oh but that's the irony: broken people are not fragile
The image earns a quiet, breath-warmed chuckle from Remi, the thought of a vast, naked dragon standing sentinel over the dunes settling somewhere between ridiculous and strangely fitting. He lets it linger for a second, the corner of his mouth lifting as though he can already hear whatever commentary would follow such a thing into existence. A softer snicker follows her teasing, his shoulders lifting in an easy shrug as he glances back toward her with a boyish sort of grin that sits lightly on him. "It does seem to have worked out rather well," he admits as though he has no intention of arguing with the outcome.
He nods as she repeats their names, the sound of them spoken back without his accent earning a faint flicker of amusement in his eyes. The mention of horses, however, draws a small furrow into his brow, his head tilting as he considers it with a seriousness that suggests he is, at least for a moment, genuinely entertaining the comparison. "Buddy sour," he repeats softly, as though testing the phrase against what he knows of them, the idea settling somewhere uncertain. At her question, he shakes his head gently. "I do not think so. If they were, we would be able to speak to them through the Attuned bond." His lips press together briefly, the thought turning over once more before he adds, with a faint lift of his brows, "Though perhaps they are simply exceptionally good at ignoring us."
Another small shrug follows, lighter this time, his tone easing back into something more certain. "I suspect they are Accepted. Enzo’s magic showed itself in small ways even when he was very young, and I have seen nothing like that from either of them. Nor with Flora, or Mateo."
He leans back slightly then, letting his gaze travel over the saddle in full, his eyes narrowing just a touch as he inspects the final details. His fingers move in small, precise adjustments—nothing structural now, only the refinement of what is already sound—before he finally stills, drawing in a quiet breath as though settling the work in his mind. "It could still use a generous amount of oil," he says, glancing up to Colt with a soft, satisfied smile beginning to form, "to make the leather properly supple, but.." He trails off, the rest left unspoken, his expression doing the work for him. It was finished.
The forge hisses faintly behind him, and that sound pulls his attention back over his shoulder, a sharper breath leaving him this time. "Ah—" His tone shifts just enough to mark the urgency. "I had better finish the cannonballs before they begin to crack." He reaches for his glass, lifting it briefly toward her in a small, deliberate toast, the warmth from earlier returning easily. "Good luck," he says, the words simple but meant, his gaze steady on Colt's. "If anyone can tame a desert, I think it would be you."
So saying, he turns back to his work, setting the glass aside as he begins to nudge the newly formed cannonballs from their moulds, smoothing away imperfections with careful, practiced hands while the last of the heat still clings to them.
~FIN
He nods as she repeats their names, the sound of them spoken back without his accent earning a faint flicker of amusement in his eyes. The mention of horses, however, draws a small furrow into his brow, his head tilting as he considers it with a seriousness that suggests he is, at least for a moment, genuinely entertaining the comparison. "Buddy sour," he repeats softly, as though testing the phrase against what he knows of them, the idea settling somewhere uncertain. At her question, he shakes his head gently. "I do not think so. If they were, we would be able to speak to them through the Attuned bond." His lips press together briefly, the thought turning over once more before he adds, with a faint lift of his brows, "Though perhaps they are simply exceptionally good at ignoring us."
Another small shrug follows, lighter this time, his tone easing back into something more certain. "I suspect they are Accepted. Enzo’s magic showed itself in small ways even when he was very young, and I have seen nothing like that from either of them. Nor with Flora, or Mateo."
He leans back slightly then, letting his gaze travel over the saddle in full, his eyes narrowing just a touch as he inspects the final details. His fingers move in small, precise adjustments—nothing structural now, only the refinement of what is already sound—before he finally stills, drawing in a quiet breath as though settling the work in his mind. "It could still use a generous amount of oil," he says, glancing up to Colt with a soft, satisfied smile beginning to form, "to make the leather properly supple, but.." He trails off, the rest left unspoken, his expression doing the work for him. It was finished.
The forge hisses faintly behind him, and that sound pulls his attention back over his shoulder, a sharper breath leaving him this time. "Ah—" His tone shifts just enough to mark the urgency. "I had better finish the cannonballs before they begin to crack." He reaches for his glass, lifting it briefly toward her in a small, deliberate toast, the warmth from earlier returning easily. "Good luck," he says, the words simple but meant, his gaze steady on Colt's. "If anyone can tame a desert, I think it would be you."
So saying, he turns back to his work, setting the glass aside as he begins to nudge the newly formed cannonballs from their moulds, smoothing away imperfections with careful, practiced hands while the last of the heat still clings to them.
~FIN
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.
