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captainryanThe second day passes much like the first with Stantz volunteering to open doors when he’s not away on a bust. When a call does come in, it leaves Ryan to prowl the empty rooms, frustrated and increasingly worried. If Suzi and Deitmar’s trip is anything to judge by, he’s going to be here for quite some time. It’s not reassuring in the least, especially since, according to Spengelar, he’s going to start fading on the third day. He knows the man has a machine to fix it, but…
It scares him.
So he does what he usually does when something bothers him that much and he can’t do anything; he ignores it.
The third day proceeds as eventfully as the first two. On a late afternoon call, Ryan’s again stalking through the rooms (he knows the layout by heart now) and keeping himself busy by imagining the many different and inspired ways he can destroy the stone angel responsible for all of this. C4 is getting some serious thought when he reaches for the door handle to the next room and misses it. Scowling at himself for not paying attention, he reaches for the metal again only to find that his hand passes through the knob, leaving a thin coating of ectoplasm behind.
He’s frozen a moment, hand just underneath the handle, watching it fade further until it’s quite clearly translucent. A whimper escapes from him and he slams his emotions down, refusing to allow himself to panic no matter how hard and fast his heart is pounding. He’s never been quite so clearly dead as he is right now, but he can’t focus on that. He can’t. One step at a time; he needs to get downstairs, only he can’t open the door. He knows he can step through the wood, but the thought is unsettling in the worst possible way.
Eventually he forces his eyes shut and steps forward, hearing the schloop sound and feeling the wood pass through him. He feels a bit lighter, now, as though he’s left something behind and realizes that’s probably from passing through a solid obj—no. He’s not going to think about it. He’s going to focus on walking downstairs, but his boots don’t make a sound on the wooden floors, drawing his attention away from his task. He could probably float if he wanted to, and no sooner is the thought finished before he is. He flails, immensely distressed, and wills himself to return to the ground.
Slowly, slowly, he makes it down the stairs to the front desk with about as many mishaps.
“Ms. Melnitz?” he asks as calmly as he can. “How soon are they returning?”
It scares him.
So he does what he usually does when something bothers him that much and he can’t do anything; he ignores it.
The third day proceeds as eventfully as the first two. On a late afternoon call, Ryan’s again stalking through the rooms (he knows the layout by heart now) and keeping himself busy by imagining the many different and inspired ways he can destroy the stone angel responsible for all of this. C4 is getting some serious thought when he reaches for the door handle to the next room and misses it. Scowling at himself for not paying attention, he reaches for the metal again only to find that his hand passes through the knob, leaving a thin coating of ectoplasm behind.
He’s frozen a moment, hand just underneath the handle, watching it fade further until it’s quite clearly translucent. A whimper escapes from him and he slams his emotions down, refusing to allow himself to panic no matter how hard and fast his heart is pounding. He’s never been quite so clearly dead as he is right now, but he can’t focus on that. He can’t. One step at a time; he needs to get downstairs, only he can’t open the door. He knows he can step through the wood, but the thought is unsettling in the worst possible way.
Eventually he forces his eyes shut and steps forward, hearing the schloop sound and feeling the wood pass through him. He feels a bit lighter, now, as though he’s left something behind and realizes that’s probably from passing through a solid obj—no. He’s not going to think about it. He’s going to focus on walking downstairs, but his boots don’t make a sound on the wooden floors, drawing his attention away from his task. He could probably float if he wanted to, and no sooner is the thought finished before he is. He flails, immensely distressed, and wills himself to return to the ground.
Slowly, slowly, he makes it down the stairs to the front desk with about as many mishaps.
“Ms. Melnitz?” he asks as calmly as he can. “How soon are they returning?”
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no subject
Date: 2007-10-13 04:08 am (UTC)"I'll be fine," he coughs weakly, making no move to stand.
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Date: 2007-10-13 04:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-13 04:20 am (UTC)"It seems that way," he answers Ray, a genuine smile working its way across his face.
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Date: 2007-10-13 04:26 am (UTC)"Ray!" Egon snaps. "Not with you-know-who in the room!"
"Oh. Right." There's a little green blob poking his head through a nearby wall. "Slimer? Peter's got jellybeans hidden in his socks."
"GRBLAH!" shouts Slimer gleefully, promptly vanishing in search of Dr. Venkman.
"Peter's going to kill me for that," says Ray, "but it'll be worth it. Winston's making burgers tonight."
no subject
Date: 2007-10-13 04:48 am (UTC)He perks at the mention of burgers, particularly since the Ghostbusters are aware of how much he can eat by now. Between Ryan and Slimer, they may never have leftovers again.
"Sounds good," he says, easing himself to his feet. "Thank you both." And he doesn't mean just for the food.