REMI
"It won't. But it would make it so no one had a reason to ask you about them." Remi points out with a small shrug, not aiming to convince the other man. His comment was more a jab at Safrin anyway. "I used to have more scars than I do now...and you're right, it doesn't change how it feels." Loren, once, in a misguided effort to simply make everything all better had erased every mark on the Alchemist's body, and it hadn't mattered one bit.
"Earn a...crust?" Remi repeats, glad Finn's eyes are closed. He doesn't understand, though if he had to guess, he'd have assumed the women were only there to work. Never paying customers. Which entailed that the Spyglass had been with men, almost exclusively during his time as a prostitute.
Grimacing to himself, Remi can feel his wings wanting to sprout from his sides as if one big inhale isn't enough to soothe down the smattering of things he feels in response to what Finn has to say. It isn't as though he wants Finn in the way we might all be expecting, not in the way his paying customers once had. Instead, it's...a magnetism that he possesses—or perhaps that they possess together—that keeps drawing him into places he ought not go. The lights low, the smell of whiskey and blood, Remi's hands softly orbiting the front half of Finn's torso with smooth white bandages.
"There weren't male prostitutes where I came from." It being illegal, and all. Or if there were, they weren't in the sort of places Remi's father took him. For a moment he closes his eyes, able to picture the scene with Finn far too easily: meaty hands tangled in his curls, pulling obnoxiously hard. Headboards banging out irregular rhythms from fat fucks who probably only lasted a few minutes. But oh, how long those minutes would have been. Finn with lean limbs that one could pretend were anyone's, and eyes so sad the men would likely say later were asking for pain.
Realizing where his mind had gone, colour blooming on his cheeks, Remi lets his eyes open as he sharply inhales. "But I ... it sounds ... worse." He manages, almost shamefully, in a voice like gravel.
"Earn a...crust?" Remi repeats, glad Finn's eyes are closed. He doesn't understand, though if he had to guess, he'd have assumed the women were only there to work. Never paying customers. Which entailed that the Spyglass had been with men, almost exclusively during his time as a prostitute.
Grimacing to himself, Remi can feel his wings wanting to sprout from his sides as if one big inhale isn't enough to soothe down the smattering of things he feels in response to what Finn has to say. It isn't as though he wants Finn in the way we might all be expecting, not in the way his paying customers once had. Instead, it's...a magnetism that he possesses—or perhaps that they possess together—that keeps drawing him into places he ought not go. The lights low, the smell of whiskey and blood, Remi's hands softly orbiting the front half of Finn's torso with smooth white bandages.
"There weren't male prostitutes where I came from." It being illegal, and all. Or if there were, they weren't in the sort of places Remi's father took him. For a moment he closes his eyes, able to picture the scene with Finn far too easily: meaty hands tangled in his curls, pulling obnoxiously hard. Headboards banging out irregular rhythms from fat fucks who probably only lasted a few minutes. But oh, how long those minutes would have been. Finn with lean limbs that one could pretend were anyone's, and eyes so sad the men would likely say later were asking for pain.
Realizing where his mind had gone, colour blooming on his cheeks, Remi lets his eyes open as he sharply inhales. "But I ... it sounds ... worse." He manages, almost shamefully, in a voice like gravel.
honest feelings and bad timing
make the most painful combination.
make the most painful combination.
Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection
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.
