[ During the hottest, dampest hours of the afternoon, Remus usually pauses his attempts to manually labor his way out of feeling useless. He has limits, after all--he's ill, as they say, and the diet here isn't kind to already-skinny sick people, and it's bloody
fucking
hot.
He's too uncomfortable to sleep, even hiding in the shade of his tent, so when Charles walks by the opening he's awake and sprawled out across the ground on his stomach, hand outstretched, trying to wandlessly accio a bottle of water that's just out of reach.
Every now and then, it works. 'Works.' That would be the source of his blossoming black eye, and part of the source of the irritation in the gaze he aims up at Charles. ]
Setting aside the incredibly statistically unlikely approximations that we crash into something, [ he says. His imitation of Charles' accent could use a little work. ]
twice
fucking
hot.
He's too uncomfortable to sleep, even hiding in the shade of his tent, so when Charles walks by the opening he's awake and sprawled out across the ground on his stomach, hand outstretched, trying to wandlessly accio a bottle of water that's just out of reach.
Every now and then, it works. 'Works.' That would be the source of his blossoming black eye, and part of the source of the irritation in the gaze he aims up at Charles. ]
Setting aside the incredibly statistically unlikely approximations that we crash into something, [ he says. His imitation of Charles' accent could use a little work. ]