maybe i'm a runaway train, maybe i'm a feather in a hurricane
'Are you watching me, Finn?" Remi asks, pausing in his efforts though not turning around. Moisture—sweat or rain or both—trickle down his neck to his shirt which is already far too saturated. There is no accusation in his tone, just mild curiosity.
Though Remi doesn't hold a shovel to toss down into the sand to indicate frustrated acceptance of Finn's request, his movements suggest it just the same. Turning, stained and dirty from his efforts, the Alchemist looks nothing at all like the Governor of Torchline should, nor anything at all worth remarking about. His knees are bloody from kneeling in the sand, feet bare despite the chill, and to touch him just now would be to feel nothing but sand spread thin across his skin.
"You say that like I have a choice." He says, standing straight and then leaning back with his hands on his hips to crack his back.
Though Remi doesn't hold a shovel to toss down into the sand to indicate frustrated acceptance of Finn's request, his movements suggest it just the same. Turning, stained and dirty from his efforts, the Alchemist looks nothing at all like the Governor of Torchline should, nor anything at all worth remarking about. His knees are bloody from kneeling in the sand, feet bare despite the chill, and to touch him just now would be to feel nothing but sand spread thin across his skin.
"You say that like I have a choice." He says, standing straight and then leaning back with his hands on his hips to crack his back.
THE ALCHEMIST
maybe it's a long gray game, but maybe that's a good thing
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.
