Dirty tissues, trust issues

Naked arms, his secrets still like songs I never learned Remi ran a hand distractedly through his curls, pausing to pull at one as he tried to think of an answer. What did he remember? It was a blur now, but there had been the library. The back room. Loren. His hands and his lips and then ... then the starkness of the outskirts. Remi staring down into dust and being far too fearful to look around. "I do not remember it well, no. The line in my memories sort of blurs, and from what I have heard from others who came over with me, was that time...was not the same for all of us. Some who came at the same time I did remember longer periods of time then I recall having passed." Remi's pale stare watches Seiji's dexterous fingers contort and immediately he nods. "Yes." He says with a modest nod, and as he does so, the piece appears on the table before them. "Do we need more than one?" The alchemist prompts, watching with happy interest as Seiji begins to construct the board upon which they will apparently play. With the rough mechanics of the game explained and all that they need to play it on the table between them, they begin. The alchemist fills bouts of silence with snippets of information that come to him. He is a social creature, and with something so mundane and normal to focus his mind on, he finds the texture and rhythm of easy conversation flowing from his lips. He explains in vague detail how he came by his magic (leaving out the unsavory parts of having felt as though he killed his mother to get it), explains how it has helped his work as an alchemist, and then in between the various moves of the game, roughly sketches out other inventions he might like to try. Game after game, the alchemist sits with Seiji, enjoying the easy conversation. Eventually though, work pulls him back and he is forced to leave his new friend to his tea.