for 1000 nights i've been a restless soul
Remi’s smile goes a little crooked at that, the agreement there but carefully unspoken, as though saying it aloud might jinx the whole thing. Between Sugar’s broad sweep of the sky and Oria working nearer the ground, it ought to be enough; more than enough, really. Still, he’s grateful for the way Ronin says it, for the quiet permission in it to worry without having to pretend it is anything other than love.
He leans into the kiss before he can help himself, cheek dimpling beneath Ronin’s mouth. "Why would Mort make me the strongest demigod," he asks, lifting one brow with a kind of mock gravity, "if not for this exact reason?" The look lasts only a moment before a soft snicker slips from him, and he shifts his overfilled plate into both hands as if that might make its increasingly dubious construction any safer.
His gaze follows Ronin’s toward the available seating, passing over the hammocks with a slight frown, before tipping his chin instead toward a small knot of chairs grown around a low table, their roots thick where they met the ground. A familiar voice catches his attention before they can make it very far, and Remi glances over to find Zavien approaching through the press of festival-goers. His smile comes easily for the other man, warm despite the way he must tilt his plate out of the path of a passing elbow.
The question of the baby has the Bastion blinking in mild surprise, his eyes sliding sideways toward Ronin with a wry flicker of amusement before returning to Zavien, with an almost apologetic smile. "We are good," he says first, inhaling through his smile. "Though we actually had twins." His eyes drift out over the tables and the crowd, skimming beneath low branches and between moving bodies in search of any sign of familiar dark heads. "They are around here," Remi adds, his tone fond enough to soften the uncertainty in it, "somewhere."
He leans into the kiss before he can help himself, cheek dimpling beneath Ronin’s mouth. "Why would Mort make me the strongest demigod," he asks, lifting one brow with a kind of mock gravity, "if not for this exact reason?" The look lasts only a moment before a soft snicker slips from him, and he shifts his overfilled plate into both hands as if that might make its increasingly dubious construction any safer.
His gaze follows Ronin’s toward the available seating, passing over the hammocks with a slight frown, before tipping his chin instead toward a small knot of chairs grown around a low table, their roots thick where they met the ground. A familiar voice catches his attention before they can make it very far, and Remi glances over to find Zavien approaching through the press of festival-goers. His smile comes easily for the other man, warm despite the way he must tilt his plate out of the path of a passing elbow.
The question of the baby has the Bastion blinking in mild surprise, his eyes sliding sideways toward Ronin with a wry flicker of amusement before returning to Zavien, with an almost apologetic smile. "We are good," he says first, inhaling through his smile. "Though we actually had twins." His eyes drift out over the tables and the crowd, skimming beneath low branches and between moving bodies in search of any sign of familiar dark heads. "They are around here," Remi adds, his tone fond enough to soften the uncertainty in it, "somewhere."
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.
