[ it starts like this: a big abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of london, strange sounds at night, reports made, real, living people sent to investigate it missing. it's a ghost whose house is near the warehouse who comes to make the request — disturbing my peace, it is, all them lights at night, the shouts, a terrible racket! can't a fella live their afterlife in peace? you'll take it, won't you, and it's exactly the kind of job for them —
them. him and who? it's an agency, for sure, and yet when he tries to remember who it is that was there with him, taking the case, the details slip from his grasp like slippery fish. all he knows that it is them, now, him and root (his friend, his big sister in spirit, tough and quicksilver and bullet-smart, he'd trust her with his afterlife), standing here in front of the warehouse, intent on interrogating the ghosts there for details. ]
Right, ready?
[ he doesn't think there might be a chance root wouldn't see them — she sees him, doesn't she? that's enough. ]
dream-melding;
them. him and who? it's an agency, for sure, and yet when he tries to remember who it is that was there with him, taking the case, the details slip from his grasp like slippery fish. all he knows that it is them, now, him and root (his friend, his big sister in spirit, tough and quicksilver and bullet-smart, he'd trust her with his afterlife), standing here in front of the warehouse, intent on interrogating the ghosts there for details. ]
Right, ready?
[ he doesn't think there might be a chance root wouldn't see them — she sees him, doesn't she? that's enough. ]