moments in the woods

the tightrope that i'm walking just sways and ties,
the devil as he's talking with those angel's eyes

"I mean, I've always assumed you go home and record all the details of your day." He's only half kidding, in this. It might not be the case that Finn has a good memory, or even that half of the things the Alchemist says are notable in themselves, but Remi would bet that Finn's mind forces him to relive his days over and over again during the hours spent not-sleeping. But that isn't the punchline of the joke, obviously.

Returning Finn's conspiratorial glance, as the man mentions doctors, the Alchemist lets his mouth open and his eyes widen with boyish intrigue. "Dok..t-or?" He repeats, purposefully thickening his accent to make the word nearly unrecognizable. "Well I'm sorry I even said anything. Clearly your more advanced civilization puts you in a much better position than I to judge what supplies to carry with you." Straightening up as well the Alchemist just rolls his eyes with a grin.

"Mmm." Remi hums in response, never knowing quite what the right thing to say to latent apologies is. "No, though sometimes I miss it.." Trailing off a touch wistfully, Remi looks around the forest, remember how it looked dappled in shades of grey. "It...it made some things much easier to see." Like the people he cared about, for how fiercely coloured they were. "The man who healed me nearly killed me in the process." Remi adds with an unhappy sigh, shrugging his shoulders. "He thought he was doing what was best for me. He removed all the scars I once had as well." And then, as if expecting Finn to say something, Remi interjects, "I know. To think I could possibly have had more scars than I already do."

THE ALCHEMIST

but i just want to be there when the lightning strikes
& the saints go marching in

when you bury your pain

”If I did, wouldn’t that be more of a reason to forget everything? I’d already written it down,” Finn points out. He does journal everything, actually, but that’s not really something he’s comfortable to admitting to, and he glances instead at a brightly coloured shrub as they walk by it. His eyes are always restless, though it’s something that Remi has undoubtedly noticed by now, but the smile on his face just as amused as Remi’s.

Like most of their conversations, however, the amusement is short lived; Finn glances back to Remi as he speaks about missing his strange sight. The Spyglass can’t confess to agree, given how he sees the world, but then this is just another occasion where their past and present crosses wires, and he listens with rapt attention. ”Well,” he says slowly. ”Just because the scars are gone on the outside, doesn’t make them disappear inside.”

Running his fingers through his curls, he focuses on the trail ahead. ”I don’t know that I would miss it.”

THE SPYGLASS

you only strengthen its roots

the tightrope that i'm walking just sways and ties,
the devil as he's talking with those angel's eyes

"Oh, is that how memory works?" Remi retorts looking softly triumphant as he raises a brow. He has noticed Finn's restless blue gaze, attributing it as much to his social awkwardness as to an interest for this new part of the world. He doesn't take it personally and nor does he wish for those stormy blues to linger upon him any more than is necessary. They seem to invite a sort of magnetism from deep within his stomach that ignites feelings he'd prefer to remain dormant.

"No, that's certainly true." The Alchemist agrees with a decisive nod. Some scars are much more than skin deep, and despite whatever he and Loren once thought about them, they'd never healed despite the Launceleyn's magical intervention.

"And if they..happened to break..?" Hot on the heels of having just admitted his folly in thinking magical items with the ability to bind could just be gotten rid of, Remi glances towards the Spyglass wondering what his future might be like sans spectacles.

THE ALCHEMIST

but i just want to be there when the lightning strikes
& the saints go marching in

when you bury your pain

”Apparently so,” Finn says with a quiet chuckle, though with talk of losing sight and deadly Fae and scars that run deeper than the bones, it’s difficult to get his mood to float back up to where it had been previously. Still, they can’t have everything, and it’s enough to laugh sometimes, even rarely, for the Spyglass. His hands do clench, though, at the suggestion of something just happening to break. They both know they’re talking about his glasses, and whilst it’s never been mentioned overtly, he isn’t surprised that Remi can put two and two together.

”I don’t know if it would make all that much of a difference,” he admits softly, sadly. Pausing on the trail that only he can see, he reaches up to take the spectacles from his nose, glancing about the woods. The auras disappear, mostly, but that doesn’t mean his vision is anything like quiet. There are shadows that sneak in the corners of his eyes, colours and halos around things that feel too bright, movements in things that ought to be still.

Sighing, he slips them back on again. ”Can’t fix crazy,” he said, the remark slipping out unbidden, and he regrets it instantly as something far too personal that he ought to have kept to himself.

THE SPYGLASS

you only strengthen its roots

the tightrope that i'm walking just sways and ties,
the devil as he's talking with those angel's eyes

Remi stops as Finn does, softly and thoughtfully watching his near-twin. He has no idea what or how it is the glasses change Finn's vision, only that he's quite certain that they do. What he isn't sure about is whether or not the visuals are dampened by the glasses, or heightened. When is Finn 'normal': with, or without the glasses?

"Sanity is overrated." Remi says with a gruff laugh, feeling the oddest inclination to wrap Finn up in a tight hug. He does nothing of the sort of course, merely creating a feather between his fingers and spinning it idly. "Besides, one man's crazy is another's gift from the gods." This is said with a flat tone and after a moment or two Remi huffs out a bit of a grumble at himself for saying something so bland.

"What...do you see, Finn?" It is a question he isn't supposed to ask. They've been dancing around the subject for a while now, more or less pretending that the glasses don't exist save for their aesthetic departure from the look they both share. But now, in the wild stillness of the Woods, Remi turns towards his counterpart with a softly wondering look on his face. It's a look that makes him look young and harmless, though they both know him to be anything but.

THE ALCHEMIST

but i just want to be there when the lightning strikes
& the saints go marching in

when you bury your pain

Finn huffs out a laugh that’s anything but amused, shrugging his shoulders and gazing into the distance with eyes that beg to glaze over, to let the world become nothing more than a blur of colour. His hands clench and unclench, and he turns to rub the scruff of his cheek against his shoulder, like he doesn’t want to touch his face. Then Remi asks the question they’ve both been waiting for, the question Finn has both wanted and wanted to avoid. Because he won’t lie to his strange twin. He doesn’t think he can, not in the same way he can lie to other people.

”Um,” he says slowly - good start, Finn. ”Since my early twenties, when insomnia really started to set in, I haven’t... I hallucinate, when I’m tired.” And these days, sometimes even when I’m not. ”The glasses let me see... I don’t know how to describe it. I can tell if an Attuned, or an Accepted, or any of the others have been nearby. There are colours... it’s how I’m following Delphia now.” He points ahead, to where he can see where she’s been walking, clear as day.

”Demigods are different. Unique. Like this one... shades of violet and charcoal,” he mumbles.

THE SPYGLASS

you only strengthen its roots

the tightrope that i'm walking just sways and ties,
the devil as he's talking with those angel's eyes

"Your early twenties?" This world has no real way to demarcate age in ways that Remi quite understands, and in the moment he realizes he has absolutely no idea how old Finn is. His features are young, just as Remi's are, but the Alchemist always suspected that it was the world which had aged the Spyglass, rather than merely time. "How old are you?" He asks, almost in passing. It doesn't matter, but strangely it does. Just like everything else about Finn, he supposes.

"Like seeing smells." Remi suggests, though realizes Finn won't know whether or not this is an apt description. But as a predator the marks of other animals leave their traces everywhere, almost like splashes of colour. They float about, stronger or fainter, and almost always unique. "You seem tired, often." He notes in a low voice, heavy with a strange brand of concern.

He doesn't ask the question most might expect, save for Finn. He's almost certain his twin knows he won't ask, and probably knows the reason why as well. Asking it would be raw and intimate in a way that neither of them are ready for. Certainly, Remi isn't, so soon on the heels of their last encounter and the strange gulf if threatened to put between them. So instead of saying what do you see, when you look at me? he asks, "Can you tell if she's far?"

THE ALCHEMIST

but i just want to be there when the lightning strikes
& the saints go marching in

when you bury your pain

The question takes him by surprise, Finn blinking himself out of his moment of sudden hyper-focus to glance sideways at Remi, brows furrowing together. For a second it’s like he’s trying to remember how old he is, and eventually it clicks in place. ”I was thirty, last Deepfrost,” he says softly. ”Why?” Why does it matter, he means. Are he and Remi of an age? Potentially born in the same season?

Swallowing hard, he presses forward on the trail as they speak, burying his hands in his pockets. He feels cold suddenly, in a way he can’t quite vocalise. ”All the time,” he admits, crouching to the ground as if trying to separate something in the grass. ”I don’t know how far she is.” He sighs. ”I’ve tested things, over years... I think it’s twelve hours, give or take, before an aura fades. So she’s been here fairly recently.”

He smiles to himself. ”Torchline is busy with it.”

THE SPYGLASS

you only strengthen its roots

the tightrope that i'm walking just sways and ties,
the devil as he's talking with those angel's eyes

"I just.." It takes him by surprise. Stupidly, he did think they would be the same age. Perhaps born on the same day in different seasons or some such. But five years older struck Remi as hopelessly impossible. His smile is shaky and boyish as he runs a hand through his curls, leaving it on the back of his neck as he gives the other man an amused look. "I'm younger, that's all." He says, fighting off strange laughter. "Just 25."

Watching as Finn halts and kneels, Remi studies the back of his head and shoulders as the Spyglass studies the grass. "So not like smells, then." The Alchemist muses. Certainly they lingered, but their timestamping was also much more obvious. "Perhaps we really should go swimmi—" He was going to suggest they find his pendant from Safrin, so that Finn could at least tell the difference between reality and his hallucinations. But having heard why he disliked the water so much, Remi cuts off the words before they can fully leave his lips. "Maybe I'll see if I can find that pendant." He mumbles instead, clearing his throat.

"Torchline is busy period, so I suppose that makes sense." He says agreeably enough, watching Finn with interest.

THE ALCHEMIST

but i just want to be there when the lightning strikes
& the saints go marching in

when you bury your pain

”I don’t believe you are just anything,” Finn murmurs, though the quiet warmth in his voice suggests that it’s a compliment rather than a slight. He’s still kneeling in the grass, trying to work it all out - whatever it is. ”Five years goes by in a blink, for some. For others, every hour is a drag. Which way is it for you?” He rises to his feet again, huffing out another sigh.

”Not like smells, I don’t think. Though... the interesting thing is that the Greatwood is so empty. So Delphia’s tracks are some of the only ones around. And they overlap. I’ve never gotten a chance to see this up close.” Before Finn there’s a starburst of colour, crisscrossing in varying degrees of intensity. ”I can see ones that are about to fade away, and others that seem brighter.”

Talk of the pendant from their chat on the beach brings him out of it somewhat, Finn shrugging to him. ”You don’t have to do that,” he says, a little awkwardly, before nodding off towards the northeast. ”I think she’s that way.”

THE SPYGLASS

you only strengthen its roots

the tightrope that i'm walking just sways and ties,
the devil as he's talking with those angel's eyes

Remi both rises and crumbles beneath the other man's words. He has no desire tobe thought of anything in particular by anyone, but Finn sees more than most. Sees differently than most, and it's a microscope that the Alchemist both wants to be seen through to his very core and to avoid like the plague. "Both." He replies, his green gaze lost in the patterns of Finn's curls. "It depends what I'm measuring." Time since Aoife's death? It feels like nothing. Since he and Ronin were married? A lifetime. How long ago did he throw his wedding band into the sea? How long since Ronin died? It's almost as if time ceases to be an appropriate measure. "How is it for you?"

His eyes lower to the grasses which to his eyes appear entirely ordinary. "Can you see other things? The animals that come and go? The spirits?" But frowning, Remi realizes that he probably can't. If he could, he probably would have noticed Remi walking about as a spirit and wouldn't have tripped over him.

Glancing at Finn, taking in too much and not enough of him in the span of a few blinks, Remi nods. "I know I don't." Which was precisely why he would.

THE ALCHEMIST

but i just want to be there when the lightning strikes
& the saints go marching in

when you bury your pain

Finn isn’t looking at Remi when he answers, but he feels like the other man will be able to see the way he smiles - a sad, almost resigned sort of thing - or see the way he closes his eyes. His shoulders sag somewhat, hands balled in his pockets. ”Both,” he echoes. ”It depends on what I’m measuring, too. So you see - five years between us is not all that different, is it?” Had Finn hoped he would say anything other than that? Anything other than to admit to the same enigmatic see-saw that the Spyglass also balanced upon? Or had he been hoping for it.

Clearing his throat, he blinks his eyes back open and starts to trek northwest, trusting himself to find Mort’s daughter. ”I’m not sure,” he says of seeing other things. ”Sometimes I see aura when I’m not wearing he spectacles. I swear I could see hands reaching for Delphia - lost souls, looking to be soothed.” He scoffs. ”It’s difficult to tell, these days, what the glasses show me and what I am filling in myself.”

THE SPYGLASS

you only strengthen its roots

the tightrope that i'm walking just sways and ties,
the devil as he's talking with those angel's eyes

"Just one more for the differences column, huh." Remi murmurs, unable to quite voice what he's thinking. Finn is right of course, it doesn't matter. If anything the differences between them proves that this isn't all just some strange hoax, that they're both real in some important sense, having lived their own lives.

Following easily enough along, letting the prank-imposed distance between them fade away gradually if Finn will allow, Remi nods. "That makes sense, given who she is." The Alchemist agrees of Delphia. "I suppose you were a bit distracted earlier, but...if you want to test your theory, you could always try it with me." Unsure if this is a helpful suggestion or not, Remi keeps his gaze trained on the path ahead that his stare will not add undue pressure upon the Spyglass.

THE ALCHEMIST

but i just want to be there when the lightning strikes
& the saints go marching in

when you bury your pain

Or the similarities column, Finn wants to say but doesn’t. He lets his hands rest back in the pockets of his coat, the distance between them fading away to nothing again; he lets it, feeling somehow more grounded with Remi close by, though he’s not sure quite what to say when the Alchemist speaks again.

”What do you mean?” he asks. ”I’m sure I could test the theory about the patterns of your aura,” he says, though he’s still very careful not to look at the other man given how much he’s trying to concentrate on Delphia’s residual presence.

”But if you mean testing whether or not things are real without my glasses.” Slowly, he slides the spectacles down his nose so he can glance at Remi over them, a faint smile on his face. ”So far so good.”

THE SPYGLASS

you only strengthen its roots