Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time (Closed)

[summertimeblues]

Who: Richie Tozier (summertimeblues) & assorted sweet beans
What: April Catch-All + memshare nonsense that doesn't need to be clogging up the intro log, WELCOME TO THE GAME NEWBIES!!
When: Ap..ril....
Where: Southern Outpost/Olympia/Wherever else we wind up going
Warning(s): Persona 5 and Wonder Woman spoilers, mentions of sexual assault, suicide, some murder clown...

Comments

For Ann Takamaki

[summertimeblues]

["It was oh-oh-open. B-Before."

"So it closed. Lots of books close on their own."

"The p-p-pages, maybe, but n-not the cuh-cuh-cover. It c-closed itself itself. B-But it wuh-wuh-wants y-you to oh-open it up again. That's what I th-think."

The air in the bedroom is stilted. A room left untouched with precious care. It belongs to a child, kiddie posters with heroes like Tom Terrific, Huey-Louie-Dewey in a duck-tailed camping expedition, some disastrously colored pages torn from activity books, crayons zipping in and out of the lines. Toys lined the shelves and rank-cards sat on the table, outlining the results of a short tenure in first grade.

One boy was standing in near the closet, flipping through a photo album with timid hands. He's something of a comical figure, front teeth beating out the rest of the pearly whites to adulthood and sitting so large that classmates dubbed him Bucky Beaver. His glasses are horn-rimmed and ungodly thick. His eyes look twice their size under the fortitude of the lens. He's scrawny, small, pale, awkward-limbed with ears that stuck out some from under his mop of black hair. Everything an ungainly eleven year old should be.

Another boy sits on the bed. His red hair falls over his forehead in a tidy fringe, and in spite of his stutter he carries a surety to him that draws the gaze naturally. He'll grow up handsome, it's easy to tell that much. His blue eyes are trained solidly on his friend as the album pages turn.

Next to him, there is a man. This one sits unacknowledged by either. Even the bedcover fails to dip under his weight, so ignorant of his existence that even physics denies he's there. But he sits, and he watches, hands laced under his chin as he leans forward in trepidation. He blinks when a newcomer materializes, his apprehensive blue eyes flicking up to the young lady that stands in the doorway.]

Ann?

[His jaw drops some just as the bespectacled boy finishes his fishing.

"There's no school picture of George in here. What kind of line were you handing me, Big Bill?"

"W-W-What?"]

[pussywhips]

[ There's always something a little disorienting about finding herself in one of these memories, and if it isn't hers, the distinct feeling that she doesn't belong, that she's intruding. This one... definitely isn't hers. She looks around the room from the doorway, takes in all of those posters and knickknacks, the stagnant air, the two young boys occupying the space and the one man that just exists in it, like her.

(His memory, maybe? She wouldn't be able to place Tom Terrific if he smacked her upside the head, but it's obvious that this moment takes place long before she was ever born. For one thing, neither of the boys have a cellphone in sight. No computers, no video game consoles. Horrific.)

She blinks at Richie. ]

Rich? Is this yours?

[ Her gaze slides over to the two boys again. Now that she looks a little closer, that kid... the gangly one with thick glasses... could it be? ]

[summertimeblues]

[He could lie. There's a split second where one almost spills out of him unbidden. Oh no, the real guy just left, spun himself out the door before I could say hello!

A stupid idea. He'd never buy it himself. And in all of these errant trips down memory lane, the scenes were always yanked from the heads of people present. Sure, he was wee enough that the resemblance isn't so obvious, but she's peeping too close already at that baby dork in his damnable glasses. Which in turn, puts her too close to the book.

He has to get her out of here.]

Wild, ain't it? [He gives her a grin (and though he tries for his usual brightness, the cheer doesn't quite reach his eyes. Blame the lump in his throat and the apprehensive knots in his gut for that) and waves a hand around.] Welcome to 1959, kidlet. The phones are hooked to the walls, the TVs don't do color, and a bottle of Coke only cost a nickel. Rock and roll's still wet behind the ears.

[He rises, clapping his hands to his knees to push off and taking a survey of the place. His odd grin stays fixed on.] Want to take a tour? Maybe this old yarn stretches far enough I could show you the malt shop. People pay good money for a nostalgia fix like this, kid, let's take advantage while we're here.

[The boys carry on around him. Bill's hopped off the bed to join his friend, crowding the album and flipping through himself.

"This picture of downtown in the olden days is the last one in the book. All the rest of the pages are blank."

"It w-w-was here. L-look."

Bill taps the edge of a blank page. Save for the studio corner. Little triangle fastener that would have held the picture nice and tight, but the prize has gone missing.

"Jeepers! What do you think happened to it?

"I d-don't nuh-nuh-know."

Richie's heart thuds. Fuck. Any second now...

The boys gasp. The pages ruffle. But they do it on their own time, flying by unbidden.]

[pussywhips]

[ Her curiosity catching the better of her, she moves closer to the boy in the glasses, as if to take a closer look at him. It's a little weird, being in these memories and having everything look so real—she almost feels like she could reach out and touch the kid, maybe ruffle his hair or something, but... she resists the urge anyway, a smile stretching across her face.

It's definitely a young Richie. Look at those glasses... look at those buck teeth. ]

This is you, right?

[ Her smile falters a little bit when she looks over at the older Richie. The expression on his face—he's obviously on edge, and it makes her uneasy. This seemed like a perfectly normal memory to her, just two boys hanging out and looking at...

Well, now that she's closer, she can see that it's some kind of album. And now that she's actually paying more attention to the boys' conversation, there's something about it that feels as off as Richie's smile. Her brow furrows, worry evident in her voice. ]

What's going on?

( captain sweet bean mem share )

[dianano]

[ The cacophony of German soldiers banding together, plane engines firing up and what sounds like a fierce storm but is actually Diana fighting Ares in the distance fills Steve's ears...

Not just Steve's ears, but someone else's too as Steve turns his head towards the familiar presence he feels beside him. ]

...Richie? [ Was this a dream? It had to be, didn't it? Yet the details were so precise, it's not just like watching a movie - it's like being in one. Some kind of modern, technologically advanced movie where you can see, smell and even taste the gunpowder in the air. It feels different to the simulations on Thesa because Steve can actually see himself, an out of body experience of sorts, but without the floating.

It's 1918 and they're at a German base at night. In front of them, Steve from the past is crouched and hidden with his men, Sameer, Charlie and Chief, discussing what they're going to do with the plane full of poisonous gas. Steve hears himself ask if it's flammable while loading his gun. Chief confirms that is.

I need you guys to clear a path to that plane. And suddenly Steve - the version of himself in this memory - is running, ignoring the shouts from his men - his friends - before they follow his orders, despite knowing what it'll mean for their Captain. He never got to say goodbye to them during that moment, but soldiers rarely get the opportunity to say farewell. He's lucky he even has time to say goodbye to Diana, which is playing out some distance away from them. He knows Richie could go closer to hear the conversation, but he knows he won't. It's private to Steve - to them - and he can sense Richie is uncomfortable as it is. ]

You shouldn't be here. [ He's not mad at Richie for it, it's hardly his fault, but Steve knows where this is all headed and he doesn't want Richie to see the last act. No one should be a witness to the last act but himself. ]

i can't believe you godmodded him to be uncomfortable WHAT IF HE WANTS TO SPY ON THEIR SWEET GOODBYE

[summertimeblues]

[All this hurk-and-jerk around memory lane is disorienting enough. This time it's coming with the titan's roar of plane engines, the churning of a brewing storm. He loses a moment to thinking it's the Storm, capital "S" and all, and instinctively ducks when the vision takes him whole.

But that's not the case.

He's crouched alongside a rag-tag quartet, of which phantom Steve Trevor is holding council while living Steve shoots him a hesitant look.

Then the other Steve is taking off running. (clear a path to that plane) Diana is in the distance, he can make out the shape of her. And what is she wearing? Richie's jaw drops some. The get-up's hitting at some slight recognition, one that refuses to come to a head. The barely there skirt and the coloring, the glimmer of gold at her forehead...

Steve's giving him shit. Still soft and not truly so chiding.]

That so? I'm settling in quite well, I figure. I'd look pretty slick in one of these ankle-kissing trenchcoats, don't you think? [He pushes himself to standing, eyeballing the happy couple from yards back, the panicked trio still hovering close by.] Who are...Jesus, please tell me these guys aren't about to get peppered with shells. Where are the Germans? That's who you're fighting, right?

[His gaze snaps back to the Steve in the distance. Going to a plane. Where? Why? Was he going to shoot from above and leave his buddies on the ground?]

Where are you off to?

idgaf!!! (pls forgive my godmodding asshole ways)

[dianano]

[ Steve is barely listening to Richie talk about fashion right now, watching the moment his running slows just for a second when Diana calls out to him, where it almost looks like Steve is going to look back - but he doesn't. He couldn't. He couldn't look back at Diana because if he did, he would have hesitated to leave her, to give up any kind of future with her or seeing her ever again. He would have still gone through with it even after a moment of hesitation because there were lives at stake, but then he would have missed his chance to board the plane. ]

They survived... They deserved to. [ Steve says nothing more for the moment as they watch his past self jump impressively onto the ladder of the moving plane. Steve didn't know what would be worse, watching the plane blow up once it was in the air or being inside it...

Not that they have a choice what point of view they're going to get - in the blink of an eye, they're suddenly inside the very plane they watched Steve board. There's a fight in which Steve's past self kicks a German soldier out, then he's climbing into the pilot seat.

Maybe Richie won't notice what's behind them. Bombs loaded with gas, too many to count, too much death it would result in if they were released. Laughter can be heard - edging on hysterical - coming from the Captain behind the pilot controls. ]

This was my last flight.

everybody gets one..........

[summertimeblues]

[Richie is drawn physically back by the sentiment, jaw dropping.]

Deserved?

[The Steve of the past is pulling some real Indiana Jones shit, catching the plane by the ladder as it speeds towards takeoff. Richie's heart leaps up into his throat and he starts up a few running steps. Knowing it's fruitless, knowing he won't catch up. "Deserved", he can't possibly mean—

It doesn't matter. They're not on the ground any longer, they're in the plane. A soldier goes flying as Steve slips into the cockpit, manic and panicked under that measured urgency. The laughter clatters against his ears. A sound he knows all too well. A nervous tick of his own, one that had bubbled out of him when he raced to escape punishing fists as a child, one that came when faced with the vultures, the crazed beasts of the Nysan wilds.

But there's something else to it. Richie looks to the Steve he knows.]

Your last? [His breath catches. He swings around, expecting to see pursuers coming up the rear, bullets firing to shatter glass and catch the Captain from behind.

Instead, he sees pointed silver heads. Stacks and stacks, slotted into place like wine bottles in a rack. Richie's eyes dart over each. Counting, dread mounting. The cold that washes over him has nothing to do with altitude or the chill of night air.]

Steve...Steve, you're kidding me. Are you serious? You're going to — [Richie loses his words. A ripple quakes over his spine. Suddenly he's snatching the other man by the shoulders, too tight on the jacket. A mirror of their first meeting. Same shit different pile, and this time it's Steve who's in the know and Richie's left floundering. Furious. Afraid.] What the hell do you think you're doing?! Why? Why is it — Can't you land it? You're a pilot for god's sake, fucking land the plane!

spoilers for a bunch of p5

[tricksune]

[ For a slice of the apocalypse, the Storm takes an awfully familiar shape. One he's fairly sure should be eradicated from space and time completely, the bright neon and noise of clattering coins and despairing grumbles, all utterly familiar and utterly strange. How long had it been since they'd paid the casino a visit? It's literally just as he remembers it, still clotted with lights and gamblers, all of which seem to ignore the pack of costumed kids darting around the machines, definitely up to no good.

It's actually strange how little attention the people pay to them, though Yusuke is more distracted by the fact that he can see himself running about in third-person. It's... interesting, if he doesn't view it at a weird, existential angle. Otherwise, the casino is oddly grounded in reality, filled with absurd games and rules but still almost indistinguishable from the real world at a glance. Practical, much like the woman who owns it.

...Maybe that's for the best, because his company hadn't exactly taken to all the magic and such very gracefully at first meeting. Yusuke reaches out, tugging at Richie's elbow to drag him along. Time to follow the Phantom Thieves on their heist. ]

This way. I'll explain as we go.

[ He assumes he'll have questions, but it's really best they follow the action. For his composure, Yusuke doesn't totally understand what's going on either. ]

[summertimeblues]

[The entire world has been doused in neon. Richie is grimacing at the blare and wishing, somewhat paradoxically, for his glasses. He can't tell if the contacts are making this a bigger pain than it needs to be, or if this place is truly that hideous.]

Fucking hell, Vegas needs to cool the jets on the electric bill. [He blinks away the shock of the shift (straight from the dark of the storm to this, what a wringer) and takes stock of the situation. Yusuke is next to him and yoinking at his elbow so that he can start into a clumsy run, but he is also racing between the machines in his pleather suit, furred tail a-bobbing behind him. And there's Akira in his trenchcoat, and Haru clad in Musketeer castoffs. Other kids he doesn't know in costumes equally as odd, and Ann—

Richie balks, almost faltering in his steps.]

Holy shit, who let Ann out of the house without a sweater?

[The zipper on her catsuit curves under— oh god he can't look. Wasn't she sixteen? It's enough to herniate a man, lord-a-living, wait another ten years before shimmying into that getup kiddo! He turns his attention to...

A cat parody. A Mickey Mouse sideshow in flesh and blood, jetting alongside Akira as with a gadget belt slung around its belly and a scarf at its neck like it's a tiny furry person, running on two legs with a skinny tail swishing behind.

Richie gawps at it for a long moment. He shoots the real Yusuke a look that speaks of long suffering and dismay.]

You could start anytime, you know. I'm all ears.

[tricksune]

[ You heard him, Atlus, please give Ann a cardigan.

Anyway, thankfully Morgana is about the weirdest part of their current pack, and a little monster cat isn't the most absurd thing they've run into in their long string of adventures. He's already sort of zoning out of Richie's assorted commentary as he falls back into the atmosphere of the Palace—just as vibrant, surreal, and as exhilarating as he remembers.

But poor Richie seems much less impressed, and eventually, he trots to a stop just as Akira lunges forward out from his hiding spot, forcibly ripping the mask off a passing security guard to force it into its true form. Soon, more Shadows converge and there's a battle on their hands.

The Thieves don't seem too bothered by the small fry though, shouting directives at each other as Yusuke takes the 'breather' to extrapolate... or try. One of the witchy figures lashes her needle-like claws at Ryuji meanwhile, who backpedals with a taunting shout. A pistol shot rings out, bullet ricocheting harmlessly off the creature's head. ]

It must be one of my memories.

[ He experienced this earlier, though from the other side. ]

...We've spoken to you about carrying out justice. This is where we did it. You might think of it as an alternate, but overlapping plane of existence—we called it the Metaverse.

[ It's Complicated, but the point is, this was practically a parallel dimension, removed from reality as they knew it. Behind the phantom of his past self, Goemon appears, a familiar ice spell shattering through the air. ]

I know it all sounds absurd, but coming here was vital to our agenda.

[summertimeblues]

[Why aren't you listening to him, he has important things to say.

He is grateful that barring Felix the Cat over here the whole crew is relatively tame. Poorly dressed, but tame. Richie's tossing curious squints to the folks at the slot machines and the card tables. How is no one looking their way? It's almost like home, but taken to more literal extremes. Strange doings afoot, avert your eyes all ye who enter here.

Then it all gets a little crazier.

Akira snatches a mask off a security guard (bloodily so, fuck it was welded to the face) and the human nobody warps into a bizarro spider man, except it's one would give Peter Parker nightmares for weeks. Richie gasps audibly, snagging the present day Yusuke by the arm to pull him back (out of harm's way, even if there is no harm in instant replay) and watching with mounting horror as the battle unfolds.

It is a curiously hypnotic clash. A lot of flash and bang, spectacle fit for a stage even if the spooks aren't just mooks in costume. The beasts look like things that hang on the roof ledges of kitschy curio stops in Chinatown, with the round danglers and being dressed in vivid reds and golds. But though there's guns blazing, although the swipes look mean, the kids aren't bothered. They're breezing through it, leaping and bounding like Bruce Lee kissed a blessing on each and every forehead and then Tony Montana tossed them eighty spare weapons.]

An overlapping... [Richie can't quite fit his mouth around the words. Barely getting his mind around it too, but he thinks he can dig it. He's just got to reach for the doubly absurd reserves of fiction he'd plowed through in his youth. Hadn't there been a second world with the comic books? Some Superman crap, gathering up the has-been castoffs that carried the funny books in the forties and plonking them into Earth Two as a Justice League lite, where the Flash wore a tin bowl on his head. Perhaps a better comparison lay with the Wizard of Oz. Judy Garland cast the whole family and that dog-hating buzzard down the road as lions and tin men and witches after bonking her head in the storm. That's close enough, right?

Or even last year. He'd seen a Dennis Quaid flick that rings truer to the larger than life sights and sounds around him. Hell, Yellow Submarine could make a damn good stand in, if only for making the Fab Four pose as Pepperlandian editions of their own selves. He'd be happy to see St. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club busting in right now with all that rainbow splatter and strumming tunes. At least the absurdity would look familiar.

As it stands?]

Okay. Okay, I'll buy it. You had to carry out justice here and something would happen in reality that corresponded. Is that the gist? Is — oh! Say!

[Hello, Goemon. Richie's not flinching back this time but he does stop short to marvel at the thing working in its element. You know what? It suited this place. The madness of it.]

Was this a casino in reality? This is the dream version of it, right? Somebody's dreaming this right now?

I'm angry i can't make a John Stamos joke right now

[summertimeblues]

((From here.))

[Years before?

Good God. What should he have expected, though? Byerly carries on, talking about how he'd still been small enough at this point to be good sport for the rowdy roughhousers, and he stills his mirth for a displeased curl of the lip.]

Talk about taking cheap shots.

[But there's a method to the masochism. That much is clear in the way the two tykes present play and giggle. She's his world. And out of all the conversations they'd had, all the chance encounters and sneak peeks at pasts unbidden, the only bright spot had ever been the baby girl.

Richie stands upright, snorting some over the acne comment.]

Puh-lease. You had it easy, you can't even make a full constellation connecting those dots. Start whining when you've got the full galaxy treatment. [He tucks his hands into his pants, pensive. Somewhat wistful himself. He'd never had siblings, but the sentiment...it's not unfamiliar. And it paints a picture he wasn't expecting of the man to his left.]

You took the shots so she didn't have to.

everywhere you loook, everywhere you gooooo

[vorrutyer]

[ In spite of everything they've shared so far, in spite of all the truths that have passed between them in this odd little jaunt down memory lane, that makes By tense. Because it's a short leap from you'll take the shots for her to you'll do anything to ensure that she doesn't take any shots at all. It's the reason for all his secrecy. He isn't ashamed of Nadine; he isn't even ashamed of his love for her, exactly. It's that he's afraid that someone might hurt her to get to him. If anyone threatened her, he'd roll over and show his belly. No hesitation. He'd sacrifice his honor a hundred times on the altar of her safety.

But after a moment, he relaxes. Because, hell, it's Richie. Richie, who stood against a slavering monstrosity because it was the right thing to do. By knows he can't trust Richie's common sense, and he sure as hell can't trust Richie's nonexistent sense of decency, but he can trust his honor. This is not a man who would ever hurt a defenseless woman. This isn't a man who would blab, either - hell, he kept the secret of his monster under wraps. So - trust, here, is possible.

By runs a hand through his hair, and gives a small nod. His lip curls in a little half-smile. ]

It just made sense, you know. I was fucked from the start, but she had a chance to escape from the curse of our clan. And so she did. [ The smile broadens as he looks down at her, just another few hairs'-widths. ] Got away from it all.

[ He looks up, then, and says: ]

You understand why I don't talk about her so much. It'd quite spoil my carefully-cultivated devil-may-care image. A proper rake doesn't go all soft like this.

[summertimeblues]

[The line of Byerly's spine goes rigid and his jaw locks tight. Richie spares a moment for exasperation — really now, what did he expect him to do?

Yet it passes. Richie takes it in with uncharacteristic thoughtfulness. It wasn't that the cogs ever stopped whirring upstairs, they were just rather noisy about it. Mostly.]

I get it. It's a business thing too, isn't it? She'd be a target even today, if someone needed you out of the way. [He chews on the inside of his lip.]

Is there someone here that does worry you? With the refugees?

[vorrutyer]

[ A lift of his eyebrows, and a roll of his shoulders, confirms the first guess. As for the second - ]

My dear Richard, I'm a spy. If my answer to that question wasn't literally everyone, I'd have to give up my badge and stunner at once. [ Then, meditatively - ] Well. Not that I have a badge, of course. They only give those to the unsubtle fellows over in ops, rather than the clever ones like me.

[ Then, a bit of the clownishness falling away, he answers a bit more seriously: ]

The ones that worry me are them. [ He points heavenwards, towards the sky that presumably contains the Orbiters. Well, possibly. Who's to say, with them in this dream-state? ] But the ship is through the wormhole, as they say, when it comes to them sussing out my weaknesses. I am already their slave. So it comes down to making certain that anyone opposed to their possibly-benevolent rule doesn't find out about it.

[summertimeblues]

((From here))

[He gives her a grin at last, picking at a wet strand of hair that's snaked along her cheek.]

Really? Like Sigourney in her space suit, or Sigourney in her underpants?

[It's good though. She's sharp, not like he figured she wouldn't catch the scent of rot under all that pot pourri, but it's the particulars of it she'll need. Some of the other folks came pretty well prepared. Spellcasting and hand to hand combat were daily expectations. Plain and simples like him and her needed a better primer. Double the caution, double the ammo. Double the warning.

He agrees to the hike—] If you lose your boots I'll buy you a new pair. [—and starts them along with a ginger pace, wary of the sloppy tar that bites at their heels. He doesn't bother holding the jacket up. It's sopping and his hair is done for anyhow. It's the chill he fears now, and they can only stop it once they've reached dry land.

She has more questions. Ones he doesn't expect. Richie studies her face, unease mounting.]

Bevvie, old girl...what's the last thing you remember?

[bravette]

Beep-beep.

[ Her smile is twisted but it's a smile nonetheless as he helps her fuss with her hair. It doesn't last long though. Where it could have held up under even the driving force of rain, it's his answer-with-a-question that kills it like dirt on coals. ]

[ It puts a hesitation in her steps, one that suckers the mud tight to her sole but she quickly yanks it loose, striding to keep pace with him, keep her eyes on him. Suddenly full to the brim with confusion rather than emotion at large. ]

You mean... [ Of course, he doesn't mean as children, but it's been just about all they've talked about, the past day she'd seen him. What they remembered from their childhoods. But no, he's trying to match stories up, and from the way he's phrasing things... somehow it sounds as if she'd jumped the tracks. Reeling it in, she backtracks as best she's able, eyes focusing back down at her feet. ]

We were headed back to the Townhouse, [ she revises, brow furrowed tight. ] We all were, except for Mike, he was closing up the library. I was walking with Bill...

[ She was doing other things, too, but those didn't quite bear repeating, even (especially) to Richie. They'd been quite violently interrupted things anyway, though not as violently as some, apparently. Suddenly, she can't remember the order in which they'd left, and her voice fills in with dread. ]

It didn't show up behind us, did it?

[summertimeblues]

[Well ain't that just as pleasing as sweet tea on a July afternoon.

Richie wraps an arm over her shoulder.]

No, It didn't.

[The monsoon picks up. The squelch of mud under their boots is turning to wet splashes as the ground runs looser where it's not battered in by grass. Richie curses and quickens the hustle.]

There's some dissonance in when they pluck people from. I know it's a queer thought, but you've got to believe me. Time is...it's a funny thing, with this Storm. People remember things differently. They skip around in your lifetime, even. You can go to sleep and wake up remembering years you've never lived and shouldn't have lived, if the apocalypse really happened.

Long story short — the last thing I remember is piling into Eddie's limo to go to the sewers. They were hurt, Bevvie, but it was Henry Bowers. He'd broken out of Juniper Hill and paid a visit to the library, then got up to the Town House to pick us off. Eddie got lucky, he had a glass bottle with him and had to stick him with it to put him down for good. Mike's in the hospital.

[He pauses.] Was. Sorry. Jesus, this is getting me all mixed up. Henry nailed his femoral artery and he'd been on the verge of bleeding out by the time help came around. It wasn't a pretty scene, but we were going to go after It anyway. Seemed like the time had to be then. If we tried doing anything different there would have been some incident. Getting the town involved would have been a mistake.

[He winces. Cups her more closely to his side and shoots a despairing look to the landscape.] I don't know what state they'll be in when they wake up, but — hey now, did we not meet by this same tree just a minute ago?

[summertimeblues]

((From here))

[The break of sunlight is blinding to his prickling eyes. Richie totters to his feet, head bowed, hand over his mouth. Then covering his eyes. Trying to regain his sense of sanity in light of just watching his good friend get a chop to the gut.

It makes little more sense than it first did. But there was something about that posse that threw the blade. They had planned to come for Red, Boxer's presence was a surprise. The pair were silent as the grave even now that they were living worlds away, in a gang of strangers that wouldn't know the ins and outs of the conspiracy that took Boxer's life. They never toed the line now, made a spectacle. They operated like ghosts.

Why shouldn't they? That sword was the thanks they'd gotten for sticking their neck out for something. Had to be. Richie pulls the hands away from his face, wet at the palms and only slightly dryer around the weary skin of the eyelids. He looks at the pair, looks at the sword.

It didn't explain what he'd seen in Murkwell Hollow, not quite. There hadn't been a robot in sight, but maybe that was something that came after.

What do you even say to this?]

...I don't know about you two, but I need a monster jolt of scotch.

[Fact of the matter is, this wasn't the time for questions. Not now. He doesn't think he could get through one, and Red's more than likely to shoot him down or clam up in the swell of emotion. Boxer would likely follow her lead. Later then, when the wounds aren't so raw.

He clears the rest of the tears with his sleeve, takes a sniff, and looks at neither of them as they press forward in riotous silence.

They make it about seven yards. Then the wind picks up. There's still sunlight, but it's at a different angle. Town bustle fills their ears.

The Nysan countryside melts into a town square. There's a towering mass of orange and white, but it casts no shadow. It bends down at the knees and takes shape, plastic gleaming in the afternoon light off the apples of its chalk-white cheeks, the bulb of its red nose. The glimmer of its teeth and mad wide silver eyes. The trio are drenched in the fog of its breath, a mix of the fumes off wet corpses and rotting autumn leaves.

Richie freezes. Then he's hollering, pulling Red and Boxer back by the sleeves.]

No! No!

[Another Richie Tozier is pulling out of a scream, yanking his hands away from his bloodshot eyes (just watching it gives him a twinge of the pain he'd felt when the clown pointed a finger at him, like spikes were driving straight through his peepers to the meat of his brain) and scrambling back from that twenty-foot freak. It's him as he was just the day before the storm hit, sight assured by his soft-lensed contacts moments before It made them vanish, in his Rodeo Drive jacket and nice slacks and loafers. Rich man coming back to the hometown for a tour, meeting old friends.

Old enemies.

The pantalooned monstrosity is standing atop a statue's platform. Beyond them is a broad billboard that reads off a listing that sounds like a helluva show, if only it didn't have to raise all the acts from the dead. People walk by on the streets around, cars putter and beep and carry on. No one seems to notice that the town square statue has come to life and joined the circus.

It croons to the terrified man at its feet. The voice is lyrical, upbeat and booming straight out of hell's loudspeakers.

"Want to play some more, Richie?"]

[desistor]

[They're there and gone in a minute. From the cool and colorful lights of the bay to the Nysan sun before they can even make their way all the way out of the alley, before they even have to try to dodge the inevitable appearance of the Process. Like they were never there at all, like they hadn't just walked a few steps away from the memory of his own abandoned self.

It's like being seasick, thrown from one extreme to another without warning. Richie does what he does best and breaks the silence. Speaks for all of them, as Boxer shakes himself away from the memory and stoops to retrieve the Transistor. He breathes a humorless laugh to reward him for the effort, but doesn't bother with an answer. Just musters a thin and ironic smile for it, a quietly thankful clap on the shoulder as Rich leads them on without the third degree. Maybe he's earned an explanation. But—not right now.

So, they get out of Dodge. He loops an arm around Red's waist as they walk. Presses a kiss against her temple in the long and heavy silence that hangs over them. But the air shifts. When he looks up to see why, they're somewhere else.

Not again.

But this time, the strangely familiar sight isn't Cloudbank at all. And what's familiar isn't the place, but the players. Richie, and some solider shade of...whatever last, festering horror that he'd seen, that day. In the water in Murkwell Hollow. Too busy with menaching the Richie-that-was (too much a ghost) to be a threat, logically. But he goes all tense at the sight of it—what the hell is it?—halts in his tracks before they can get any closer. Blood running cold. But he follows suit fast as Richie starts them backwards by the shirtsleeves, pulling Red in front of him so they can reverse course. Right.]

C'mon. Back, back, back.

[Reflex, shouting to be heard over the deafening voice in the speakers. As if any of them need the warning. Richie knows better than any of them what they're dealing with, and he's pushing them back with horrified urgency. Red isn't stupid, she'll catch on quick. Even if it's no more real here than the Camerata had been...no reason to stick around here, either.]

[persistor]

[ The return is too good to be true.

She has to swallow down the swell of frustration rising from her guts. Her feet land on solid dirt once more, a moment of peace as Boxer reminds her that it's over, only to pick her up and throw her into the middle of asphalt. Unfamiliar settings should be a blessing, but the implications are anything but — her hand tightens around Boxer's hand, and she opts for anger before anything else.

She's so fucking tired. Of the Storm, the trips down memory lane, every single scar that reopens as a result of this. The Storm is absolutely merciless, and she's helpless in front of it.

Anger turns into horror the moment she looks up.

It's almost — comical, somehow; or at least, it should be. The grin painted on his just-as-painted face, the wild orange hair. Except it's just sick and twisted in ways that she can't put a finger on, absolutely horrific despite how jovial it tries to look, tries to sound.

Red freezes. Not that her moment of indecision lasts very long anyway, not when her attempt at processing is interrupted by Richie's desperate tugging, then again when Boxer begins to lead her away. Luckily, she recovers in time — picking up the pace herself once her body realizes it's time to act, to do something, before they start testing if injuries in memories are permanent. ]

Quest time again for the Cursed Quartet

[summertimeblues]

[The train trip out had been wild. Whether or not he'd have to reclaim Red as his wife on the way back to keep their first class stats remains to be seen (he is expecting to be carried back home should she keep wailing on his shins) but they arrived safe. The trip out on horseback gives them no trouble, and he doesn't spot that blind and gnashing monstrosity peeking out of the mouth of the caves nearby. With any luck it starved to death after he and J.J. gave it the slip.

Richie cracks his neck and surveys the pillars from their base, one hand on a flask that in spite of all expectations, contains only water. He'll save the scotch snuggled in his jacket pocket for later. He takes a swig of the blue for now, offering up a gulp to the next person.]

We've got our work cut out for us, for sure and for shit. You up for a long day, hot shot?

[persistor]

[ She only kicked his shin once and it's because he kept going on and on about some random story of their "marriage" that literally no one cared about okay

Anyway they're here — she's already crouched down, narrowing her eyes at a set of inscriptions near the bottom of the pillar, dusting the dirt off with her hands. The writings are familiar, against all odds ( suddenly, the interest starts to make a little more sense ). She's moving to take pictures with her phone when Richie offers her the water.

A glance up, and then a shake of her head. She does pause documenting her findings for a reply, flipping the screen over for Richie to read. ]

Hasn't it been long enough? [ She's joking, probably. She's smiling, so she's likely joking. If she does catch anyone else's eye, she waves them over to the writings. Finding their studies out in the real world, amazing. ]

[flashystyle]

[Dorian will reach around Richie's wife to intercept the flask, only to make a disappointed noise upon discovering it's in fact... not alcoholic. Damn. The look on his face seals a future of them enduring him over-indulging the next time they're in first class, but the writings are enough to distract him from lingering on it too long.]

Well, it's delightful to know they did more than just eat one another back then, isn't it?

[He says it rather dryly, but there's a gleam in his eyes. This truly is scholarly heaven. Like a true scholar, he turns, and says:]

Take a picture of me with it.