Why is a Raven Like a Writing Desk?

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Opening his palm as if the two objects inside had always been there, Remi placed a set of earplugs down on the table. They were created out of what looked to be leather that had been beaten and soaked and then beaten again, formed into the shape of a bean-almost, and scuffed to make soft. "For if you ever do. It's wail was ...." Instead of answering with a word, Remi merely shivered the latter end of his description.

"Can you control it?" Remi asked with genuine curiosity. "Rory could not control his...or at least, I did not think he could. Given that it sets ablaze whatever it comes into contact with, maybe I was wrong before. Maybe it wouldn't actually cauterize, but merely light on fire?" Tapping his chin thoughtfully—an action Aoife thought was a game and she too quickly began to hit Remi's chin with a cackle of pleasure—he twitched his lips, gently evading the baby's antics.

Because Rory and I are friends, the alchemist wanted to reply. And given that even when it came to matters of creation Jigano still seemed to act as the more knowledgeable party, Remi found that he needed to willfully curb his expression and the words he wanted to say. An activity he was not particularly well-versed in. Instead he just shrugged and smiled. "Hopefully it will not come to that. From what I have heard it was a fairly terrible thing you had to do to get this one feather. I would not have you repeating it for another if I can help it."