maybe i'm a runaway train, maybe i'm a feather in a hurricane
A figure sits with his back turned towards a rather out-of-place houseboat. There is a rather charming fishpond and garden between the rock on which the figure slumps and the boat; enough space for his colourful string of swears to be downgraded from fortissimo to a much more appropriate mezzo-forte as they enter the houseboat's open windows. A few birds take offence in one of the nearby trees and flutter away.
Pressing the fingers of one hand (his only hand, really) against the bridge of his nose (and depositing a good amount of soot there), the notebook on Remi's lap tumbles to the ground in response to this slight movement. Another string of expletives leaves the Lullaby's lips as he inadvertently crushes the small nib of charcoal he'd been holding between his fingers. Grating his teeth together, Remi crinkles his nose against the roar of anger and annoyance that begins to build in the back of his throat.
Pressing the fingers of one hand (his only hand, really) against the bridge of his nose (and depositing a good amount of soot there), the notebook on Remi's lap tumbles to the ground in response to this slight movement. Another string of expletives leaves the Lullaby's lips as he inadvertently crushes the small nib of charcoal he'd been holding between his fingers. Grating his teeth together, Remi crinkles his nose against the roar of anger and annoyance that begins to build in the back of his throat.
THE LULLABY
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.
