you trace my lines, stirring my soul
'Have I accidentally made myself look like Ronin?' Remi wonders, feigning befuddlement as he glances down at himself as if expecting to see a hawk tattoo and a different set of scars. "Because this is an awful lot of food metaphors." Cake. Bread and butter. Prime meat. Thinking of Ronin does nothing for his arousal of course, though it does make him feel suitably guilty such that he flushes yet a darker shade of crimson.
"I have had 4 children now." Remi remarks dryly, answering her question about whether or not he could relate to the shit part.
"You don't wear perfume." Unlike Isla, Remi doesn't find it especially funny, not with all the inappropriate thoughts clouding his mind, but he does huff a note of amusement under his breath just the same. "Maybe I could just stay shifted the entire time." He suggests. "Are you any good at charades?"
"I have had 4 children now." Remi remarks dryly, answering her question about whether or not he could relate to the shit part.
"You don't wear perfume." Unlike Isla, Remi doesn't find it especially funny, not with all the inappropriate thoughts clouding his mind, but he does huff a note of amusement under his breath just the same. "Maybe I could just stay shifted the entire time." He suggests. "Are you any good at charades?"
THE ALCHEMIST
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.
