The nose knows, maybe.

Naked arms, his secrets still like songs I never learned Appreciating her touch, if only to ground her in his darkened reality, the alchemist tilts his head with his eyes still closed, imagining it. The nudge to his ribs catches him off-guard, but still he playfully sways to the side, an expression of pain on his face as he comically doubles over. "Oooof." He groans, straightening up easily with a grin. "Are you always so rough with all your potential business partners?" The alchemist quips with an easy laugh. "Well..." Remi muses thoughtfully, opening his pale eyes and blinking at nothing. "Part of the antlers counter balance will come from weight, but partially from height too. If the staff is too low, it will force your center of balance to shift and will feel awkward. Too high and you will constantly feel as though it wants to fall forward." Licking his lips, Remi reaches forward for the staff. His fingers are featherlight, quite literally in fact, for his fingers have started to bleed away into feathered edges. "I want you to try and hold the staff, but feel it balanced between your fingers. I am going to alter its size and density. I should be able to feel when it is balanced, but let me know when it feels right." So saying, he waits for Amalia to position herself such as she will. Then, closing his eyes again, he breathes life into the staff through his feathered-hands. It grow subtly, internal components shifting as gnarled knots shift around, as bulges reform themselves. He makes it awkward at first, letting too much weight be at the top, and then making the base too bulky. That way the baker should have a good idea of when it begins to feel right again. Almost like tuning an instrument, where pulling it out of tune helps to bring it back.