[There's a flash of anger. Momentary. Byerly just sounded so blasè, and Richie had come out of his pod wounded fresh over the loss. For a week or two he kept wondering if his resurrection had been a cosmic collar: couldn't split while he still had a job to do. But of course, if fate's reach stretched that far then Stan shouldn't have been able to die at all. And the Orbiters could play fast and loose with time — why not grab Stan before he reached for the razor? Was he not a good enough asset? Didn't he pass muster?
Then there was the insult of that vision in Murkwell Hollow that he'd seen with Boxer. Giggling and wide mouthed with crimson crosses cut into the wrists, glops of old blood squoozing out of the split skin as he laughed and splashed in the swamp...
Then Richie relents. He paints on his own smile, just as dry, twice as bitter.]
You bet. Belief doesn't come easy when the years wear on. Especially if you weren't prone to fancy in the first place.
[The kids wait with bated breath as Bill gives the line a good yank. Richie doesn't duck for cover, nor does he bother to shield Byerly. There's no need this time.
A torrent of fuzzy pom poms, all tangerine orange and ludicrous as all get out, tumble from that decripit fridge. Written inside in thick, dripping blood was a message in a childish scrawl. Finger painting for the criminally insane.
STOP NOW BEFORE I KILL YOU ALL A WORD TO THE WISE FROM YOUR FRIEND PENNYWISE
As if answering a summons, the rain begins to fall. Thunder pulses overhead. Bill has split off from the crowd again, red faced.
“W-We’re going to k-k-kill you!”
Tiny Richie tails after, shouting at him to come back. The boy doesn't listen. He screams, this time with no faltering.
“You killed my brother George! You son of a bitch! You bastard! You whoremaster! Let’s see you now! Let’s see you now!”]
no subject
Then there was the insult of that vision in Murkwell Hollow that he'd seen with Boxer. Giggling and wide mouthed with crimson crosses cut into the wrists, glops of old blood squoozing out of the split skin as he laughed and splashed in the swamp...
Then Richie relents. He paints on his own smile, just as dry, twice as bitter.]
You bet. Belief doesn't come easy when the years wear on. Especially if you weren't prone to fancy in the first place.
[The kids wait with bated breath as Bill gives the line a good yank. Richie doesn't duck for cover, nor does he bother to shield Byerly. There's no need this time.
A torrent of fuzzy pom poms, all tangerine orange and ludicrous as all get out, tumble from that decripit fridge. Written inside in thick, dripping blood was a message in a childish scrawl. Finger painting for the criminally insane.
STOP NOW BEFORE I KILL YOU ALL
A WORD TO THE WISE FROM YOUR FRIEND
PENNYWISE
As if answering a summons, the rain begins to fall. Thunder pulses overhead. Bill has split off from the crowd again, red faced.
“W-We’re going to k-k-kill you!”
Tiny Richie tails after, shouting at him to come back. The boy doesn't listen. He screams, this time with no faltering.
“You killed my brother George! You son of a bitch! You bastard! You
whoremaster! Let’s see you now! Let’s see you now!”]