i'm not the man they think i am at home
Anxiousness isn't a word normally associated with the Lullaby. Once upon a time, he'd been a fidgety man with a heart like a caged sparrow who was ever on the side of flight rather than fight. Whether it was the leap over that line or just the hardened man he'd become that had all but erased any foothold in his soul where anxiousness might find a grip, now Remi was more likely to misdiagnose himself with a stomach ache than being able to properly identify what it was he was feeling.
Luckily Ronin had been there that morning to explain to him that no, it hadn't been their breakfast that had Remi's stomach twisting into knots.
Streaking across the sky as a hawk so that his presence in Torchline might go unnoticed, it's with a keen predatory gaze that the Lullaby first sees the scrawny cat and not the handsome man waxing eloquent at its side. Unable to hold his breath in this body given his muscle's demand for oxygen, or to sigh in a way that would feel satisfying, the hawk simply angles itself down toward the twisting tributaries of streets before shifting.
Dressed simply in a faded chambray shirt and rather fashionable tan trousers (he'd put on Ronin's by mistake), the Lullaby shuffles toward his son keeping his eyes trained on the pavement before him and only glancing up when he was close enough to find Mateo's gaze. "Buon pomeriggio." He mumbles a touch awkwardly, though the travelling tongue makes music of the greeting just the same.
Luckily Ronin had been there that morning to explain to him that no, it hadn't been their breakfast that had Remi's stomach twisting into knots.
Streaking across the sky as a hawk so that his presence in Torchline might go unnoticed, it's with a keen predatory gaze that the Lullaby first sees the scrawny cat and not the handsome man waxing eloquent at its side. Unable to hold his breath in this body given his muscle's demand for oxygen, or to sigh in a way that would feel satisfying, the hawk simply angles itself down toward the twisting tributaries of streets before shifting.
Dressed simply in a faded chambray shirt and rather fashionable tan trousers (he'd put on Ronin's by mistake), the Lullaby shuffles toward his son keeping his eyes trained on the pavement before him and only glancing up when he was close enough to find Mateo's gaze. "Buon pomeriggio." He mumbles a touch awkwardly, though the travelling tongue makes music of the greeting just the same.
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.
