the bastion
i don't want the world to see me,
because I don't think they'd understand
because I don't think they'd understand
By the time Remi makes it back to the Northaven, Carlo and Calan have settled in the way storm clouds sometimes settle, which is to say not at all, really, but enough that neither of them is presently trying to peel the paint from the walls with their lungs. With one twin tucked carefully into either arm, his shirt wrinkled from tiny fists, Remi approaches the door with the grim concentration of a man attempting to transport two very small, very beloved explosives across enemy lines.
A tentacle curls around the handle so he doesn't have to risk shifting either baby. Even so, Carlo makes a small, indignant squeak into the side of his neck, Calan answers with a fussy little sound that threatens to become much worse, and Remi murmurs something soft and nonsensical beneath his breath as he eases inside, the scent of spices and roasting meat wrapping around him so suddenly that his expression falters into something almost painfully fond.
Only then does he see the cleaned counters, the folded blankets, the absence of toys waiting to murder them by ankle, and finally the mound of furs on the bed with Ronin buried somewhere beneath it, snoring softly. He tries immediately to become quieter, though the effort is optimistic at best when both boys have begun stirring in his arms. "We have come home to find your father has been wonderful while we have been away," he tells the twins in a whisper, the words barely audible over their fussing. "So naturally, we are going to repay him by not screaming for at least five minutes, si?"
A tentacle curls around the handle so he doesn't have to risk shifting either baby. Even so, Carlo makes a small, indignant squeak into the side of his neck, Calan answers with a fussy little sound that threatens to become much worse, and Remi murmurs something soft and nonsensical beneath his breath as he eases inside, the scent of spices and roasting meat wrapping around him so suddenly that his expression falters into something almost painfully fond.
Only then does he see the cleaned counters, the folded blankets, the absence of toys waiting to murder them by ankle, and finally the mound of furs on the bed with Ronin buried somewhere beneath it, snoring softly. He tries immediately to become quieter, though the effort is optimistic at best when both boys have begun stirring in his arms. "We have come home to find your father has been wonderful while we have been away," he tells the twins in a whisper, the words barely audible over their fussing. "So naturally, we are going to repay him by not screaming for at least five minutes, si?"
when everything's meant to be broken,
i just want you to know who I am
i just want you to know who I am
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.
