i'm not the man they think i am at home
Remi hears the door open, smells peppermint and blood mingling with the familiar scent of his husband, and sighs. "Dead." The alchemist laments grumpily, swatting with an inky hand toward the spear of peppermint.
Lifting his head with what appears to be monumental amounts of effort, Remi regards his husband for a brief moment of genuine bliss, before his expressions sours. 'I was writing a letter. Or, I was trying to.' He clarifies quickly, as if this small act of humility might bring the paper to life such that it could assist in his task. "But not only can I not write anymore, I can't even think of how to begin." Remi explains, sighing and inching the parchment toward Ronin so that the Huntsman might read the names Wessex, and Neron at the top of the pages.
Lifting his head with what appears to be monumental amounts of effort, Remi regards his husband for a brief moment of genuine bliss, before his expressions sours. 'I was writing a letter. Or, I was trying to.' He clarifies quickly, as if this small act of humility might bring the paper to life such that it could assist in his task. "But not only can I not write anymore, I can't even think of how to begin." Remi explains, sighing and inching the parchment toward Ronin so that the Huntsman might read the names Wessex, and Neron at the top of the pages.
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.
