Just for now

As much as Remi really did want to investigate the Spire some more, he realized that by doing so he'd likely be putting his friends in danger should anything nefarious actually come out to play. And, given the recent autopsy that Isla had just performed, his attention had been caught by the magnetic barrier once more. It was one of the first things he investigated since coming here, but given all that had transpired immediately afterwards he'd somehow lost the thread of interest. Finding it again had actually been a delight; the alchemist needed something meaningful to take his mind off of all that had happened as of late. Studying a strange magnetic anomaly seemed just the thing. Having brought a blanket and a bit of a picnic for himself, Remi sat just far enough away from the barrier that he couldn't quite feel its effects, but close enough that he could see and hear them. The air seemed to buzz slightly, and there did seem to be a clear sort of aura around the 'bubble'. With his sketchbook in his lap, the alchemist leaned over the pages sketching furiously with stubs of charcoal that quickly ground away to dust in his fingers. Wiping his hands on his shirt (why did no one ever suggest to him that he should stop wearing white if he was going to continue this habit?), Remi would grab another from his bag and continue. Though the alchemist would never consider himself an artist, his sketches were incredibly good and lifelike. No impressionist was he, instead he tried to recreate the world as faithfully as he could, adding in small markings in a handwriting that no one else would likely be able to read as he went. Rory <3 REMI So come on, get higher, loosen my lips, faith and desire and the swing of your hips Just pull me down hard and drown me in love

Rory

Talys, the black mare, was well again, but Rory had finally taken pity on poor Bakshi and rather forcefully dragged him out of their pen. The idiot gelding spent most of his time cowering in a corner of the stall, even if the gourds hadn't been around for a few days, and while they kept the ponies as parts insurance and parts convenience, Rory was loathe to see the old gelding waste away. It wasn't like they'd ever been muscular wonders, living on a sparse diet and not performing much work, but Bakshi was an idiot and Rory figured he could maybe get him to stop fretting if he forced him out into it.

So the pony had been dancing around by the ring he was tied to, and Rory had danced around the dancing pony, and somehow he'd got him tacked up, with an extra goat hide for padding around the spine.

And boy had it been a wild ride at first.

Bakshi hadn't done more than walk or run the ten yards into his "safe corner" for nearly half a season, so their trip towards the Outskirts was alternating between blind flight, flashy trotting, a gait that seemed to go more up than forward, dead stops, and other unreasonable and extravagant activities. Rory was an experienced rider but at times the old pony had been close to unseating him.

Fortunately—because he knew from experience that the ground was hard—he managed to stay on the idiot gelding, and by the time they'd made it out past the woodlands, the old horse had calmed down out of necessity. Sweat dried on his flanks and neck, and while he still breathed like a dragon and looked at things, his spooks consisted of just shying a step to the side. Much more reasonable, Rory thought, allowing his attention to wander from the pony and to his surroundings.

It felt strange to be back out in the Outskirts. He hadn't gone there since he'd found Remi and Elyna; why go looking for strange things, when the strange things were already in town?

But who knew what else might pop up. Like, Remi. Again.

Though to be fair, he didn't notice the sitting man until Bakshi stopped, ears pricked. Rory followed his line of sight, raised his eyebrows, and nudged the pony forward again—he obliged, although a bit hesitantly, as if Remi might spring up and eat him.

"Fancy seeing you out here," Rory said by way of greeting once he was closer, peering down at the sketching alchemist.

Despite the fact that both of his animal shifts were predators, as a man Remi possessed very little natural awareness of his surroundings. Getting lost in his own thoughts was an understatement, and indeed even as the pony approached the alchemist didn't so much as turn his head. Instead he gazed ahead, squinting at something, before dropping his mop of curls back towards the pages of his book and scratching furiously at them with his stuck of charcoal. It wasn't until Rory's voice broke the silence that Remi flinched slightly and glanced over his shoulder with an awkward but optimistic smile. "At least it is just me this time." He said with an easy grin, leaning back slightly to get the full measure of the man astride the pony. Say what you might about Bakshi, from such a low angle the pair looked nothing but magnificent. "Are you here to tell me this is another place I should not be?" The alchemist asked, tilting his head to the side and flashing Rory a mischievous smile. In reality though he hoped he wouldn't be told to move. There was so much about this land that he simply didn't understand, and while he wouldn't insult Rory or his ancestors by suggesting that this newly arrived group of Outlanders could somehow figure a way out where Rory's people had failed ... part of him thought that perhaps they could. REMI So come on, get higher, loosen my lips, faith and desire and the swing of your hips Just pull me down hard and drown me in love

Rory

But damn, there was something about the way Remi was unaware of the world—unaware of the danger—unaware of everything but his own fascination. Boyish was an adjective that finally sprang into his mind when the other started at the sound of his voice, looking over his shoulder. And yet, in some ways, he seemed so wise in the ways of the world—perhaps because he had people defending him. Because he was learned, in some way. Because he came from another place. Because he associated with competent people.

Because in so many ways, he was what Rory was not.

"No glaives," he responded lightly, roving his gaze across Remi and his most immediate surroundings. It was blessedly free of long sharp objects.

"Are you here to tell me this is another place I should not be?"

Yes.

No.

Maybe.

The smile was infectious, but Rory resisted it for a moment. He dredged up what solemnity he still had within his rattled mind. "I already told you there are monsters out here." And here I am.

He sat still a second longer, allowing the lackluster words to sink in: a reminder and a warning. Caido was not a forgiving place. Caido was not a merciful place. You died, slow and hard. Best to not let your attention wander too much.

Then he swung a leg over the pony's withers and slid to the ground. He felt like letting his attention wander. He felt like setting himself on fire and stabbing himself simultaneously. It was an old and familiar feeling, but annoying all the same.

He though the worst of the spook was out of Bakshi, but he didn't want to let go of him entirely. So, deftly he undid the reins on one side, grabbing it by the end and taking the last few steps over to Remi, the pony in tow. Once at his target he folded himself down next to him, and peered at his sketchbook. "What are you drawing?"

Remi glanced around with the breezy expression of one who normally found his way out of trouble with relative ease. Indeed, there were no monsters about. "All I see is you and I. And him of course." Remi said lowering his eyes to Bakshi for a moment before looking back up at Rory with his characteristically youthful smile. Watching with a fascinated and open gaze at the ease with which Rory moved off of the pony, Remi found his head tilting slightly to the side marveling at the movement. Horses were a rarity in Northaven and meant only for the royalty. It had been years since Remi had even been so close to one, much less seen someone interact with them with such grace. The old instinct to flinch away at the proximity of another man wasn't gone entirely, but now it was buried so deep that it was more like a phantom itch. Glancing over with a sheepish expression, Remi considered for a moment before tilting the pages towards the blue-eyed man. Nibbling the inside of his lip Remi looked at his work with fresh eyes, wondering what someone else might see and was rather horrified. His writing was illegible and followed no real trajectory—sentences written horizontally and vertically all over the page. The drawings were hurried and more impressionistic than his normally careful mind would have liked them. Or at least, that's what he thought of them. In reality it was studious and precise. But of course Remi didn't see it that way. "The bubble—" He said vaguely gesturing outwards to where the 'dome' touched the ground. Some of his drawings indicated where some of the tumbleweeds had blown near it and what had happened, the animals he'd seen pass by, birds above and what their responses to it was. He'd even apparently taken notice of his respiratory rate and how it had changed depending on how close he was to the bubble., "A body was brought in to Isla in the infirmary. Her insides looked melted. I just wondered if I might learn anything by being here." Saying it outloud sounded incredibly foolish to his ears, and a coral blush suddenly bloomed across his cheeks as embarrassment welled up in his mind. REMI So come on, get higher, loosen my lips, faith and desire and the swing of your hips Just pull me down hard and drown me in love

stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires

He hadn't known what to expect of the sketchbook, but somehow, it was both precisely what he had thought and nothing at all like it. The sprawled script, the little scenes spread out across the page, telling a story he hadn't been there for: loosely intertwined, they seemed to have been put down on paper much in the same way that thoughts came and went. Rory couldn't read any of the notes (much less comprehend the miracle of why they shared the same language, this stranger from another world and he), but he recognized the scenes. They were well-drawn and precise, bits of Rory's world put down in charcoal on a page.

He guessed they were bits of Remi's world now, too. Unless they found some way to simply appear in another world again, this was where they were, for better or for worse. The bubble: their wall, their horizon, the borders of their existence. Nothing beyond it but memory and rumor and dreams. Surely whatever was out there had evolved beyond what it had once been.

Then Remi disclosed that yet another soul had died, and Rory looked away with a sad frown. He wondered who she had been, and what she had been doing—trying to prove something? Or just looking for a better life, whatever that was? Gods knew he had thought of it too, when times were lean and others cruel, or things simply rough. And there had been a lot of that; not just in his life, but in everyone's.

"Yeah," he said quietly, staring towards the barrier. Between it and the spire demon, how many had died trying to solve the mystery? "That's what happens. I don't think being an Ascended would help," he added after a moment, thinking about Elyna and her display of her teeth. He still hadn't figured out how that worked either, just like the language.

Small blessings. Old gods. Stranger things had happened.

He glanced back to Remi, finding a blush on the other man's cheeks, but failing to find a reason why. Was it something that had been said? Something about Isla, maybe? Maybe he fancied her. Wouldn't be surprising; Isla was very fancy-able. Still, with the rather morose subject, it seemed a weird reaction, so, still frowning, he asked gently, "What's wrong?".

As Rory turned away, the alchemist's gaze followed trying to discern whatever emotion was potentially stirring in that arresting blue gaze. Instead of finding answers though, Remi only found the strong curve of Rory's jawline, the scruff on his cheeks, and the plait of hair tied back with such pragmatic elegance. Rory's words snapped Remi out of his momentary trance, and his eyelashes fluttered a few times as his mind quickly calibrated itself to understanding what was just said. "Ascended?" Remi repeated, curled head tilting slightly to the side. "They are...ahh...we had another name for them. But, like Elyna?" Unsure who else of their kind Rory had met (and truthfully, unaware of how many bloodfiends had come across), the dark-haired former soldier would serve well enough for demonstration purposes if indeed they were speaking about the same thing. Like Rory, Remi had no idea how any of this was happening. As Rory's gaze returned, the alchemist found it surprisingly weighty feeling—at least, that's how it felt to Remi, and he dropped his eyes with a self-conscious clearing of his throat. "Ah, I just—" Why are their eyes always blue? "—did not mean to imply that I could somehow learn something that your people would not have already learned." He continued, running a hand across the back of his neck. "Elyna made it seem as though with willpower alone she could make her way out." Remi continued with a crooked and bashful smile. Glancing sideways at Rory, Remi let his pale stare sweep outwards again towards the barrier. "I was just hoping to ... understand?" Rogue dimples appeared in the alchemist's cheeks as he smiled to himself. "I suppose it felt a bit rude to suddenly appear here, take over what was not ours, and then also demand a history lesson." He added, glancing towards Rory with a crinkling of his nose and gentle shrug. REMI So come on, get higher, loosen my lips, faith and desire and the swing of your hips Just pull me down hard and drown me in love

stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires

"Ascended?"

Rory nodded slowly, absentmindedly—the monsters of divine creation, superhumans born through prayer and sacrifice. He knew very little of them, only that they existed, and that every once in a while some people would get the idea everything was their fault, and hunt them. It had happened before, and it would happen again, but it wasn't like hunting deer: it was like hunting wolves.

"Yes," he simply said at first, not sure he'd ever caught the woman's name but thinking that had to be who he was talking about. He looked at nothing for a second longer, before blinking. "I really don't understand how she can be one. She's not from here." With a chill down his spine he'd thought of it at the time: how could she be one of the New Gods's creations, if she was not from here?

Did we share Gods?

Abandoned and never one who had prayed much, he still felt oddly jealous at the thought of their gods having left them for some other realm, far away. It made the back of his mouth taste bitter and bad.

Remi's self-consciousness was endearing, enough to lift his spirits a little. He was too jaded to mourn strangers anyway, and that's what he thought it was—friendly as he was, he made oddly few friends. "If willpower was all we needed we would've broken out ages ago," he confirmed sadly, the hand holding Bakshi's rein momentarily tightening. If willpower was all they needed, Rory himself could've blown the entire barrier to pieces ten years ago.

But willpower only got your insides melted, as Remi had now witnessed. Rory watched the alchemist's face as he spoke, took in the little things—the gestures, the way his eyes swept, momentarily returning then fleeing again. Smiles. He readily smiled; so did Rory, and yet Remi felt more benign, somehow. "Not all enjoy your presence here, but what choice do you have? What choice do any of us have?" He, too, shrugged lightly, his gaze returning to the sketchbook.

He wished he had to wrestle with himself, he wished he was more like Wessex, that he wasn't so damn accepting, but he wasn't. "I appreciate it, though. Your.. thoughtfulness? Concern? Confession?" He grimaced; neither word embodied what it was Remi had said, not really. It just sounded strange to him, and with a grunt he looked back at the barrier. "But perhaps there is something you will be able to see, that we can't," he went on, quieter. Elyna's bravado had irked him—yeah, sure, take your arrogance and go get cooked. But Remi's inquisitive, searching approach?

At least it seemed unlikely it'd get anyone killed. "I don't think we understand it. We know what it does, and how to not get killed, but understand? No." He shook his head again. "And if you have any questions.. just ask them. Better that than you die."

Remi nodded with a similar confusion. "Where we came from, they were called bloodfiends. They were created to be super soldiers in the wars we were fighting .. but they were not created by gods, but by each other." Closing one eye and allowing his face to crinkle in confusion, the alchemist tried to drum up any more information he had about the strange race. As it was, bloodfiends were typically not the sort he encountered very often. Elyna and Archebold might have been the only ones he knew of or knew personally. For the most part they remained in the manor unless they were called upon. But of course none of that remotely answered the question of how bloodfiends and ascendeds could both somehow simultaneously exist as they did. "Mmmm." Remi agreed, humming the tone as he nodded his understanding. It was precisely the sort of implication he'd wanted to avoid, and his dismay at having done just that sent a cold shiver through his body. "It may not be anyone's choice, but it does feel as though we are somehow responsible." The alchemist murmured with another pliable shrug of his shoulders. Glancing sideways as Rory tried to interpret Remi's intentions, the alchemist's lashes fluttered thoughtfully as he listened silently. "I have never seen anything like this, so I very much doubt it." Remi managed after a moment. His self-deprecation came naturally to him. He was lower than low after all, and with no real validation from anyone in his life and a path of subservience he'd likely never truly be confident in his abilities. Still, as long as no one minded, he would try. Though it might have seemed inappropriate, Remi laughed outloud at Rory's framing. Better to ask a question than to die? It seemed at once so horribly exaggerated but also so bleak that something in the alchemist's frazzled and tightly-wound mind snapped and his laughter rolled easily from his lips. Dimples deep in his cheeks from his amusement, he looked towards Rory with an apologetic but crooked smile. "Only one question comes to mind." Remi's sincere and bright stare tried to find the blue of Rory's eyes as he continued: "Do you think we'll ever make it out? Or...should we be content with this?" REMI So come on, get higher, loosen my lips, faith and desire and the swing of your hips Just pull me down hard and drown me in love

stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires

Bloodfiends? What a dark and ominous name. Again, the glaive flashed in the sunlight, the precise and controlled sweep indicating how easily she could've killed both pony and man—the danger her posture and grace exuded. It seemed an apt name for a creature such as Elyna, but Ascended implied something else entirely.

Perhaps.. perhaps whatever force had pulled them here had searched for a world similar to Caido, looking for a pattern match. Bloodfiend to Ascended. But what about the Attuned? Abandoned? Accepted? He folded the questions into the corner of his mind. He'd ask some other time about Northaven, if there were shape-changers and magic-wielders and those beloved by the Gods.

"You are not responsible for this," he said, gentle but firm, his blue gaze earnest as it searched for Remi's pale ones. The fingers on his nearest hand twitched, wanting to lay themselves against Remi's thigh or knee to further lend weight to his point, but whatever reaction it was that occasionally sent spikes through his system also prohibited him from actually touching the man. "Things have been this way for so long that no one really believes it'll change anymore. You neither did this nor chose to come here."

There were always those who strove to get out of here, into some vast unknown nobody knew what it was anymore, or could even picture, but.. never in Rory's lifetime had so many concentrated efforts been made, never had so many scoured the Atheneum for information and clues. He suspected it was the free souls of the Outlanders chafing against this cage the Naturals had all been born into.

Was their region truly so barren and bad, that they so desperately wanted out?

As Remi laughed Rory's mouth curled into a smile, and after a moment he chuckled. He had been sincere—there was so much here that could kill you, so much Remi's lack of attention to his surroundings reminded Rory of how dangerous it could be—but it had also been his way of saying that he cared. He didn't want Remi to die.

"Only one question comes to mind."

"Mmh?" Rory arched one brow quizzically, wondering what it could be.

"Do you think we'll ever make it out? Or...should we be content with this?"

Again: their cage. Rory felt his pulse slow, his breathing stop, his face freeze into a complicated expression. The cracked, dry earth, the vast sky, the jutting spire, the mutated creatures, his lean, thin, shaggy goats; it was his entire world. He knew nothing else. He had seen the quality of Isla's gloves and garb and marveled.

Was something like that out in Caido, too? After a moment, Rory cast his eyes down, once again wondering if it was truly so bad here.

"I don't know," he said, quiet and sad, part of his heart light and elated and wishing to fly beyond the borders and see what was out there—the other part scared and dark and wanting only that which was familiar, safe, home. "It's been three hundred years. I think very few of us expect to get out." The phrasing felt like betrayal. He sighed. "It hasn't stopped us from trying, though, so I guess it shouldn't stop you either."

Looking over as Rory spoke, Remi was suddenly reminded of just how little he knew about the man. Just how knew he was. In a world where you could only be brought over by permission of the Master Chief, meeting someone unexpectedly was a rarity. Remi might not have known everyone in Northaven but certainly he'd known of most of them and would recognize them in most circumstances. And so seeing Rory sat at his side suddenly felt like a shock, and for a moment the alchemist could only let his dumbfounded gaze scan the tanned landscape of Rory's face—the well-trimmed beard, the expressive eyebrows and pale lashes. You are not responsible for this. You neither did this nor chose to come here. "Does that matter?" Remi wondered aloud, his focusing sharpening as he regarded Rory rather than merely looking at him. After all, Remi had been born into a life he hadn't wanted, his place in society already cast and thus apparently deserving of the judgement and inequalities that followed. He had done and chosen nothing, and yet the views of many with regards to him were already fixed. So it seemed here. Remi tried to read Rory's expression as it solidified into a mask of a multitude of potential meanings. As the man thought, Remi's brows twitched as he continued to try and see through Rory into the mechanics of his mind and what he might be thinking as he decided how to answer the alchemist. But of course that sort of power was not one Remi possessed and quickly his gaze was drawn back to the blue depths of Rory's stare. "Mmmm.." Remi mumbled in a tone of not-quite agreement, but something more like acceptance. With a sigh the alchemist places his head in his hands and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of them, happily exhaling into the pressure. "There has been talk on our end of governments and leadership and..." Trailing off, Remi shrugged into his hands before dropping them back into his lap and glancing through a veil of curls towards Rory. "I suppose what I am wondering is if it is the worth the effort to try and find a way out, or if I should perhaps just.." Frowning slightly as he gazed upwards, removing the errant curls from his forehead with a practiced gesture. "..make a life here?" Realizing how absurd that sounded, Remi chuckled at himself and rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. REMI So come on, get higher, loosen my lips, faith and desire and the swing of your hips Just pull me down hard and drown me in love

stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires

"Does that matter?"

Yes. Rory was suddenly struck by how much younger Remi seemed in that moment—how much younger he maybe was—for he no longer seemed the amiably aloof man both Elyna and Ronin sought to protect. He somehow seemed vulnerable, though Rory couldn't put his fingers on what gave him that impression. Yes, it does.

Stop acting like you can fix this because it's not broken.

Their corner of Caido had been locked away for generations, and as those with memories of a world beyond died, this became the norm. You lived and died within the barrier, and what was beyond was a curiosity, a dream, a novelty you could ponder but it didn't matter.

Life was here. Life was now. And Rory had the overwhelming urge to kiss Remi as that simple phrase wandered into his mind.

But he didn't. Of course he didn't. Remi somehow still felt beyond him.

He listened to Remi with his eyes downcast. He liked the Outlanders as individuals, but he hated them as a group—of course they were like dandelion seeds tumbled about by a storm, gathered up and then dropped somewhere else entirely, but Rory resented them for the changes they brought. Rory resented them for how they treated his home: like a prison they had been thrust into, as if their precious Northaven or wherever else was just beyond the barrier.

Or perhaps that was uncharitable of him to think, tainted so as he was by Elyna's arrogant declarations. They had struck him harder than he'd thought at first.

"Leadership?" he echoed in a hollow voice, one nail scraping against the fabric of his pants. They did not need that—they were fine without that—he didn't even really comprehend what it would be like, but it tasted like a change they didn't want, didn't need, one that wouldn't go down well. He wrestled with himself in silence for a moment, then sighed, and looked to the sky.

"Generation after generation, we have been born within this place. From birth, we have known nothing else, and those who remembered a time when the border was a sea, and not a lethal, intangible thing, are long since dead. Growing up, I think all of us go through a phase where we are frustrated by this, where we want out into that great beyond, where we think our ideas are new and fresh and that no one's tried them before. Some of us die because of this, but no one's ever succeeded. We don't even know what we're looking for, what we're wishing for, we're just moths flying into the flame. You don't know how many times I've ridden in the outskirts, dreaming about just the thing that happened when I found you and Elyna out here, but then when it actually happened..."

Rory shrugged. How to explain that now that the Outlanders were all here, he didn't.. want them.. here... He didn't want change in this way. He didn't even know if he wanted change at all.

"I can't even imagine where you come from. Is this a cage to you? Is it broken to you?" There was no accusation in his voice; just curiosity, and sadness.

"Would it be so bad, to live the rest of your life here?"

Because I never expected to do anything but that.

But Remi wasn't beyond him. Wasn't beyond any of it. He was sitting on the same soil that Rory was, covered in the same no-colour dirt and dust, breathing the same recycled air. The only difference was that he gazed into blue eyes instead of green, and held a sketch book instead of braided reins. "Mmhmm." The sound was one of agreement, but the expression on his face—should Rory care to look up—was one of quiet disapproval. Never before had politics felt so tactile in his life. There had always been a king and queen serving as distant figure heads, dukes and barons like Loren and Ronin who were priveledged and to whom the majority of Remi's assorted goods were purchased by. But really, the commoner had never encounter politics in any meaningful way. He was oppressed by it to be sure, but he'd never really been a part of it. Never felt like he had a voice. He wasn't even sure he had one now, although that might have had more to do with how close Rory was sitting.   As Rory spoke Remi's head tilted gently so as better to focus and hear, his thoughts of sketching and researching the barrier completely gone now. All he could hear was the sound of Rory's voice the rather oppressive picture he was painting. The alchemist couldn't help but smile shyly as he and Elyna became part of Rory's monologue, nodding in gentle understanding as the man's voice trailed off.   Just as Remi was about to shrug in potential agreement with the description of the bubble being like a cage, he was halted instantly by the man's use of the word broken. Startled slightly Remi's brows knit together and his expression both softened and furrowed. As Rory had experienced earlier, Remi felt the urge to reach out for the leatherworker's hand—surely as calloused as his own—to reassure him. Instead the alchemist's gaze dropped sadly as he shook his curly head. "In Northaven there was a wall..." Remi said slowly, his voice both reverent and displeased. "We were never allowed past the wall. Even as a bird I was not allowed over. Until one day the restriction was lifted. Suddenly we were free to go out, with many restrictions of course." Pausing, Remi studied his hands and fingers for a moment as he took a breath. "It wasn't long after that that we found ourselves here." From one cage to another. It certainly did feel that way. "It was rules and men keeping us contained before. Men who wouldn't be reasoned with. I think perhaps we feel as though we stand a better chance against something without a mind." Ruffling a hand through his curls he cast a tentative glance towards Rory, looking almost apologetic. Perhaps those like Ronin and Koel and Loren who were either not common-born or held a high-ranking position would disagree. Loren was friends with the prince and Koel was the Overseer and Ronin the captain of training. And still they all remained caged. Letting his hands relax against his legs, Remi's expression crumpled slightly as he shrugged his shoulders. He had no purpose here, not really. He'd lost the man he loved (though he was seriously doubting whether or not he had ever had him, given how events had played out), and perhaps worse he'd lost the love for the that man. He'd almost killed a man he didn't know since arriving here and had almost been lured to death by a god. "I have been cursed by the gods and was nearly attacked by the spire monster. But I have also set up a shop, so..." Remi said wryly as a smile spread mischievously across his features. Despite all that had happened, it was in his nature to be optimistic. live had always been hard and unforgiving for Remi. He expected nothing less for living it in this place. Gazing at Rory, Remi shrugged helplessly. "I suppose I was just wondering if I should cease trying or not." REMI So come on, get higher, loosen my lips, faith and desire and the swing of your hips Just pull me down hard and drown me in love

stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires

There wasn't much in terms of government or nobility here. No one to pay taxes to. Enough housing for almost everyone. Outlaws roaming certain parts of the woods and paths, taking what was not theirs and living their life, until someone had enough of them and purged them. Bar fights? Certainly. The occasional murder? Certainly. Break-ins? Certainly.

But most were simply too concerned with staying alive that they didn't choose such risky methods, as sooner or later, enough people would band together against you and put you down if you became a nuisance.

It was a balance, of sorts, and the only thing to upset it was the Outlanders.

"In Northaven there was a wall..." Rory was.. surprised, as he sat there with Bakshi's reins in his hand, the pony's muzzle coming to rest against the back of his head, Remi next to him scratching at the surface of the blond's bitterness. The revelation made him uncomfortable. They had lost their homes, as he was losing his. He wanted to be righteous in his slow-cooked anger, he wanted to be able to blame it, freely, on the Outlanders—he wanted the unfairness for himself and his wronged natives, and not for those who had come here.

His mother had once told him that the assumption that no one else suffered was what got people into messes. Rory, his fingers still busy with his pants and the reins, figured it was true.

He wondered at how much violence and bloodshed had been needed to confine the population, if the wall itself did not bite. He knew a fair few things about accepting things as they were, of forgetting the injustice of not being allowed the full breadth of the world, horizon from horizon. Perhaps the same had been true for them, that on most days, they simply.. forgot that there was something beyond the wall.

"From one cage to another," he said quietly. "So you brought your resentment with you." Could he fault them for it?

Not really. Could he fault them for trying to take his world, and change it to their liking? Yes, the dark and fiery voice whispered, but he wasn't sure whether to listen to it or not.

And still, he couldn't help but wonder—why now? What power had snaked out from its grave, and torn open pathways between worlds? What was stirring? Much as Rory stayed away from the Gods he couldn't deny their existence, so perhaps it was a premonition of sorts. Perhaps they were supposed to break out.

Or they were all going to die horribly. Or it was some sort of celestial spasm. An accident, a mishap, and here they were.

"A shop?" he echoed, seizing onto something that was less dismal, something that allowed him to shove his slithering and bitter nature back under the surface of the lake it had crawled out of. Cursed by the gods sounded less fun, but that was how things went around here. "What do you do?"

Rory had grown up a lean dreamer, fed on stories and thin goat meat. His mother had been a dreamer, too—his sister had more of their father in her, more of a realist, feet on the ground. Even though she had seemed content, their mother had never really stopped dreaming, stopped trying, and it had been the death of her. And Rory, well—Rory didn't know if he had stopped trying, either, but he supposed the difference between him and Remi was that he did not expect to succeed, while the other, perhaps, remained optimistic.

He didn't know if it would be a blessing or a curse, to genuinely think there was a way out.

"Only you can decide that," he responded, gentle but sad, his eyes looking for Remi's. Experience told them there was no way out, and their hearts told them differently. The pious, the restless, the scholars and dreamers and wolves—those who wanted out, or just to find their silent gods. After a moment, Rory gave a small, apologetic shrug.