He said "I bet you don't remember me"
Remi chuckles as he glances at Kaisel over one shoulder, the dragon’s expressions writ far too large across a face made for something much more intimidating than a thoughtful frown. It was certainly an interesting ability, he agrees, the wind running pale fingers through the feathers of his wings as he shifts their angle to keep them easily aloft. But not very timely. There is a wryness to the admission as he continues, his tone conversational despite the sky rolling endless around them. I could put anyone into a deep sleep, myself included. But if I wanted to teleport to someone somewhere else, I had to wait for them to be asleep first. A life spent reacting to danger does not lend itself especially well to waiting around for the right person to drift off, and Remi’s mouth twitches faintly at the thought. I spent a long time in the Dreaming, because of that. He does not elaborate on how easy it had once been to prefer the pliant, forgiving logic of sleep to a waking world that kept asking things of him. The memory touches something muted beneath his ribs, and he lets it pass without giving it more shape than it deserves.
When Kaisel’s choice makes the sky begin to unravel beneath them, Remi doesn’t bother fighting it. The air turns thin and unhelpful, wings needing more work for less lift, and rather than beat against a world which has plainly decided it wants to become something else, he simply lets go. The sensation of falling lasts only long enough to register before the clouds give way to cobblestones, and the Bastion finds himself standing on a quiet street with his feet planted neatly beneath him. He rolls his shoulders once, letting his wings disappear as easily as a held breath, and looks up at the cottage with a grin already beginning to form.
"Seems to," he agrees, though the sight of the candy house has him pressing his teeth briefly into the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The sugar-spun roof gleams above them; the chocolate door softens beneath Kaisel’s hand, bright and ridiculous and entirely too pleased with itself. Remi stays where he is as the soldier leans in to bite a piece from it, his voice carrying lightly down the street. "How does it taste?" Then, without fanfare, he is gone.
Inside the house, the world rearranges around him with the satisfying certainty of a costume being pulled on. By the time the chocolate door wrenches open from within, Remi is no longer Remi at all: plump-bodied and crooked-nosed, warts scattered across his cheeks, an apron printed with cheerful little frogs stretched far too tightly over his middle. One gnarled finger jabs accusingly toward Kaisel from the doorway, and when he speaks, his voice has dropped into a theatrical, gravelly croak. "WHAT ARE YA DOIN’ EATIN’ MY HOUSE?" The Remi!Witch demands of Kaisel, who is now no more than a boy of ten.
When Kaisel’s choice makes the sky begin to unravel beneath them, Remi doesn’t bother fighting it. The air turns thin and unhelpful, wings needing more work for less lift, and rather than beat against a world which has plainly decided it wants to become something else, he simply lets go. The sensation of falling lasts only long enough to register before the clouds give way to cobblestones, and the Bastion finds himself standing on a quiet street with his feet planted neatly beneath him. He rolls his shoulders once, letting his wings disappear as easily as a held breath, and looks up at the cottage with a grin already beginning to form.
"Seems to," he agrees, though the sight of the candy house has him pressing his teeth briefly into the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The sugar-spun roof gleams above them; the chocolate door softens beneath Kaisel’s hand, bright and ridiculous and entirely too pleased with itself. Remi stays where he is as the soldier leans in to bite a piece from it, his voice carrying lightly down the street. "How does it taste?" Then, without fanfare, he is gone.
Inside the house, the world rearranges around him with the satisfying certainty of a costume being pulled on. By the time the chocolate door wrenches open from within, Remi is no longer Remi at all: plump-bodied and crooked-nosed, warts scattered across his cheeks, an apron printed with cheerful little frogs stretched far too tightly over his middle. One gnarled finger jabs accusingly toward Kaisel from the doorway, and when he speaks, his voice has dropped into a theatrical, gravelly croak. "WHAT ARE YA DOIN’ EATIN’ MY HOUSE?" The Remi!Witch demands of Kaisel, who is now no more than a boy of ten.
and I said "only ever other memory"
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.
