REMI
They aren't gone long. 10, 15 minutes? How much of Ronin's light made it back out of the cave, and how much the Sentinel and Spyglass heard, were not questions on Remi's mind. Right now he forced his mind to be blank as he left the cave, wounded and frustrated despite their victory. Nothing had bled other than him. There had been no flesh to sink his claws into, no warmth to soothe his muscles. There had only been stone, a body, and an amulet.
Whatever the word for the violent-equivalent of blueballs was, Remi had it.
With his clothing made lacklustre and grey by the stone grit and his curls suddenly looking as if they belonged to a much older man given the dust that made them silver, Remi rubs a bloodied hand over a bloodied ear as he emerges squinting into the torchlight.
Whatever the word for the violent-equivalent of blueballs was, Remi had it.
With his clothing made lacklustre and grey by the stone grit and his curls suddenly looking as if they belonged to a much older man given the dust that made them silver, Remi rubs a bloodied hand over a bloodied ear as he emerges squinting into the torchlight.
Now don't you look so grand, runnin'
Through the reds of my traffic lights
Through the reds of my traffic lights
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.
