Re: Eames/Holly: dreaming
The boat listed so slowly that the movement was only immediately noticeable as a pronounced difficulty walking without one shoulder higher than the other. The rain from outside wasn't audible inside the moldering beauty, and the boy in the darkness didn't really care what the room was, so long as it was a safe room. Which, he learned within an instant, it was not.
But the boy was brave, and he'd been in terrible situations before, and he didn't scream when he heard the voice from the darkness. It was like a video game, and the jump scares never made him jump, not him. Not that the boy had owned video games, not that he recalled, but he liked them now. He like the ones that told stories and were reminiscent of old movies that moved in black and white and whispered rather than screamed, and the wall behind them in the black-pitch room danced in pantomime projection of the boy's thoughts. Video games, old movies, quiet music, and then black again. Surreal, really, but nothing the boy found odd; it was the way of dreams.
"Hush. They'll hear us, and we're hiding. Terrible things will happen if they find us here," said the boy to... the man-boy? He didn't think it was an adult in the space with him, and really that was all that mattered.
Bravely, he inched forward and peered into the hall. It wasn't dark there, and there wasn't anything terrible or not-terrible, not at the moment, so the boy stepped out into the flickering light and slosh of water. At the end of the hallway, water poured in against ivory wallpaper that curled. The ghost ship was a ghost, but it was still afloat and it hadn't gone down. Whatever happened, it hadn't happened long ago, or so it seemed. But there was no rush of people, and there was no screaming, and the boy waited for whoever shared the darkness to step into the light. "We're not supposed to be here," he told whoever-whatever was there. "Come on. Follow me," and he took off in a run.