I don't know who I am, I don't know who I'll be
Remi lets out a quiet laugh, the sound small and unsteady as it slips past the edges of his breath. There’s relief in it, unmistakably, but it’s the sort that still clings to the ribs like it hasn’t quite gotten permission to settle. He shoots Ronin a grin that’s a little too bright to be easy, brushing curls back from his forehead and giving a faint shake of his head. "Pretty sure Isla’s going to care about the music box," he murmurs, tone light, though his eyes flick toward the shattered remnants as another crew member kneels to gather them.
He’s already working through the logistics in his head; drafts, floor slope, maybe some kind of vibration pattern that could’ve flipped the table if enough pressure built up. It doesn’t hold water, not really, but it gives his hands something to do in his mind. When Ronin mentions the shouting, though, Remi’s head turns sharply, surprise flickering in his eyes. His brow furrows, and for a moment he just blinks, trying to square memory with reality. "I didn’t hear anything," he says finally, his voice low and uncertain in a way it hadn’t been even during the chaos. He glances down at the floorboards, then back to Ronin, shaking his head with the kind of wariness that doesn’t quite want to name what it’s beginning to suspect.
As the others begin to usher their way back down, Remi lingers in the doorway for half a breath longer than he should, gaze sweeping the room with something softer than suspicion. Not fear, not even reverence, just that same small thread of reluctance he might show if leaving someone behind. He draws in a slow breath and nods to himself, then turns to follow the rest of the crew.
"If nothing else," he says quietly to Ronin as they descend, "the camera in the corner should’ve caught the music box. Might make for a great promo clip." He mutters something under his breath as they reach the landing—a dry, distinctly unenthusiastic "great," at the thought of coming back.
Remi doesn’t linger long in the threshold of the dining room. He glances over to Isla, watching as she checks the screen on one of her monitors, and approaches with measured steps. "You need help with anything before I head out?" he asks, his voice back to low and even, steady despite everything that had just happened upstairs.
He’s already working through the logistics in his head; drafts, floor slope, maybe some kind of vibration pattern that could’ve flipped the table if enough pressure built up. It doesn’t hold water, not really, but it gives his hands something to do in his mind. When Ronin mentions the shouting, though, Remi’s head turns sharply, surprise flickering in his eyes. His brow furrows, and for a moment he just blinks, trying to square memory with reality. "I didn’t hear anything," he says finally, his voice low and uncertain in a way it hadn’t been even during the chaos. He glances down at the floorboards, then back to Ronin, shaking his head with the kind of wariness that doesn’t quite want to name what it’s beginning to suspect.
As the others begin to usher their way back down, Remi lingers in the doorway for half a breath longer than he should, gaze sweeping the room with something softer than suspicion. Not fear, not even reverence, just that same small thread of reluctance he might show if leaving someone behind. He draws in a slow breath and nods to himself, then turns to follow the rest of the crew.
"If nothing else," he says quietly to Ronin as they descend, "the camera in the corner should’ve caught the music box. Might make for a great promo clip." He mutters something under his breath as they reach the landing—a dry, distinctly unenthusiastic "great," at the thought of coming back.
Remi doesn’t linger long in the threshold of the dining room. He glances over to Isla, watching as she checks the screen on one of her monitors, and approaches with measured steps. "You need help with anything before I head out?" he asks, his voice back to low and even, steady despite everything that had just happened upstairs.
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.
