this ain't for the best

& all we are is skin and bone, trained to get along

Blinking down at the books he placed on the table, Remi's fingers tapped slightly on the cover before balling into a loose fist. "You mean when you called me, drunk, laughing about the body of a murdered boy you left out in the snow?" The alchemist asked. His voice was soft—not so soft as Loren's though—but it had a distant edge to it. Remi had indeed nearly died as he thought he might, the guild had burned down, and all of everything else had basically gone to hell in a matter of hours. But Loren had sent along a note, so that was something.

"Mmmmm well. We are both of us slow learners, it seems." Remi agreed, though his words were not accompanied with a smile nor puff of laughter. Merely a weariness he couldn't quite shake around Loren.

Pulling out the seat at the table, the alchemist settled himself into it and stared blankly at the cover.