[Richie's smile falters. Good cheer dimmed. It was only ever fueled by liquor and wasteful thinking anyhow. Here he was hoping to avoid the downstairs gang for a while longer. Wait until he could be sure the contents of his guts were going to stay put and he wouldn't make a damn fool of himself, wait until he could look them in the eyes without feeling that squeezing vice on his brain, his lungs.
Richie's head knocks backwards against the pod he's propped on (sorry Eds, didn't mean to disturb you) and he gives a long groan.]
You're killing me, Moptop. Don't mangle the words on purpose.
[He shuts his eyes. Pardon him, it's just a little hard to look, and his head is swollen with sweet liquor. He wasn't ready for you yet, kid, just give him a minute. Better yet give him a week.]
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Richie's head knocks backwards against the pod he's propped on (sorry Eds, didn't mean to disturb you) and he gives a long groan.]
You're killing me, Moptop. Don't mangle the words on purpose.
[He shuts his eyes. Pardon him, it's just a little hard to look, and his head is swollen with sweet liquor. He wasn't ready for you yet, kid, just give him a minute. Better yet give him a week.]