our hands they seek the end of afternoons
Despite the plethora of predators that lurk within the alchemist's skin and even after more than a year of hardships in this strange and terrifying world, still Remi is not overly aware of his surroundings. With his senses overloaded with the earth around him and his mind forced away from every darkened twist and turn that it longs to go down, Cera's soft footsteps are hardly more than a ripple in the ocean of Remi's awareness.
Not quite flinching at the sound, moreso softly relaxing as one might coming out of a trance in which their body has been made rigid, the alchemist's lashes flutter open. Eyes once the colour of sea-glass are now pale and shattered, their milky-hue all that indicates the extent of Remi's blindness. Magical attacks rarely leave scars, after all. The alchemist's wings flex in the overgrowth that has taken him over like an organic tomb. "If you like." He replies in a voice thickly accented, but kind and sweet-sounding despite the despair that Remi's body language suggests.
Sitting up, for a moment the alchemist's wings merely hover slightly outstretched at his sides. With a quiet and crookedly embarrassed smile directed toward Cera, the auburn plumage retracts and eventually disappears. There are still a smattering of pale feathers amidst the alchemist's curls—a sign of his anxiety and unease for any who know him—but a quick hand that combs against his scalp helps to reel these wayward parts of himself back in.
"Remi." The alchemist replies, long lashes fluttering as he tries to take in the man seated before him. The glade is a messy smearing of greens and yellows, like a canvas with water spilled upon it. But Cera? Gold blurs around his face but the rest of him is still quite muted. The green of his eyes begins to come through, but its vivacity is lacking. Remi isn't surprised by this of course, it is how he sees now: that which he is unfamiliar with is without colour and light sometimes, though he can make out the the chiseled jaw and broad shoulders easily enough, though the freckles and moles have not revealed themselves nor the kindness of the man's eyes.
"Pleased to meet you, Cera." Remi replies after a moment, politeness instinctual despite his depression, and though it is painful, he offers the newcomer a sunny smile.
Not quite flinching at the sound, moreso softly relaxing as one might coming out of a trance in which their body has been made rigid, the alchemist's lashes flutter open. Eyes once the colour of sea-glass are now pale and shattered, their milky-hue all that indicates the extent of Remi's blindness. Magical attacks rarely leave scars, after all. The alchemist's wings flex in the overgrowth that has taken him over like an organic tomb. "If you like." He replies in a voice thickly accented, but kind and sweet-sounding despite the despair that Remi's body language suggests.
Sitting up, for a moment the alchemist's wings merely hover slightly outstretched at his sides. With a quiet and crookedly embarrassed smile directed toward Cera, the auburn plumage retracts and eventually disappears. There are still a smattering of pale feathers amidst the alchemist's curls—a sign of his anxiety and unease for any who know him—but a quick hand that combs against his scalp helps to reel these wayward parts of himself back in.
"Remi." The alchemist replies, long lashes fluttering as he tries to take in the man seated before him. The glade is a messy smearing of greens and yellows, like a canvas with water spilled upon it. But Cera? Gold blurs around his face but the rest of him is still quite muted. The green of his eyes begins to come through, but its vivacity is lacking. Remi isn't surprised by this of course, it is how he sees now: that which he is unfamiliar with is without colour and light sometimes, though he can make out the the chiseled jaw and broad shoulders easily enough, though the freckles and moles have not revealed themselves nor the kindness of the man's eyes.
"Pleased to meet you, Cera." Remi replies after a moment, politeness instinctual despite his depression, and though it is painful, he offers the newcomer a sunny smile.
my hands believe and move over you
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.
