walk me to the knife edge

you trace my lines, stirring my soul

Distantly, in some small abstract part of the Alchemist's mind that isn't wholly transfixed by the here and now, Remi wonders how different Ronin might be with a predatory shift. It's the huntsman's teeth against Remi's lower lip that trigger the thought, for deep down the Alchemist knows it isn't followed by a carnal plume of raw need that demands blood or the feeling of flesh yielding beneath strong fingers. Is it good that Ronin doesn't have this side? Might it be better for them both? Worse? But he hasn't the mind to think such things, tangled as they are, and quickly the thought is thrown away.

"Wisely said." Remi whispers back, before looking sidelong off the cloud to where their clothes are haphazardly scattered. "What do you reckon the penalty for littering is?" He wonders. Though Remi has no intention of repeating their surely we can work this out, officer routine from a few nights before, but still, it's rather entertaining to him that despite being two of the most powerful men in Torchline, still, they're beholden to certain silly rules.

THE ALCHEMIST