FINN
The Man hasn’t choked on his own tongue in the night, thankfully. The Man, in fact, is still asleep. Whatever amount of tea or powder (both, unknown to Finn) that Remi gave him the day prior, Finn is dosed and out for the count. The room at the inn is frigid just as it had been when Remi stepped inside yesterday, the open window inviting in the smell of rain and sea salt.
And Finn is right where the Alchemist left him, bandaged with the blanket of the bed strewn carelessly across every part of it except for where the Spyglass is laying. If he’s cold - and he probably is - it doesn’t show; whilst Finn’s body doesn’t dare let him move with ribs as bruised as his are, he’s at least been able to bury his face partially in the pillow, an arm having snuck beneath it to grab it closer.
Still, it looks like he might stir soon. Probably. Certainly not soon enough to stop Remi from taking back his token.
And Finn is right where the Alchemist left him, bandaged with the blanket of the bed strewn carelessly across every part of it except for where the Spyglass is laying. If he’s cold - and he probably is - it doesn’t show; whilst Finn’s body doesn’t dare let him move with ribs as bruised as his are, he’s at least been able to bury his face partially in the pillow, an arm having snuck beneath it to grab it closer.
Still, it looks like he might stir soon. Probably. Certainly not soon enough to stop Remi from taking back his token.
