Rory
But damn, there was something about the way Remi was unaware of the world—unaware of the danger—unaware of everything but his own fascination. Boyish was an adjective that finally sprang into his mind when the other started at the sound of his voice, looking over his shoulder. And yet, in some ways, he seemed so wise in the ways of the world—perhaps because he had people defending him. Because he was learned, in some way. Because he came from another place. Because he associated with competent people.
Because in so many ways, he was what Rory was not.
"No glaives," he responded lightly, roving his gaze across Remi and his most immediate surroundings. It was blessedly free of long sharp objects.
"Are you here to tell me this is another place I should not be?"
Yes.
No.
Maybe.
The smile was infectious, but Rory resisted it for a moment. He dredged up what solemnity he still had within his rattled mind. "I already told you there are monsters out here." And here I am.
He sat still a second longer, allowing the lackluster words to sink in: a reminder and a warning. Caido was not a forgiving place. Caido was not a merciful place. You died, slow and hard. Best to not let your attention wander too much.
Then he swung a leg over the pony's withers and slid to the ground. He felt like letting his attention wander. He felt like setting himself on fire and stabbing himself simultaneously. It was an old and familiar feeling, but annoying all the same.
He though the worst of the spook was out of Bakshi, but he didn't want to let go of him entirely. So, deftly he undid the reins on one side, grabbing it by the end and taking the last few steps over to Remi, the pony in tow. Once at his target he folded himself down next to him, and peered at his sketchbook. "What are you drawing?"
Because in so many ways, he was what Rory was not.
"No glaives," he responded lightly, roving his gaze across Remi and his most immediate surroundings. It was blessedly free of long sharp objects.
"Are you here to tell me this is another place I should not be?"
Yes.
No.
Maybe.
The smile was infectious, but Rory resisted it for a moment. He dredged up what solemnity he still had within his rattled mind. "I already told you there are monsters out here." And here I am.
He sat still a second longer, allowing the lackluster words to sink in: a reminder and a warning. Caido was not a forgiving place. Caido was not a merciful place. You died, slow and hard. Best to not let your attention wander too much.
Then he swung a leg over the pony's withers and slid to the ground. He felt like letting his attention wander. He felt like setting himself on fire and stabbing himself simultaneously. It was an old and familiar feeling, but annoying all the same.
He though the worst of the spook was out of Bakshi, but he didn't want to let go of him entirely. So, deftly he undid the reins on one side, grabbing it by the end and taking the last few steps over to Remi, the pony in tow. Once at his target he folded himself down next to him, and peered at his sketchbook. "What are you drawing?"
