strength, the molten mixture pouring in smooth, glowing arcs as he fills what remains. The heat flares briefly, then settles, and as he sets the pot back into place, her suggestion pulls a quiet laugh from him. "Well, technically he is naked in his dragon form," Remi says, glancing over his shoulder with a crooked, boyish grin that sits easily on him, lightening the air without forcing it. "So I suppose that will do."
He turns back to the saddle then, finishing the last of the adjustments with a few final, deliberate movements, before her question shifts something in him entirely. The change is immediate, unmistakable; not louder, not grander, but warmer, brighter, as though something within him has opened without hesitation. "We were torn, at first," he says, the smile settling more fully now, unguarded in a way few things manage. "Between the names Carlo and Calan." The names rest differently in his mouth, one softened by the travelling tongue, the other shaped more musically; one name clearly better suited to his accent, and one to Ronin's. "So having twins made that decision quite simple."
There is a soft breath of something like quiet wonder as he sets his tools aside, his hands resting briefly against the edge of the table. "So far," he continues, his brows lifting slightly, humour threading easily through the affection, "unless they are pressed right up against one another, all they seem to do is cry." The corner of his mouth tugs upward again, something dry but fond in the expression. "And if you are tempted to say it is because they are twins.." His gaze flicks back to her, playful now, though still warm. "I do not remember Flora and Enzo ever being like this." The difference of course being that Remi hadn't been the one to raise them.
"Some days I feel them more than others," he says at last, his voice gentle but unvarnished, the honesty in it left exactly as it is. His thumb traces along the edge of the leather before pressing lightly into place."But no..they do not really fill in." There is no attempt to soften it further, no dressing it into something easier to hold, and perhaps that is the kindness in it; the refusal to offer comfort that would not last. "You simply..learn the shape of it."
He exhales quietly through his nose, the faintest hint of a smile returning as he glances up at her again, one brow lifting just slightly. "They do say something about regretting the big swings you did not take, rather than the safe choices you did," he adds, the words carrying the shape of a well-worn thought, though not an empty one. "I know that it sounds like the sort of thing people say to make themselves feel better, but.."” a small shrug follows, easy and unforced, "I think there is some truth in it."
The forge draws him back again, and he steps away just long enough to tend to the moulds, lifting the pot once more with that same effortless strength, the molten mixture pouring in smooth, glowing arcs as he fills what remains. The heat flares briefly, then settles, and as he sets the pot back into place, her suggestion pulls a quiet laugh from him. "Well, technically he is naked in his dragon form," Remi says, glancing over his shoulder with a crooked, boyish grin that sits easily on him, lightening the air without forcing it. "So I suppose that will do."
He turns back to the saddle then, finishing the last of the adjustments with a few final, deliberate movements, before her question shifts something in him entirely. The change is immediate, unmistakable; not louder, not grander, but warmer, brighter, as though something within him has opened without hesitation. "We were torn, at first," he says, the smile settling more fully now, unguarded in a way few things manage. "Between the names Carlo and Calan." The names rest differently in his mouth, one softened by the travelling tongue, the other shaped more musically; one name clearly better suited to his accent, and one to Ronin's. "So having twins made that decision quite simple."
There is a soft breath of something like quiet wonder as he sets his tools aside, his hands resting briefly against the edge of the table. "So far," he continues, his brows lifting slightly, humour threading easily through the affection, "unless they are pressed right up against one another, all they seem to do is cry." The corner of his mouth tugs upward again, something dry but fond in the expression. "And if you are tempted to say it is because they are twins.." His gaze flicks back to her, playful now, though still warm. "I do not remember Flora and Enzo ever being like this." The difference of course being that Remi hadn't been the one to raise them.
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.
