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[preblessed]

whoa

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christens this inbox with hanging out in the rubble,

[relocator]

[ he's exhausted.

not out of any injury, or even having worked too hard — no, he's done his part in trying to dig people out of the rubble, trying to help the locals in the poorer parts of the grey ward find shelter, but it's not been anything overly taxing. no, the exhaustion is a familiar one, a fog in his brain, his limbs feeling heavier; an exhaustion he's not felt for a month and some change.

so eventually, when there's no more cries to be heard, no immediate crisis to respond to, when those most in need of help have been taken to see healers, remi finds the nearest pile of rubble and promptly sits down. his house has collapsed; and he'll figure out somewhere to stay, probably, eventually.

for now, he's going to sit right here, leaning his head against his drawn-up knees, closing his eyes for a moment. at least until there's the sound of footsteps, accompanied by another sound (a cane?), and instead of passing by him, they stop.

without opening his eyes, he says, ] What. [ yes, it's a question. somewhat. ]