[se] wild in the silence

maybe i'm a runaway train, maybe i'm a feather in a hurricane

Though rain fell in dull sheets most of the day, you got used to it. It wasn't just 'raining', it was either pouring, sprinkling, coming the fuck down, or some other liquor-laden descriptor. Today, it was just sprinkling. Constant, unyielding, but it was bearable if you didn't think about it too much.

And Remi wasn't.

Monsoon season was coming and there was still much that needed to be done. Rather than filling sandbags the Alchemist was simply moving the earth around. With great effort he heaved and pulled at the beach, raising berm after berm to protect the businesses that lay on the other side. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face, his curls matted to his head (or was it only the rain?) as he tirelessly worked. Despite the chill in his bones and the way his mind had grown blurry from effort, still Remi continued. On and on, tonnes of sand moved and arranged to keep Torchline safe.

THE ALCHEMIST

maybe it's a long gray game, but maybe that's a good thing

memory’s so treacherous

”For a man who does not want to help, you spend a lot of time doing it.” The voice that drifts across the beach is close, close enough to need to step around the sand as it is pulled beneath his feet. Finn finds people - it’s his job, after all - and Remi’s aura is something that he is not only attuned to by now, but it’s plastered all over Torchline. Being the Governor does that, he imagines.

Their roles are reversed today, it seems - when Finn and Remi last met, the Spyglass had been... rather badly composed, to say the least. He has slept since (ha, ha) and it’s a new day now. He stands a few feet behind Remi with an umbrella overhead, well put together if not by Cian’s strict standards. Gazing at the Alchemist through his spectacles, he wonders at the other man.

”Can I spare a moment of your time? I’ll do my best not to interrupt you too much.”

one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights

the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go

FINN

maybe i'm a runaway train, maybe i'm a feather in a hurricane

'Are you watching me, Finn?" Remi asks, pausing in his efforts though not turning around. Moisture—sweat or rain or both—trickle down his neck to his shirt which is already far too saturated. There is no accusation in his tone, just mild curiosity.

Though Remi doesn't hold a shovel to toss down into the sand to indicate frustrated acceptance of Finn's request, his movements suggest it just the same. Turning, stained and dirty from his efforts, the Alchemist looks nothing at all like the Governor of Torchline should, nor anything at all worth remarking about. His knees are bloody from kneeling in the sand, feet bare despite the chill, and to touch him just now would be to feel nothing but sand spread thin across his skin.

"You say that like I have a choice." He says, standing straight and then leaning back with his hands on his hips to crack his back.

THE ALCHEMIST

maybe it's a long gray game, but maybe that's a good thing

memory’s so treacherous

”In this current moment? Yes.” Finn smiles beneath his umbrella. One would think, this time around, that he knows better than to offer it out to keep the Alchemist dry, having seen the depths of his abilities. But the man before him is a picture of fatigue, barefoot and bloody, and Finn merely steps forward this time, shielding them both from the downpour without asking. Remi smells of salt and iron, the heat rolling off him all the more potent for the chill around them.

”I was tipped off by a few people along the beach who saw you walk out here. The mountains of sand did the rest.” He glances at Remi’s work, wondering how the Alchemist plans to keep the sand from being washed or blown back out to sea. ”I came to apologise for my behaviour the other day. Looking back, I think I pushed buttons on you that belonged more in myself. It was unkind of me.”

one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights

the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go

FINN

maybe i'm a runaway train, maybe i'm a feather in a hurricane

Finn is slightly taller, but it isn't because of this that the Alchemist's chin rises. It is a way to supplicate his predatory nature, to keep his inner demons from clawing their way out. Still, feathers trickle unhappily through his curls and his lip threatens to curl at having Finn so close.

"I'm not hard to find." Remi says carefully, very much wanting to step back but having absolutely no reason to do so. Finn's apology means little. If anything Remi is annoyed with himself for wasting limited resources on a man who in his mind, has an aptitude for being contrary. Being intentionally difficult. The words Vai said to him linger in his ears, but they are most drowned out by the roar of the sea.

"I tried to do something nice for you, and you turned it down." The Alchemist remarks. "A strange choice, for someone apparently worried about my internal balance." Remi's sea-shattered eyes narrow just a fraction, the skin tightening as he tries to measure the man before him. A third time they've met now and still Remi can't tell who is leading this dance and who is following. Who is pushing who.

THE ALCHEMIST

maybe it's a long gray game, but maybe that's a good thing

memory’s so treacherous

It’s like a match put to a fuse, the way Remi’s aura crackles and changes before Finn’s eyes, and the Spyglass barely needs to notice the other outward signs that his presence is unwanted to get the message. Quietly, he takes a step back from the other man, even if that does mean Remi is exposed to the rain once more. ”No, you are not,” he agrees, grip tightening on the umbrella as he considers the Alchemist’s words.

”You said I ought to return it, if I were so worried about your internal struggle. So I did. I was trying to be honest,” he murmurs, though an awkward and boyish smile tugs at his lips. ”If I am being honest now, though, I believe I was caught up too deeply in our conversation. It feels... unreal, looking back on it. I am not usually the sort of person to spurn another’s thoughtfulness. So I’m sorry.”

one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights

the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go

FINN

maybe i'm a runaway train, maybe i'm a feather in a hurricane

Remi seems more at home beneath the drizzle than he does a step away from the man who he so resembles. Breathing out a sigh that threatens to be one of relief, the Alchemist just clenches his jaw for a moment. "And I said you shouldn't worry about me." And, not knowing which of them needed to hear it more, added: "I'm not for you to worry about."

As for the stone, the Alchemist merely shrugged. It was lost to the waves now. "It doesn't matter." Though it did. And like an irritant that in the right hands can turn into a pearl and in the wrong, an infection, that Finn acted so had planted something between them. What it would become time would tell.

"I take it you have no magic that would help with this?" Remi asks, turning his back to Finn and raising his hands. As he did, the sand heaved beneath them, rising and piling up.

THE ALCHEMIST

maybe it's a long gray game, but maybe that's a good thing

memory’s so treacherous

”And I am not for you to worry about,” Finn counters, as if to remind the Alchemist that he was the one to make that initial overture, to create the stone to help him rest. ”What is done is done. I can’t change it, but I can at least express regret.” But Remi says it doesn’t matter, and for all of their conversations so far, Finn is still acutely aware of his own shortcomings, his own lack of confidence, the power dynamic between them.

He turns back to look at the earth as it rises up under Remi’s influence, appropriately awed at the ease through which Remi wields such skill. ”I have no magic to speak of - I am Accepted,” he says absently. ”Though if there is a shovel available, I will do what I can to help.” Much as it pales in comparison to what Remi can achieve in the same timeframe.

one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights

the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go

FINN

maybe i'm a runaway train, maybe i'm a feather in a hurricane

"I'm not worried about you." Remi replied gruffly as if insulted the Spyglass should even think such a thing (or perhaps embarrassed or ashamed by it). "I'm an alchemist. I make things. When you left I threw the stone into the ocean instead of following you to where you live and demanding you take it. And why?" Remi studied the man before him, he who created such paradoxical feelings within the Alchemist. "Because I do not care."

But he did. And he hated Finn his regret, having lost the ability somewhere along the way.

Accepted. Hmm. "I think you'd make a good bird, should you ever choose to become an Attuned." Remi said casually. "A sparrow, or crow. Something clever and flighty and good with tools." Something unassuming and easily broken.

Rather than handing Finn a shovel, Remi tosses his hands as if there is something in them. There isn't—at least not right away. At the arc of whatever is being 'thrown', a thick webbing appears. Palm-fronds tightly woven together, to reinforce the berm. "These go against the mounds, secured with rocks and such to keep the sand from eroding away."

THE ALCHEMIST

maybe it's a long gray game, but maybe that's a good thing

memory’s so treacherous

”Yes, you appear to have made yourself quite clear on that front,” Finn says mildly in response to Remi’s tirade, as if pointing out that confirming - at length - about how much he didn’t care might just suggest the opposite. His lips part to remark that he has no intention of ever becoming an Attuned, but curiosity prevents him from saying as much. He wonders what there is about him that makes the Alchemist believe he would make a good bird; the choices seem... careful, whilst not entirely inaccurate.

”What kind of bird are you?” Because of course he had spotted the feathers in Remi’s hair. He raises the umbrella as the other man throws something unseen, only to be forced to let it go entirely in order that he might catch the webbing. The umbrella tumbles away across the beach, blown by the wind and the rain. Finn watches it until it is ripped out to sea, then gazes at the net in his arms.

”I suppose I’d better get to work, then.” Moving to one of the mounds of sand, he tucks his glasses into the inside pocket of his coat, which he also shrugs out of - even with the chill in the air, this looks like hot work. Folding the sleeves of his shirt (a dark blue colour) to the elbow, the Spyglass disentangles the webbing and begins to tether it around the embankments. He’s quickly soaked, of course, but it doesn’t seem to bother him.

one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights

the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go

FINN

maybe i'm a runaway train, maybe i'm a feather in a hurricane

"Ferruginous hawk." The Alchemist answers immediately, before realizing that there were feathers protruding through his curls. Reaching up to smooth away the feathers, Remi falls silent wondering if he ought to elaborate. All descriptions of his shift sound...strangely suggestive. Largest of the hawks, but not actually very large. Not the usual sleek brown hawks normally are, but pale. One of the only species built to glide like eagles do and often mistaken for one, from far away. Predatory. Finding suddenly how much he hates that he's overthinking this on Finn's behalf, he just shakes his head. "Where I come from we don't choose what we become. You make the choice at 16 and the shift just is what it is.

Whether there's any satisfaction in Remi's gaze at watching Finn's umbrella—and the kindness and closeness it has come to represent for the Alchemist—fly away, is obscured by his nod. Dressed more closely to the way Remi is, though the Alchemist doubts if the Spyglass's shirt is similarly magical, he watches Finn out of the corner of his eye as he gets to work. For some reason just outright asking the man the questions Remi wants the answers to seems off-limits, and so instead he trains his attention to whether or not it appears Finn has callouses on his hands, whether he handles the ropes as if he's done this sort of thing before (or any type of physical labour). How he handles the water in his eyes, the sweat forming below his collar, how bothered he is by the rain and the sand.

All while trying to seem as though he's fixated on moving the earth to help Finn accomplish his half of the task, of course.

THE ALCHEMIST

maybe it's a long gray game, but maybe that's a good thing

memory’s so treacherous

”A hawk?” Finn doesn’t sound surprised in the slightest, and perhaps there’s a small smile curling over his lips as he bends to his task. ”So it is based almost on your inner nature then?” he muses, collecting up a few hefty rocks and setting them aside to pin down the webbing when he’s ready for it. He’s aware of the eyes on him, of Remi’s watchful analysis of his work, though he can’t quite put together why.

There are callouses on Finn’s hands, but they are all on his fingertips, and they do little to help with the current situation. Still, there’s a strength in the way he moves, a resignation to each lift and pull, to fighting with the netting and wrangling it in place with sure, firm movements. There’s a calmness in it, a patience, and as he steps back with a fine coating of sand on his clothes and skin, he wipes at his forehead with the back of his hand to examine the work thus far.

Shirt clinging to the contours of his body from the downpour, water dripping from his curls, he takes a moment to catch his breath. ”Got another?” he asks Remi eventually, glancing over his shoulder, uncomplaining.

one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights

the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go

FINN

maybe i'm a runaway train, maybe i'm a feather in a hurricane

"Or random chance." Remi counters with a shrug. 'Both of my parents had bird-shifts." Which was a strike against the random-chance theory, but also the inner-nature theory as well. "Besides, my inner nature when I was 16 is quite different from what it is now." He added, as if to cut off Finn from further extrapolating information about him, based on his shift.

There are the things Remi notices, the things he doesn't, and the things he notices that he pretends he hasn't.

For a moment as Finn asks, the Alchemist momentarily wonders if he means got another shift. For some reason, he doesn't want to tell the other man about his manticore-shift, and so he's relieved when his mind unsubtly suggests he's talking about netting. "Mmhm." He grunts, creating the netting before throwing it towards Finn this time.

"Will you be spending monsoon season here in Torchline?" Remi asks as they work, aiming for casual conversation. The real question was instead something like, how much longer will you be here, following me? or, how long do I have to figure you out?

THE ALCHEMIST

maybe it's a long gray game, but maybe that's a good thing

memory’s so treacherous

”If it wasn’t, I would be somewhat concerned,” Finn says, and the smile he shoots Remi is just a bit crooked, the Spyglass rolling his shoulders to loosen up the muscles. ”I think we are all different people to how we were when we were 16. I know I am.” He turns to catch the netting, reaching up to sweep his wet hair out of his face, rain dripping from his chin, and gets back to work.

Having done it once before, now, Finn proves to be a quick learner, something he doesn’t think surprises Remi one bit. Pinning the webbing down with more rocks, he kneels in the sand to make sure it’s secure, glancing back at the other man and sitting back on his heels. ”Depends,” he says. ”I may get called elsewhere by then. It isn’t really up to me.”

one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights

the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go

FINN