[To that, he only has a stupefied chuckle. Rodney Dangerfield weighs in on the matter.]
Seems to me the boy's lost his marbles.
[He takes strides to the door, as if compelled by a bravado bigger than himself. He flings it open and for a half mad second, expects to see the wide plastic face of Paul Bunyan leaning down to peer inside. "I'm gonna eat you right the fuck up—"
But instead, it's the woods. Darkening skies, and a small boy approaching an abandoned Amana fridge with a coil of clothesline clutched tight in hand. Blood has been splattered along the path up to its door. Too much blood.
The boy was the same one from the bicycle, Big Bill Denbrough. Stuttering Bill as the rest of the school knew him. Stuttering Freak, Mushmouth.
Another voice floats through to the Emperor's office, from a gaggle of children out of sight. "You could bring Chief Borton and Mr. Nell and a hundred other cops down here and it still wouldn't matter."
Richie stiffens in the doorframe.]
Stan?
[He ducks through as his own self chimes in, pitch upped by baby vocal chords but with the same cavalier shit he slung as a grown up. "Nope, they wouldn't see a frockin thing. How's your arm, Bev?"
"Hurts. Would my Mom and Dad see the hole that thing made in my arm?"
"I d-d-don't th-think s-s-so. Get reh-ready to ruh-ruh-run. I'm gonna t-t-tie it uh-uh-on."
When Byerly deigns to join him, he'll get the full view of all six children. Beverly, preternaturally beautiful with her red curls pulled back into braids and a crimson patch of gauze held over one arm. Mike with his dark skin that made him a bullseye among easy targets, owl-eyed and in his farm overalls. Richie in his dweeby glasses, Ben Hanscom in the sweater he used to disguise his wide gut and flabby boy tits. Grown up Richie has beelined to a fastidious looking boy, whose shirt is buttoned to the collar and wears less scrapes and scuffs than the rest of the lot, even the curls atop his head were neater than a child's should be. A tiny adult among reckless youths.
Richie stands by him, unable to look away. Jaw clenched tight and his hands in his pockets.]
...It's supposed to be seven. Eddie's still in the hospital.
no subject
Seems to me the boy's lost his marbles.
[He takes strides to the door, as if compelled by a bravado bigger than himself. He flings it open and for a half mad second, expects to see the wide plastic face of Paul Bunyan leaning down to peer inside. "I'm gonna eat you right the fuck up—"
But instead, it's the woods. Darkening skies, and a small boy approaching an abandoned Amana fridge with a coil of clothesline clutched tight in hand. Blood has been splattered along the path up to its door. Too much blood.
The boy was the same one from the bicycle, Big Bill Denbrough. Stuttering Bill as the rest of the school knew him. Stuttering Freak, Mushmouth.
Another voice floats through to the Emperor's office, from a gaggle of children out of sight. "You could bring Chief Borton and Mr. Nell and a hundred other cops down here and it still wouldn't matter."
Richie stiffens in the doorframe.]
Stan?
[He ducks through as his own self chimes in, pitch upped by baby vocal chords but with the same cavalier shit he slung as a grown up. "Nope, they wouldn't see a frockin thing. How's your arm, Bev?"
"Hurts. Would my Mom and Dad see the hole that thing made in my arm?"
"I d-d-don't th-think s-s-so. Get reh-ready to ruh-ruh-run. I'm gonna t-t-tie it uh-uh-on."
When Byerly deigns to join him, he'll get the full view of all six children. Beverly, preternaturally beautiful with her red curls pulled back into braids and a crimson patch of gauze held over one arm. Mike with his dark skin that made him a bullseye among easy targets, owl-eyed and in his farm overalls. Richie in his dweeby glasses, Ben Hanscom in the sweater he used to disguise his wide gut and flabby boy tits. Grown up Richie has beelined to a fastidious looking boy, whose shirt is buttoned to the collar and wears less scrapes and scuffs than the rest of the lot, even the curls atop his head were neater than a child's should be. A tiny adult among reckless youths.
Richie stands by him, unable to look away. Jaw clenched tight and his hands in his pockets.]
...It's supposed to be seven. Eddie's still in the hospital.