our hands they seek the end of afternoons
"Thank you, they are.." For a moment Remi's smile falters, but only because the words escape him. He was about to say new, but that's misleading. He's always had wings, just not ones that came from his back. As a hawk, they always relied on his arm and shoulder muscles. As a manticore (not that he properly knew the word yet), his anatomy was something different entirely. "..I do not normally have them like that." He adds after a moment, shrugging self-consciously. His awkwardness is quite genuine too, not merely the posed uneasiness of some; though the alchemist boasts an abundance of talents, he is at his core, a mere commoner undeserving of all he has been given.
As Cera settles, somehow so easy and graceful despite the sense Remi has that the man is new here, Remi tries to see him in more detail. Collarbones reveal themselves, a graceful neck, and features that reveal themselves to be shallowly effeminate and lovely. The alchemist starts to shake his head, to indicate that the apology isn't necessary when the man's words nearly catch his breath. With a smile still slightly dimpling his cheeks, Remi instead shakes his head no with a boyish sort of ease, the honesty like a second skin. "No. I am fair from okay." He says with a gentle smile, his eyes lowering for a moment as a feather appears in his hand. Dexterously he twirls it between two fingers as he pulls in a breath.
Not seeming to notice or mind the dirt beneath his nails where his claws had been, or the moss and clover still coating his clothing, Remi folded his ankles across one another as he too directed his gaze towards the sky. "My husband is dying of the blight." The alchemist explains in a voice that is steady until the very end, where it dips. Remi's lips curl upwards as if he might somehow hold onto the pitch and timbre of his voice, but of course grief simply doesn't work like that, and the words fall to the ground anyways. "He has been given a season to live. Well," Remi corrects himself with a hollow laugh, "less than that now, I suppose."
As Cera settles, somehow so easy and graceful despite the sense Remi has that the man is new here, Remi tries to see him in more detail. Collarbones reveal themselves, a graceful neck, and features that reveal themselves to be shallowly effeminate and lovely. The alchemist starts to shake his head, to indicate that the apology isn't necessary when the man's words nearly catch his breath. With a smile still slightly dimpling his cheeks, Remi instead shakes his head no with a boyish sort of ease, the honesty like a second skin. "No. I am fair from okay." He says with a gentle smile, his eyes lowering for a moment as a feather appears in his hand. Dexterously he twirls it between two fingers as he pulls in a breath.
Not seeming to notice or mind the dirt beneath his nails where his claws had been, or the moss and clover still coating his clothing, Remi folded his ankles across one another as he too directed his gaze towards the sky. "My husband is dying of the blight." The alchemist explains in a voice that is steady until the very end, where it dips. Remi's lips curl upwards as if he might somehow hold onto the pitch and timbre of his voice, but of course grief simply doesn't work like that, and the words fall to the ground anyways. "He has been given a season to live. Well," Remi corrects himself with a hollow laugh, "less than that now, I suppose."
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.
