if you make it all wrong then i'll make it all right
The alchemist sat before a bush, rotten and puckered with blight, sketching. Recklessly, almost, he took no precautions. No face mask, no distance between he and the rotting plant. Ronin was a ticking time bomb and perhaps some small part of him wanted a piece of that countdown as well. His conscious mind wouldn’t let him acknowledge it - to do so would be to fly in the face of his love for Aoife - but darkly, colouring his every thought, was the overwhelming knowledge that if Ronin died again, Remi couldn’t go on.
He would, for Aoife, for everyone else, but he’d be only a shell. He didn’t want that, but it was coming. Ronin wasn’t getting better. The blight was getting worse, and answers were few and far between.
Grabbing for a piece of a blighted plant, the alchemist smeared it on his drawing. The colour was brackish and without life, even on the page. Remi frowned down at it, his lips and nostril twitching with silent thoughts. Feathers appeared in his hair, a gauge of his level of aggitation, as he, in an uncharacteristic gesture, tore the page from his sketch book and threw it at the blighted bush with a groan of frustration.
Head in his hands, Remi bit the inside of his lip as his fingers raked back and forth anxiously through his curls.
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.
