He didn’t fit people into social classes or jobs, but rather roles. Acting roles, and even though he couldn’t figure out the genre of the film yet, he knew that Risty was born to be a leading lady. She was never going to play a supporting role, to anyone.
"...He was a bit off his nut, that one, but that’s why we loved him I suppose. He was a lot of fun at parties, if nothing else.” Gramps laughed to himself, remembering family and times long since past.
"There would be special effects explosions of extreme proportions and bright flashes of colour in intense paka-paka sequences.
Risty was not at all like them, she was strange and mysterious and very serious, but she had managed to open his eyes at the same time so that he was finally able to see what had been in front of him all along.
Risty Alexander thinks about the bigger picture and conspiracy theories and does not have time to think about the little things, or the little aspiring directors, in life.
“No one has a perfect life, Rob. No one has a perfect family. No one is exactly as they seem.”
"It wasn’t just my shoes that were specially designed for the job, I was.”
“I was a coward once, Rob,” Risty said, her eyes locking with his, softer for a second. “Just once, but that’s all it took.”
This would not have happened, this moment here in the barn, but neither would the hundred others in the last week, the ones he wanted to remember.
Whatever it was, it was to blame for hundreds of deaths, and he didn’t want to add his own to the list. He was a director, not a stunt man.
“But that’s why we’re going to get through this, so that we can still be around for a very long time and you’ll eventually learn to trust me. I can wait.”