It's been minutes, it's been days

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

With a steady inhale, Remi rakes the fingers of his left hand through his curls before turning a boyishly frustrated sea glass stare toward his husband. "If they sounded at all sweet to you I think perhaps you might need to clean out your ears." Remi grumbles affectionately as he leans his cheek against one of Ronin's hands, before reminding himself not to take it personally that the Huntsman has two working hands. All the more fingers to fuss with, or so he tells himself.

"I was trying to draw." The Lullaby mumbles, nodding at the page of the notebook in Ronin's hand. Being down a few fingers had been enough of a challenge, but now that he was down an entire arm Remi was forced to try to do most things with his left, and that...was not an easy feat. Banded and bound, the Lullaby's right arm was a useless shell which ached and glowed a worrying shade of ultraviolet and silver every now and then.

"A year and I am no better off than I was when I first sat down to try." Remi complains, though there's a levity to his voice that hadn't been there prior to the war. A levity that said yes, this is my biggest problem right now, how wonderful is that?

THE LULLABY

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