in these trying times we're not trying

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

Rather than entering a room occupied by scents of sweet tea and honeysuckle, as Remi pushes the door open, it's to find a woman who is decidedly not Phoebe. Witnessing sex in a brothel of all places shouldn't have surprised the alchemist as much as it did, but then again, despite the Nightengale being close to Frey, associating her with sex was one of the very last traits he'd have ascribed. "Oh." He mumbles lamely, the sway of Maeve's breasts and Locke's grunt making his thoughts a sudden haze. Blinking at them a moment longer than he likely should have, Remi steps back from the doorway, his eyebrows knotted together in confusion.

What?

Had Phoebe been inside? Was this...a...lesson? Was...she helping them..? Were they..?

But suddenly Maeve is before him, petite and smelling of sex, with her hand against his chest and her finger beneath his collar. She's met by confused green eyes and cheeks flushed with colour as Remi resists the urge to bashfully ruffle his fingers through his curls.

"I...was looking for Phoebe. Isn't this..?" He turns his head toward the door, meaning to communicate, isn't this her room?, before the sight of a naked Locke has him abruptly averting his eyes toward the ceiling.

THE LULLABY

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