maybe i'm a runaway train, maybe i'm a feather in a hurricane
Though rain fell in dull sheets most of the day, you got used to it. It wasn't just 'raining', it was either pouring, sprinkling, coming the fuck down, or some other liquor-laden descriptor. Today, it was just sprinkling. Constant, unyielding, but it was bearable if you didn't think about it too much.
And Remi wasn't.
Monsoon season was coming and there was still much that needed to be done. Rather than filling sandbags the Alchemist was simply moving the earth around. With great effort he heaved and pulled at the beach, raising berm after berm to protect the businesses that lay on the other side. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face, his curls matted to his head (or was it only the rain?) as he tirelessly worked. Despite the chill in his bones and the way his mind had grown blurry from effort, still Remi continued. On and on, tonnes of sand moved and arranged to keep Torchline safe.
And Remi wasn't.
Monsoon season was coming and there was still much that needed to be done. Rather than filling sandbags the Alchemist was simply moving the earth around. With great effort he heaved and pulled at the beach, raising berm after berm to protect the businesses that lay on the other side. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face, his curls matted to his head (or was it only the rain?) as he tirelessly worked. Despite the chill in his bones and the way his mind had grown blurry from effort, still Remi continued. On and on, tonnes of sand moved and arranged to keep Torchline safe.
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.
