[After drifting through the recent side-effects of the Storm long enough, one gets the idea. Stops being startled by the shifting scenery and starts finding safety in numbers to navigate the potentially unfamiliar (or...potentially familiar) terrain. Only serves to backfire a little when they end up dragging a friend on a trip down memory lane. As soon as he can make out the sharp angles and the warm lights of the Empty Set, he knows where they are. And guesses quick at when they are. And what's going to happen next.
It's strange, to see it all go down from this end, a spectator. Detached, watching the mirror-image confrontation play out in the theater, like some kind of stage show. All memorized lines and pitch-perfect timing. Forgetting Richie, for a stark and selfish moment, his hand gropes for Red's. Pulling her insistently away from the stage, and what's about to happen upon it. (On one end, the eerie mirror-image of the two of them. On the other, closer to the three of them watching from the present, is the Camerata. Asher, and Royce, and Grant, and Sybil. Cornering Red on the stage. And him, just seconds from getting in between them.)
But it happens just as quick, the second time around. And whether he likes it or not, it plays out just the same way. (Asher points out to Sybil that she'd told them Red would be alone. Grant spews some self-righteous nonsense about what needs to be done for the good of Cloudbank. Red stands defiant, and soon—)
Not much time. He tugs Red back again, imploring. They know how this ends. They don't have to stick around to watch it.]
Hey.
[Urgent, if hushed, as if the players on stage have any chance of hearing them. He swallows, keeps his voice steady and fingers locked through Red's, looks Richie head-on for a second before locking back toward Red, as if daring him to voice a premature what the fuck—]
▼ closed to richie.
It's strange, to see it all go down from this end, a spectator. Detached, watching the mirror-image confrontation play out in the theater, like some kind of stage show. All memorized lines and pitch-perfect timing. Forgetting Richie, for a stark and selfish moment, his hand gropes for Red's. Pulling her insistently away from the stage, and what's about to happen upon it. (On one end, the eerie mirror-image of the two of them. On the other, closer to the three of them watching from the present, is the Camerata. Asher, and Royce, and Grant, and Sybil. Cornering Red on the stage. And him, just seconds from getting in between them.)
But it happens just as quick, the second time around. And whether he likes it or not, it plays out just the same way. (Asher points out to Sybil that she'd told them Red would be alone. Grant spews some self-righteous nonsense about what needs to be done for the good of Cloudbank. Red stands defiant, and soon—)
Not much time. He tugs Red back again, imploring. They know how this ends. They don't have to stick around to watch it.]
Hey.
[Urgent, if hushed, as if the players on stage have any chance of hearing them. He swallows, keeps his voice steady and fingers locked through Red's, looks Richie head-on for a second before locking back toward Red, as if daring him to voice a premature what the fuck—]
Lets just...go.
[Please.]