Lost in the shuffle [OPEN]

Submissive was certainly an understatement when it came to the alchemist—despite the steps he'd taken recently in his personal life—and so as Elyna moved in front of him, she did so without any argument on Remi's part. Even so, the briskness of the former guard's actions and the way her words seemed to cut right to the heart of all that Remi had hoped to skirt around made him inwardly shiver slightly. Remi and Elyna likely couldn't be more different; where the alchemist was sensitive and open, Ely was all hard edges and business. Where Remi's cadence was disarming and kind, Ely's was weighty with command and power. As the older man spoke, the smile that grew across Remi's lips was instant and elated, his expression one of boyish joy and eagerness. He'd been almost sure that the man on the pony would somehow be kept at bay by language, no matter how similiar they were in appearance. In only made sense after all. That they could somehow understand one another was a miracle in itself, and one the alchemist was happy to take for granted as he grinned with an unabashed cheer from behind Ely. "I am pleased to meet you Rory." Remi ventured, glancing sideways at Elyna, wondering if her command of the situation was meant to extend to introductions as well. However as Rory asked how they'd ended up here, as if that bit of contextual lingo was at all informative, the smile on Remi's face faltered slightly, growing rather crooked. His sea-glass green eyes, previously bright with hope and curiosity now dulled slightly as he looked to Elyna in earnest now. How did they get here? Remi didn't know and he was almost certain Ely didn't either. One moment they had been, and the next? Only that wasn't quite right, was it? It wasn't a snap from one moment to the next, but more like a fog. Or perhaps like closing your eyes while drifting downstream in a river. "Where...is here?" The younger man asked, stepping forward and hoping that Ely wouldn't chastise him for it. There were bound to be bits of something in his pockets—Remi often brought home leaves and things he thought would be good for teas—and sure enough, a few small sprigs of mint grass were buried down in the corner of one of his pockets. Glancing up at Rory to gauge his approval or not, the alchemist would extend this meager offering towards the pony in a flattened palm, his eyelashes fluttering as he gazed upon the pony with a sort of weary thrill, having not seen one in some time. remi How do you steal what you really want When what you really want is free?