[Richie is very quiet, and very still. Dread prickles, rises. Wrestles with a dozen other fretful things.]
I uh, must have missed the balloons. Just saw Andy running for the hills. And you two, all bloodied... [He doesn't care to finish that thought. A touch slowly, as if the question itself has taken a physical thickness and needs to be chewed first.] ...When...when were you there?
[ ah... he supposes that makes sense. god knows he wasn't paying much attention to anything else but the person right in front of him in that moment. ]
Then he drops into a seat with a weariness that belongs to a man twice his age. His hand covers his mouth and his eyes dart to that ragged line around Fidelio's neck.
Remembers a skull, batted to one side of the sewers with the fetid skeleton on the other.]
...I should have...Oh god, I'm so — Christ, I'm sorry, Fidelio. I'm so sorry.
[ oof, he feels even guiltier seeing that reaction, and wonders if his attempts at being casual and keeping his emotions in check actually came off sounding sort of accusatory. ]
The hell're you sorry for? It's not like you wanted us to go there.
[ but... ugh. he hasn't been including many details of what happened in that first part in what he's said to most people, in part because it feels personal and in part because he doesn't know what kind of raw emotion is going to get forced on them if he lets himself actually think about it rather than just recite a few lines.
but richie's the one person who probably should hear most of it, at least the big points, so... ]
...Well. First off, while we were still ourselves, we ended up in this sort of nothin' space with this kid named Stan. Asked us to give this manuscript to his friend Mike and then get his other friends out of the building they were in.
[ this part he's able to get through while sounding perfectly matter-of-fact, with steady emotions. ]
Then next thing, it was 1958 and we were all kids livin' in your town with you and your friends, like we'd always been them. Anders and Shadowheart, and... Bas and me.
[ this time there's a mild undercurrent of chilly grief that spikes at the end, for reasons richie can probably guess. ]
No, I know, it's still— [My fault. His home, his monster, his memories. Richie shakes his head.] Just that you were there at all. That's damn well enough to be sorry for.
[He listens, though. Fidelio can always be counted on to give it to you straight. Very little mincing of words or dramatics. Today, he gives him something a little extra.
It's not pretty, of course. The mere mention of Stan makes his heart cinch up and hold. It's a struggle not to interject.]
...Why would Stan... [Irrationally:] How was he?
[As if he ran into him at the grocery store. There's a flare of grief playing tattle-tale — he'd only found out shortly before he died himself. Day of. He's had weeks now, but little time to think about it as its own matter. Shit hit the fan fast.
But there's more, too. His lips thin.]
So another one like that. Dropping you into a false life.
[As children. One with a baby brother. He doesn't love the pause preceding it.]
I mean, he was already dead when we were talkin' to him, but. [ so are all of them, so it isn't necessarily bad. ] Seemed to care a lot about helpin' the rest of you.
[ and that much is true, so he's just... going to leave it at that... ]
...Yeah, one of those. At least for part of it. I remember Taair mentioned somethin' like that happened on yours too.
[It's the last thing he expects. Richie cocks his head. The huffs, a muted laugh.]
No shit? Tolkien-heads, huh? [That's funny.] I bet they've got a copy in the library if you want a real look at the thing. It's dense, but it's famous for a reason.
Might check it out soon, then. Curious to see if it lives up to me own hype.
[ probably not going to be putting in too many hours at the tavern for a little while anyway, so it's a good time to do some reading. ]
...Anyway, it didn't stay that simple forever, obviously. The three of us found... [ a brief wave of sad feelings ] ...an older kid we knew dead, and then some real weird shite started happenin' to each of us after that. Me, I got attacked by something out of the drain of the bathroom sink in the house I was stayin' in.
[Maybe he's not a high fantasy nut but it's the sort of book that escapes its own genre. Surprisingly mass appeal.
Though we're back at it again now. Richie braces himself, as much as anyone can. He makes a face at that anecdote. Unpleasant, but judging by the wounds he's sporting, maybe not the worst of the story.]
That tracks. My friend Beverly, she heard voices down the drain once. Then it sprayed blood all over her and the family bathroom. Folks couldn't see a thing, she had to get Eddie, Stan, and Ben to help clean up and launder the cloths.
Then there was a kid drowned in the toilet too, just this year. His mother said she heard something laughing while the damn thing kept flushing.
[ oof, some sweaty stress vibes at that last part... confirmation that he actually wasn't insane for sitting outside the bathroom door while bax was in there after that incident. ]
...Yeah, sounds right. We all also saw that bloody clown in different contexts — or I guess maybe it was just hearing for one of 'em, but. It was all just real unnerving.
[ ... ]
Spent the whole time scared out of my mind for that world's version of Bas.
[ even just the echoes of the fear he'd felt back then are strong enough that they're difficult to keep under control even now... and that quiet current of grief in the background is getting a lot stronger the further he gets into this recollection. ]
Which... well. As you might expect, turned out to be justified.
[ there's a little burst of frustration at that, accompanied by more guilt for reacting that way... but that also sort of helps pull him back out of the memory before he can be dragged too deeply back into it, having something outside of it to react to.
and the fact that richie obviously understands what he was implying means he doesn't actually have to say it, which is a blessing. he can just skip right over all those awful details. ]
...But. Yeah. After that, I rushed the thing with a bloody nail file and it killed me. Reckon the same happened to the other two after that.
[It's just the horror of it all. That he had to go through it at all, whether it was in Derry or anywhere else. To then hear that they died, well...after the last couple trips maybe he should expect that.
It still hurts. Imagining it. Wondering how it was done, when they came back in such wretched condition.]
...But that wasn't the end, was it? You changed — when you came back to your normal selves, it looked like you'd all been shot.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[Richie is very quiet, and very still. Dread prickles, rises. Wrestles with a dozen other fretful things.]
I uh, must have missed the balloons. Just saw Andy running for the hills. And you two, all bloodied... [He doesn't care to finish that thought. A touch slowly, as if the question itself has taken a physical thickness and needs to be chewed first.] ...When...when were you there?
no subject
...1958. And then later.
no subject
Then he drops into a seat with a weariness that belongs to a man twice his age. His hand covers his mouth and his eyes dart to that ragged line around Fidelio's neck.
Remembers a skull, batted to one side of the sewers with the fetid skeleton on the other.]
...I should have...Oh god, I'm so — Christ, I'm sorry, Fidelio. I'm so sorry.
What did it do to you?
no subject
The hell're you sorry for? It's not like you wanted us to go there.
[ but... ugh. he hasn't been including many details of what happened in that first part in what he's said to most people, in part because it feels personal and in part because he doesn't know what kind of raw emotion is going to get forced on them if he lets himself actually think about it rather than just recite a few lines.
but richie's the one person who probably should hear most of it, at least the big points, so... ]
...Well. First off, while we were still ourselves, we ended up in this sort of nothin' space with this kid named Stan. Asked us to give this manuscript to his friend Mike and then get his other friends out of the building they were in.
[ this part he's able to get through while sounding perfectly matter-of-fact, with steady emotions. ]
Then next thing, it was 1958 and we were all kids livin' in your town with you and your friends, like we'd always been them. Anders and Shadowheart, and... Bas and me.
[ this time there's a mild undercurrent of chilly grief that spikes at the end, for reasons richie can probably guess. ]
no subject
[He listens, though. Fidelio can always be counted on to give it to you straight. Very little mincing of words or dramatics. Today, he gives him something a little extra.
It's not pretty, of course. The mere mention of Stan makes his heart cinch up and hold. It's a struggle not to interject.]
...Why would Stan... [Irrationally:] How was he?
[As if he ran into him at the grocery store. There's a flare of grief playing tattle-tale — he'd only found out shortly before he died himself. Day of. He's had weeks now, but little time to think about it as its own matter. Shit hit the fan fast.
But there's more, too. His lips thin.]
So another one like that. Dropping you into a false life.
[As children. One with a baby brother. He doesn't love the pause preceding it.]
no subject
[ and that much is true, so he's just... going to leave it at that... ]
...Yeah, one of those. At least for part of it. I remember Taair mentioned somethin' like that happened on yours too.
no subject
...He was a good guy. Kid. I didn't get to, um. Reconnect with him, as it were.
[There's a thick silence. He nods, looking up again.]
Yeah. Like a whole lifetime. Felt like it, anyway. [A beat.] What all did you get up to?
no subject
What seemed like pretty typical kid stuff for your world, for a while. [ ... ] We were really into these Lord of the Rings books?
no subject
No shit? Tolkien-heads, huh? [That's funny.] I bet they've got a copy in the library if you want a real look at the thing. It's dense, but it's famous for a reason.
no subject
[ probably not going to be putting in too many hours at the tavern for a little while anyway, so it's a good time to do some reading. ]
...Anyway, it didn't stay that simple forever, obviously. The three of us found... [ a brief wave of sad feelings ] ...an older kid we knew dead, and then some real weird shite started happenin' to each of us after that. Me, I got attacked by something out of the drain of the bathroom sink in the house I was stayin' in.
no subject
[Maybe he's not a high fantasy nut but it's the sort of book that escapes its own genre. Surprisingly mass appeal.
Though we're back at it again now. Richie braces himself, as much as anyone can. He makes a face at that anecdote. Unpleasant, but judging by the wounds he's sporting, maybe not the worst of the story.]
That tracks. My friend Beverly, she heard voices down the drain once. Then it sprayed blood all over her and the family bathroom. Folks couldn't see a thing, she had to get Eddie, Stan, and Ben to help clean up and launder the cloths.
Then there was a kid drowned in the toilet too, just this year. His mother said she heard something laughing while the damn thing kept flushing.
no subject
...Yeah, sounds right. We all also saw that bloody clown in different contexts — or I guess maybe it was just hearing for one of 'em, but. It was all just real unnerving.
[ ... ]
Spent the whole time scared out of my mind for that world's version of Bas.
[ even just the echoes of the fear he'd felt back then are strong enough that they're difficult to keep under control even now... and that quiet current of grief in the background is getting a lot stronger the further he gets into this recollection. ]
Which... well. As you might expect, turned out to be justified.
no subject
Richie's jaw tenses at the mention. Yeah, inevitably, there would be the fucking clown.]
He's a real piece of work, yeah. Loves nothing more than fucking with you.
[But oh.
The way his stomach keeps finding new lows to drop to. Richie's awash in dread, horrified sorrow.]
You don't mean... [but he does. Of course he does, he can feel it rolling off him in waves.] Oh god. Fidelio, I'm sorry. Jesus god, I'm sorry...
no subject
[ there's a little burst of frustration at that, accompanied by more guilt for reacting that way... but that also sort of helps pull him back out of the memory before he can be dragged too deeply back into it, having something outside of it to react to.
and the fact that richie obviously understands what he was implying means he doesn't actually have to say it, which is a blessing. he can just skip right over all those awful details. ]
...But. Yeah. After that, I rushed the thing with a bloody nail file and it killed me. Reckon the same happened to the other two after that.
no subject
[It's just the horror of it all. That he had to go through it at all, whether it was in Derry or anywhere else. To then hear that they died, well...after the last couple trips maybe he should expect that.
It still hurts. Imagining it. Wondering how it was done, when they came back in such wretched condition.]
...But that wasn't the end, was it? You changed — when you came back to your normal selves, it looked like you'd all been shot.