[He watches that brush swish swish over the fine skin of his elegant hand. Richie purses his lips, big blues blinking cartoonishly behind his lenses.
This sounds...leading...and yet he's drawn along like a trout on a hook. He does recollect something to that nature (a man with a tilted moustache who brought flames to his hand, a boy who summoned monsters to fight his battles, a woman who vanished in and out of the air at will), and though his stomach still turns queasy at the notion, now he almost wants to squeal.
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This sounds...leading...and yet he's drawn along like a trout on a hook. He does recollect something to that nature (a man with a tilted moustache who brought flames to his hand, a boy who summoned monsters to fight his battles, a woman who vanished in and out of the air at will), and though his stomach still turns queasy at the notion, now he almost wants to squeal.
What if there was someone who could help?]
Well...it's not powers. I don't think. Um...