it feels like we're ready to crack, these days, you and I
As Remi earns his fucking paycheck and then some, Ronin is reaching out as if to grab Isla's arm and shake her as if to ask if she's seeing this too. Isla, for her part, is impatiently swatting him away in return, keen not to miss a single second of footage that is coming far too close to changing her mind on the existence of ghosts than she'd like. The music tinkles away, then stops, then starts again, Ronin's mouth softly opening in a mix of awe and delight.
He's just making a mental note to ask Remi to share his tricks and to demand to get in on that for next time when the SLAM from downstairs breaks through their lovely little playtime, like the sound of a parent coming home too early when you've arranged a party they said you couldn't have. Too startled to even gasp in shock, Ronin is whipping around and past Isla just as she's whirling around with the camera to get him back into frame (because no, she's not missing a single second of this either).
"Hey, everything alright?" Ronin calls as he hurries down the stairs, fully expecting the crew to have let one of the light stands or some other equipment fall the fuck over in the entryway. But no - when he gets to the bottom step, they're quiet and subdued and pale, and one of them is frowning deeply at the camera stationed over the dining room, which is showing little more than static.
"Isla," Ronin calls, and she's already on his heels as he goes to investigate.
Meanwhile, upstairs - if Remi hasn't already rushed to join them - the music box will still be playing, though there's a somehow frantic quality to it this time. A warning, perhaps, or a plea: don't go, don't leave us for what happens next.
He's just making a mental note to ask Remi to share his tricks and to demand to get in on that for next time when the SLAM from downstairs breaks through their lovely little playtime, like the sound of a parent coming home too early when you've arranged a party they said you couldn't have. Too startled to even gasp in shock, Ronin is whipping around and past Isla just as she's whirling around with the camera to get him back into frame (because no, she's not missing a single second of this either).
"Hey, everything alright?" Ronin calls as he hurries down the stairs, fully expecting the crew to have let one of the light stands or some other equipment fall the fuck over in the entryway. But no - when he gets to the bottom step, they're quiet and subdued and pale, and one of them is frowning deeply at the camera stationed over the dining room, which is showing little more than static.
"Isla," Ronin calls, and she's already on his heels as he goes to investigate.
Meanwhile, upstairs - if Remi hasn't already rushed to join them - the music box will still be playing, though there's a somehow frantic quality to it this time. A warning, perhaps, or a plea: don't go, don't leave us for what happens next.
when it's just the two of us, only the two of us, I could die
