I don't know who I am, I don't know who I'll be
Remi glances up as Ronin speaks again, only half-aware he’s doing the exact same uncertain look as that one gif of the kid caught blinking into the camera and then awkwardly looking away and then back again. He opens his mouth, just about ready to fill in the blanks Ronin had tossed into the air earlier, but Isla beats him to it with her summary, sharp and unflinching.
He shuts his mouth again, nodding slightly, then adds under his breath, "She’d laid the table for five." It’s soft, easily lost in the shuffle of movement and camera straps and coffee cups. When a few glances do flick his way, he shrugs. “"Allegedly, anyway. Found some thread on reddit about it. Guy said his uncle was one of the responding officers. Might just be bullshit."
As Ronin’s attention properly swivels toward him, his name snagged in that easy Irish lilt, Remi straightens just slightly. He clears his throat, gaze dropping to the coffee like it’s personally betrayed him, and leaves it behind as he tucks his phone back into his jeans. Hands freed, he rolls his shoulders once, then gives a small, ready nod.
He casts a glance toward the house. It’s quiet, unassuming. There's no prickling at the base of his neck. Not even the usual uneasy hum. "How dramatic are we talking for the intro?" he asks, turning back to Ronin with a flicker of dry humour. "Because, uh...I definitely don't feel anything. So if you want me to start with bad vibes and tragic foreboding, just—" he gestures vaguely, having already learned that hoensty was not one of the core tenants of this show"—give me the signal."
He shuts his mouth again, nodding slightly, then adds under his breath, "She’d laid the table for five." It’s soft, easily lost in the shuffle of movement and camera straps and coffee cups. When a few glances do flick his way, he shrugs. “"Allegedly, anyway. Found some thread on reddit about it. Guy said his uncle was one of the responding officers. Might just be bullshit."
As Ronin’s attention properly swivels toward him, his name snagged in that easy Irish lilt, Remi straightens just slightly. He clears his throat, gaze dropping to the coffee like it’s personally betrayed him, and leaves it behind as he tucks his phone back into his jeans. Hands freed, he rolls his shoulders once, then gives a small, ready nod.
He casts a glance toward the house. It’s quiet, unassuming. There's no prickling at the base of his neck. Not even the usual uneasy hum. "How dramatic are we talking for the intro?" he asks, turning back to Ronin with a flicker of dry humour. "Because, uh...I definitely don't feel anything. So if you want me to start with bad vibes and tragic foreboding, just—" he gestures vaguely, having already learned that hoensty was not one of the core tenants of this show"—give me the signal."
but there's a light in the attic and I swear it's calling me
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.
