REMI
It was a strange compulsion that drew the alchemist's feet to a halt. In his current frame of mind he'd have been perfectly content with continuing his slow wander back toward the Wishing Wagon, but some latent and inescapable sense of politeness made him slow. Feathers flit through his curls as he was seized by unhappiness, not having the energy to either put on a brave face or a scowl. And so the face that turns toward the bard is unshaven and dirt-streaked. Much of his tan from Torchline is now gone, replaced by the marks of the Wood: scratches on his arms from the trees, moss and mud on his shirt, his bare feet darkened by the soil underneath.
"Hallo." His accent is thicker now; only speaking aloud to Mateo and mentally to Ianto has caused much of the smoothing that Remi normally puts into his words to be left rough. "Are you lost?" He assumes as much, given that the Greatwood is normally home only to the fae, one fox, two demigods, and a baby.
"Hallo." His accent is thicker now; only speaking aloud to Mateo and mentally to Ianto has caused much of the smoothing that Remi normally puts into his words to be left rough. "Are you lost?" He assumes as much, given that the Greatwood is normally home only to the fae, one fox, two demigods, and a baby.
Now don't you look so grand, runnin'
Through the reds of my traffic lights
Through the reds of my traffic lights
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.
