REMI
the alchemist
What good are hands
if there's nothing that they hold
if there's nothing that they hold
The letter had fallen from his hands, and then, the alchemist had fallen as well. Not because Remi had passed out from shock, but because he'd violently thrust himself into unconsciousness in the meagre hope that someone he could reach in Stormbreak would be asleep. They weren't, of course. Not with all that had happened. And so it was on pale blonde wings instead of the whisper of a dream that Remi made his way to Stormbreak.
Headed directly towards ground zero—where the fuck else would Ronin be?—it's there that he spies the Huntsman standing sentinel amidst piles of still-burning debris and smoking rubble. The air was heavy with the scent of death, but not even his divine obligations nor primal instincts could pull him off the path he was on that led directly toward his husband.
"What happened here...?" The words are just sounds meant to reach Ronin before his hands could, but quickly the alchemist stretches out his arms to gather the Huntsman to him where he could feel out the colour of his husband's emotions for himself.
Headed directly towards ground zero—where the fuck else would Ronin be?—it's there that he spies the Huntsman standing sentinel amidst piles of still-burning debris and smoking rubble. The air was heavy with the scent of death, but not even his divine obligations nor primal instincts could pull him off the path he was on that led directly toward his husband.
"What happened here...?" The words are just sounds meant to reach Ronin before his hands could, but quickly the alchemist stretches out his arms to gather the Huntsman to him where he could feel out the colour of his husband's emotions for himself.
And what good are hearts
if you bury them all alone?
if you bury them all alone?
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.
