REMI
The beast who stalks the not-luxere through the woods is nothing like the man Ronin knows to be his husband. His teeth are jagged and uneven, his nose flattened with nostrils connected to nasal cavities far better at distinguishing scents. His back remains wingless as if this is a game within which he requires no advantage. No more so than he already has. Beneath curls which are more leonine mane than human hair, there are ears perked forward; he listens, and he calculates.
The splash of feet into the water catches the predator's attention, and though it is a clever tactic in theory, Ronin has not taken the time to cleanse himself of his human sweat and adrenaline fully. From the chest down he might smell now like rainwater and crispness, but the hair around his head still beads sweat and the steam that billows from his dark hair is a map the Lullaby can't help himself but to follow. Rather than splashing through the stream, the Lullaby pauses, cupping a handful of water and bringing it to his lips. No doubt Ronin hadn't given himself the time to drink, but then, that's what made him the hunted.
Picking up a jog again, scenting the brazen smell of fear and success on the breeze, the alchemist makes a calculated guess as to which way his husband is going to go. Arcing around that he might reach the near-luxere's destination without having to travel the same distance, more of Remi begins to unconsciously shift as his anticipation grows.
The splash of feet into the water catches the predator's attention, and though it is a clever tactic in theory, Ronin has not taken the time to cleanse himself of his human sweat and adrenaline fully. From the chest down he might smell now like rainwater and crispness, but the hair around his head still beads sweat and the steam that billows from his dark hair is a map the Lullaby can't help himself but to follow. Rather than splashing through the stream, the Lullaby pauses, cupping a handful of water and bringing it to his lips. No doubt Ronin hadn't given himself the time to drink, but then, that's what made him the hunted.
Picking up a jog again, scenting the brazen smell of fear and success on the breeze, the alchemist makes a calculated guess as to which way his husband is going to go. Arcing around that he might reach the near-luxere's destination without having to travel the same distance, more of Remi begins to unconsciously shift as his anticipation grows.
Who are you? They ask. Death?
Sometimes... I say. But not today
Sometimes... I say. But not today
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
