At the back of the shop, Remi was half-knelt down, arms in a box apparently trying to sort through it. As Sam's call rang out, Remi's torso stiffened, his searching hands came to an abrupt halt, and the air in his lungs immediately seemed to vanish. Pressing his eyes closed, Remi drew in his lower lip, pressed his teeth against it, and considered what it might be like to lie.
He could say nothing and pretend he wasn't in at all. He could call out no! which would hopefully send Sam back to his own shop. He could, if he wanted, let Sam know absolutely every intimate detail on his mind and how what Sam had done was perhaps the most stinging and unforgivable act that had ever been (intentionally) done to him. His father had, of course, treated him so much worse, you might want to argue. But then, his father had never even pretended to love him.
Exhaling air as well as his lower lip, Remi straightened, running a hand wearily over his eyes. He couldn't lie. Once upon a time he'd promised Sam he'd never lie to him again, and though this Remi did not remember that promise, there was still enough fractured goodness in him that he couldn't bring himself to do it. "Yes." Remi replied in a low voice from the back of the shop.
Turning, Remi made his way into the light, though pretended to busy himself with a few things on the counter.
There was still the chance...the merest of possibilities that Sam hadn't done it.
That it was some...some cry for help. Some way to force Remi into a grand gesture, a pleading for the bookmaker to stay. And if so, perhaps at the last moment, Sam would have stopped. He'd have realized what it was he was doing and just how misguided it all was. He'd force himself to communicate better, to express what it was he wanted or needed from the alchemist and they could discuss the strange new world in which they found themselves.
And even if that didn't happen...there was always the chance the Voice would have said no.
And so, with eyes too forlorn and exhausted to well with tears, Remi merely focused on the cracks and ridges in the counter, waiting to hear what it was Sam was here for.
He could say nothing and pretend he wasn't in at all. He could call out no! which would hopefully send Sam back to his own shop. He could, if he wanted, let Sam know absolutely every intimate detail on his mind and how what Sam had done was perhaps the most stinging and unforgivable act that had ever been (intentionally) done to him. His father had, of course, treated him so much worse, you might want to argue. But then, his father had never even pretended to love him.
Exhaling air as well as his lower lip, Remi straightened, running a hand wearily over his eyes. He couldn't lie. Once upon a time he'd promised Sam he'd never lie to him again, and though this Remi did not remember that promise, there was still enough fractured goodness in him that he couldn't bring himself to do it. "Yes." Remi replied in a low voice from the back of the shop.
Turning, Remi made his way into the light, though pretended to busy himself with a few things on the counter.
There was still the chance...the merest of possibilities that Sam hadn't done it.
That it was some...some cry for help. Some way to force Remi into a grand gesture, a pleading for the bookmaker to stay. And if so, perhaps at the last moment, Sam would have stopped. He'd have realized what it was he was doing and just how misguided it all was. He'd force himself to communicate better, to express what it was he wanted or needed from the alchemist and they could discuss the strange new world in which they found themselves.
And even if that didn't happen...there was always the chance the Voice would have said no.
And so, with eyes too forlorn and exhausted to well with tears, Remi merely focused on the cracks and ridges in the counter, waiting to hear what it was Sam was here for.
I fell for your eyes
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.
