❪ event ❫ a moment in eternity

[natha]

TO THERE AND BACK     It has been a month of chills uncharacteristic of what you might remember as summer — cold days and even colder nights. The days are short and the nights feel eternal. With the recent disruption of the network and no sign of a resolution for the world outside of Nadril, one has to wonder what the future holds for El Nysa. What of Olympia, Wyver, and their residents? The animals you cared for - are they destined to remain as frozen as wretched Ysverai forever? What will become of the sleeping ones in Thesa when there is nowhere else to go but this icy city? Yet not all hope is lost just yet. The woman that appeared at the start of the network errors finally shows up again in another network post. Greetings to you all. I apologize for my abrupt appearance and departure before… My name is Nurray, and I am the closest thing to a monarch that you will find here in Nadril. Magda is... indisposed, so I am here to speak to you in his place. First and foremost, you will notice that your network devices are fully functional once more. Should you experience any further issues, please report them to me immediately so that it can be taken care of. Secondly… Investigating the strange frequency interference we've been experiencing has brought some troubling data to light. The passage of time outside of this colony has been halted, of course, but the hold seems... unstable. Whatever it is that Darma has done to contain the calamity, I doubt that it will last for long. Time is an unpredictable force, and attempting to control it can only have adverse effects on the world. You could stay here if you so chose, outside the reach of that magic... but to do that would be to abandon the rest of this planet to an unenviable fate. ...ah, but there is no need to take my word for it. You can see the effects for yourselves, if you wish — merely look outside. "Seeing is believing"... isn’t that the phrase? Nurray has a point: refugees have not been given a chance to see the outside. The frequent snowstorm barrier of Nadril has made it impossible to see what it's like beyond the colony. Soon after the network post, as though the snow has been "turned off," clouds will clear. With the barrier created by the snow gone, the red sun shines brightly upon the dreary city with its warmth. You can see a purple haze on the south horizon, a indication that Yservai wasn’t all just a dream. He's still there, so far away, yet so close anyway. Near the entrance, a mound of snow melts, revealing steps leading towards the underground. It seems to be a part of the subway station you might have found earlier during your exploration of the colony — this time, the station has been powered on. Two trains lie in wait — their destinations read: Olympia and Wyver. — El Nysa is waiting. FREEZE FRAME     The technology found in the subway station of Nadril is truly out of this world. The combined efforts of Natha technology and alien minds have truly created state-of-the-art transportation never before seen by the typical Nysan. It takes no longer than one hour for the intercoms to announce their arrival to the outskirts of the Dranbu Kingdom — though, even with the platform available, the train never stops; it instead continues for another half hour for it to reach the North Gate of the Olympian Empire, where it sits until it's time to return to the tundra. All in all, it takes a mere hour and a half for this high-speed subway travel from Nadril to Olympia. The second train does make a quick stop at the Olympian Station, but it will be another painless hour and a half until it reaches the jungle of the Wyver Kingdom. Because Wyver is its own island, connected only by a bridge, you might notice that a small part of the travel was underwater. The trip takes only a total of three hours, but there's plenty of time for sightseeing. After all, isn't that the whole point of this trip? BE STILL MY HEART. Leaving the train, you are immediately hit with the still, warm air of the underground. It's hot, much different from the winter of the north, but perhaps a welcome change. The station is old, but it still has a fairly new smell to it, and not just because it's been unused for so long. It feels out of place compared to the rest of this world, and this is especially true when you reach the surface. The entrance was hidden under the earth right near the North Gate. Upon leaving the station, you're immediately hit with the familiar wretched smell and atmosphere of the undead. Even if you're new, you won’tt be able to miss Ysverai, the risen Great Dragon. You see this massive creature on the horizon, mouth wide and ready to blast El Nysa into nothing. Yet he remains still — as are all the terrified residents of Olympia. You've only seen this on the monitors of Thesa Station, and now you're able to experience first-hand how utterly quiet and still the world is now. The native Olympians are all over — you see most of them running away from the Great Dragon. Others equipped their armors and rode their steeds straight toward the danger in hopes of protecting their Empire. And the civilians, having lost all hope, are huddled together — at least they would have been able to spend their final moments with loved ones. Up on Thesa Station, you felt dread when you'd observed Ysverai for too long — this remains true here. That dread reaches your heart and clutches it. You feel his pain and suffering, and for those too in tune with emotions, it may be too much for you to be near him. Best to steer clear from him, or perhaps return to the underground. There is much more to be seen, after all. PRAYING WITH FIRE. Another hour and a half south on the subway, and you'll reach the Wyver Station. It's far warmer here in the station this further south, but Ysverai's dread doesn't reach here. On the surface, you are instead immediately hit with the overwhelming humidity of the jungle. With summer in full swing, the layers you've brought with you from Nadril become a burden. In Wyver, the mood is far different. The Great Dragon Yservai was once a being that was respected and worshipped by the Wyver people — not to mention that the one responsible is none other than Prince Raysc — thus his revival is met with somber resilience. Most of Wyver natives, instead of running away, had gathered around fires in prayer. Trained dragons that were unaffected by Ysverai's influence bow by their master's sides in acceptance of what they feel in their heart is to come with the Great Dragon's final blow. You may even spot your own dragon, eyes beamed up toward Thesa, like it knows you were up there at the moment time stood still. It's hard to imagine where one can go from here. You might start thinking about clean-up efforts, how to achieve proper burials for the fallen ones... but with time frozen, you will find that you cannot actually move anything or anyone. It will be dusk, as Thesa's shines across the skies, when storm cloud gather before Thesa's light. And from the clouds is a familiar figure — Once again, she has descended. TIME & TIME AGAIN     Darma is glowing as bright as the naked eye can perceive. Her massive, true form floats before the world she's built from dust. Is this world salvageable in your eyes, Refugee? We held time in hopes that we fould find a way to dissolve this Ysverai back to the ashes from which he was reanimated. Unfortunately, we continue to be unseeing, thus uncertain of the future... after all, our powers are near depleted. Nurray was correct, Refugee, in that I cannot hold time for much longer. There is... another way, however. It is not ideal by any means, but we shall do what we must to keep Ysverai frozen. As for us... we have expended far too much of our energy — Refugee, I am too aware of the misfortunes you've experienced in your time here. I have failed in my promise to provide better living... perhaps, with more time, I may yet see a better future. Until then, I leave Thesa, our hearts, in your hands. Farewell, Refugee. Her brightness dims as she says her final words — at the same time, raises her arms, palms wide, then closes her hands into a fist. In that instant, time is resumed. It's slow at first, as though time is trying to catch up with reality. It takes a several moments until the slow-motion picture before them reaches normalcy. Darma turns her attention to Yservai, whose motion is also returning, but not for long. In her true form, they are comparable in size; Darma's glow continues to dim as she draws closer to the Great Dragon, and then she coils herself around him, holding him still before assimilating into the wretched creature. By the end of it, time has completely returned to normal, and all residents were able to witness the Natha holding time still for Ysverai — The process turns the Great Dragon, as well as Darma, into stone. HIT PLAY TO REPLAY     Darma has resumed time, and Ysverai is no longer a threat. However, it comes with a hefty price for the Natha. The massive, stone statue of Darma embracing Ysverai looms in the valley between the cities of Olympia and Wyver. It's no doubt an intimidating addition to the world, but there is some peace in knowing it's all over. When civilians finally come to, they can't help but look upon the statue in awe — and their respective cities. It's much to take in all at once. Much destruction has been wrought— buildings lay in ruin, and of the citizens still alive, many look to be in poor physical condition. 1. I. The Sanctuary has sustained much damage, and with the high demand of medical care, cannot serve as the central healing place for those in need. Instead, it is up to individual citizens to find resources and establish places of care. Those with a medical inclination or healing powers may set up medical tents, or work out of their homes. Not everything has been destroyed, and it is still possible to obtain supplies from the market or request them from The Sanctuary. There is also, unfortunately, the tragic task of transporting corpses to graveyards and giving fallen citizens a proper burial. The Temples thank you for your service. II. In order to have a functioning city again, buildings and facilities must be repaired and rebuilt. It's possible your own home was demolished in the battle. With so many important buildings needing to be repaired, city officials are too overwhelmed with the coordination of such tasks to double-check that buildings are restored to their original form. What's more, they seem to encourage design innovation, believing that a new, fresh look to the city will revitalize people's morale. Now is the time to put your own unique flair on the interior or exterior of Olympia's infrastructure. Even parts of the Palace need repair. Time has resumed, yes, but the magic that Darma employs isn't flawless. As powerful of an entity as she may be, to tamper with time is difficult. Some would say it defies the laws of nature. Nature seems to agree, and in the next few weeks, El Nysa will be facing a few hiccups as it finds its equilibrium once more and citizens try to return to normalcy. Strangely enough, El Nysa natives are not disturbed by the occurrence of these events. III. Characters may find that they occasionally (or frequently) suffer from lapses in memory. These difficulties with memory may range from light to severe, although they are thankfully not permanent. Within the span of a few minutes to a few hours, difficulties in remembering people and events are resolved. That isn't to say a similar problem won’t happen again tomorrow… IV. Is it just you, or is your housemate looking a bit old lately? No, it isn't just stress making some citizens appear older. For a short amount of time, some characters may find themselves advancing or regressing in age, both physically and mentally. This particular kind of time hiccup is rare and may be particularly disturbing to the affected person’s friends. Thankfully, there have been no cases of this effect lasting more than an hour. V. At times, it seems as though objects and people in El Nysa will feel a bit out of place. These are beings and things that belong to what some may call "alternate universes." Their presence is transient, and some will only appear for a few instances before returning to their rightful existence. The ones that linger a bit longer, however, may make your day more interesting. Before you stands a pet just like yours, except it talks...? Perhaps you'll meet another version of yourself, a more bloodthirsty version of yourself. Or maybe you'll run into a version of your friend that really enjoys your company. The possibilities are truly endless, and potentially mortifying. VI. Towards the end of the month, the frequency of the aforementioned disturbances will decrease. Following this will be an increase in a different sort of disturbance: one that will either make literal seconds seem like an eternity, or force you to move and talk at a speed you never thought possible. It's as though some higher entity is pressing the fast forward or slow down button on life, and considering your mind works at the same pace as normal, the phenomenon is as frustrating as it sounds. Hope you weren't planning to be on time for anything, because it might be awhile before the universe allows you to take that next step. But these phenomena does draw to a close — and with it, you may wonder what will happen now to those sleeping ones in Thesa now that Darma has turned to stone. After all, it will be near the time of which more refugees should wake... Repairs to Thesa Station should remain ongoing so long as parts can be salvaged from Nadril, at least. And with speed travel via subway possible, it should make travel far easier than ever before. Even with Darma gone, you will have to move forward. There is still much to be done. FINAL OOC NOTES     You may acquire REP for Nadril, and either Olympia or Wyver in this log. An AC-eligible thread for ONE (1) NADRIL REP POINT may be submitted HERE BY AUGUST 26TH, 11:59 PM EST. A second AC-eligible thread for 1 REP for either Olympia OR Wyver may be submitted HERE OR HERE BY AUGUST 26TH, 11:59 PM EST. Please direct questions to the questions thread below! Thank you! QUICK NAV premise ● faq ● lore ● map ● npcs taken ● atp/emp ● application ● rep/acp calendar ● hiatus/drops ● modbox [ FULL NAVIGATION ] elnysa nysalogs nysaisles nysaooc elnyan

Comments

[summertimeblues]

[Richie blinks big. It's still not enough to contain the vision that's finally granted to him. The man is...pretty. He's gussied up, elegant sweater and too well groomed in a way that doesn't remind him of Cary Grant. Being flummoxed robs him of the gift of gab for a moment, so he's forced instead to listen.

Richie blinks again.]

Boyfriend?

[Why does he feel like he needs to contest that? He shakes his head firmly, even if his glasses slip another quarter inch. He pulls from the old rolodex for appropriate response and settles on a wretched approximation of the Lone Ranger's best pal.]

No way Kemosabe. This here Tonto's house! [He frowns. He's fairly sure that's the way of it. It sure feels like home, even if it's absent of both Wentworth and Maggie Tozier and none of his stuff is here.

None that he remembers, anyway. Yet there's a familiar ease to the old turntable, and he knows if he sat on the couch he'd find the best butt dent in it without thinking and sink right in.]

Big Rich sounds like an asshole. Does that make you one too? You wouldn't wear a kid's teeth for earrings would ya? [He grins wide, and pops his mouth open for inspection.] Aaaaaah...

[priorly]

[Boyfriend. Look, Prior will ask himself questions about that later, and maybe Richie will too if he happens to remember - but there is strength in numbers and when one is threatened by invading forces one cannot be blamed for embellishing upon what backup may be waiting in the wings. Prior doesn't know where Richie's gotten to, anyway - it's not a work day. He's half distracted by the thought when the child he's supposed to be wrestling a record player away from interrupts with his impression.]

No, this here Prior's house. [A pause while he pays a fraction more attention] And that's racist.

[Prior looks down to find himself staring into a diminutive open maw. The kid has guts, he'll give him that. But so does Prior, and a certain recklessness when it comes to the possibility of being bitten.]

Me? Oh, I'm a terrible asshole. [He makes for a minute as if he's going to reach in and pinch Richie's tongue, let alone nab a few teeth. The trajectory changes at the last minute and he hooks a finger under Richie's chin to snap his mouth closed again.] For one thing I'm an asshole who doesn't want to know what you had for breakfast this morning. I'm also an asshole who can get you home, If you give me some clue where that is.

[No one this age has escaped the space station, so far as he knows. So this should be a native.

A native familiar with Radio Shack and popular TV from around Prior's own era. Give him a minute, it's starting to roll into place.]

[summertimeblues]

[You bet he'll be asking questions. Probably over a double bourbon or four.

Richie doesn't fight the finger clapping his trap shut with much more than a slight dip of the head to the side and a snicker, but he does continue listening. Somehow, in spite of being threatened by a stranger and called a racist (you oughta meet the Bowers clan, buddy), he doesn't feel panicked. No fear whatsoever, even if this is (should be) his home and there is an unfamiliar (but resonating and warm) man inside it giving him a what-for.

Hell, it's almost fun.]

I already did. This is mine. That's mine too. [He looks off to the side to the coffee table.] I don't remember buying it but I remember putting my feets on it. And that's— [He stops short at the violin.] Well you must have brought that in. That's old hat. Hey Prior, can we get a guitar instead? Or a big old piano? My mom has one and she won't let me play it because she says I bang on it like the devil's got a hold of my fingers, but I'm just trying to do it like Jerry Lee Lewis. Oh!

[He drops the record player on the sofa and jets off. Richie pulls open a cupboard and yanks out the hidden records, flipping through with an ease that only comes with familiarity.]

That's who I was forgetting! God, what a bone-headed move! It ain't a party without a Whole Lotta Shaking Going On.

[Only now might the bag by the door be apparent. There's ten albums inside it give or take, Buddy Holly peeking out of the handle and giving up the jig wholesale.]

[priorly]

[Prior's not really over putting my feets on it (or how this small swamp creature made of mostly hair and glasses has managed to turn endearing all of a sudden) when another little phrase trips him up.

Hey Prior. Like they know each other, when so far as he knows he's a stranger to this infant, and even if the child happens to be looking ever more familiar to him... hey Prior, can we get-. He can't deny a certain vocal recognition in that moment, even if it needs to be tugged down in pitch and (occasionally) enthusiasm.

No, scratch that, the enthusiasm's around the same. Especially when the kid goes for the records with a fond familiarity, like he's someone's ma bringing out the baby photos and demanding everyone else be just as delighted by them.

Prior slumps back and settles with his back against the couch, mildly stunned.]


Maybe you'd have more luck trying for Little Richard instead. Richie?

[summertimeblues]

[That's how children get you. It's a trap, save yourself.

He's deaf, dumb, and blind to the stupor overtaking his company. Too busy fishing through the options and squinting at some of the weird-looking stuff tucked away. Prince? Soundgarden? Pink Floyd? The Heavy sounded like an okay band name, but what on God's green earth was "Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars" supposed to be, hmm? Sounded like a good pulp fiction book. He pauses at the N.W.A., holding it up to the light with a wrinkle between his brows. Boy, those guys looked like they meant mean business.

Couldn't hurt to bring it. He also takes the Led Zeppelin, just because the blimp looked cool.

Meanwhile, the guy behind him finally starts talking sense. Richie perks up doggishly at the mention of another ivory-tickling king, but what really has him turning is the sound of his own name.

He stares the man down for a beat, puzzled.]

If you knew who I was this whole time why were you... [He loses the thought to another wash of know-how. It makes no more sense than anything else has, but it's proper that they know each other. That's Prior. Yes it is indeed. And he's Richie, and they know one another and they're living here, all for certain, bet a dime on it bub.

The protest hits the breaks wholesale now. He has a sudden flash.

In a street. Bitter cold, men so angry you could cook an egg on the livid tops of their heads. Prior yelling, and a brick.

Richie gasps. It was bloody. It was a lot of blood very quickly and the colour in his mind's eye is so lurid it sits like stained glass over the view of Prior now. He drops the records (more carelessly than he should) and darts over, hands reaching up to pat at the man's jawline for the breach.]

Wait, how's your cheek meat? You get it all fixed up? You didn't catch germs did you? Eds said you get titnuss from rusty nails and shit, but I don't know about bricks. Is that why you're limping?

[Eddie said it got you in the jaw, locked you up tight so you starved your bitty self to death. If he was lying to goose him up Richie's gonna give him a solid what-for.]

BAM DOUBLE HITTER

[priorly]

[Wait.

Wait wait wait wait, Prior knows that look. Richie quits mid sentence and looks like something's struck him right in the third eye, and Prior's not sure how, given that he's usually on the other side of such things, but it's all incredibly familiar. He's already working on pushing himself up from the floor, a frustratingly slow process but made quicker when he ignores both pain and caution, when Richie snaps back into the world and darts over, pawing at his face.

And now he's blinking wide eyed up into the concerned expression of a kid who can't be out all of his milk teeth, trying to make sense of - cheek meat?]

The limp's an... old war wound. [True, even if Prior was just a hair too young to have been conscripted for conflict, his body's been signed up all the same.] What just happened? What did you see?

[There's a particular degree of caution to it, familiarity breeding wariness of what proclamations may be made. What he doesn't do is connect back to a dark alley, glimpsing Richie through the flaming torches of an actual mob.]

BURSTS INTO TEARS, STOP BULLYING ME

[summertimeblues]

[He stills his hands, unable to find much for scabbing and less for scars, and off-put by the clear discomfort he's causing. Richie takes a bashful step back, paws still raised but closing up aimlessly.

He regards the man, curious. Okay, so he wasn't bleeding, wasn't hurt like he'd remembered. But it had come at him with such ferocity that it felt like it just happened. Richie nibbles his lip.

When was that, even?]

I...don't know. You had a shoe and a guy threw a brick at you.

[And now that the words are sitting heavy in the open, he can see the insanity of them. It must have been a stupid dream. He looks to his feet, then aside, swinging his arms awkwardly.

For once, he can't think of what to say.]

[priorly]

Oh.

[That's less likely to be a mysterious future event. A little too specific. Prior can feel his cheek twitch when he thinks about it, although the night's violence was too quickly eclipsed by worse things. Things he hopes to whatever Gods may be this kid isn't expected to remember.

Richie's looking like he's just got a scolding, and that's wrong, too. Prior drops the urgency in his voice for something earnest.]

Oh, no, that happened. It's how I met - [Well.] Big Rich. There's probably...

[He tips his head a little, smoothing his hand back along the line of his cheekbone. Anything left of that day will be a silvery fineline, nothing to write home about. But evidence, all the same.]

Sometimes people see strange things, here. The whole place is a little crazy. You'll get used to it.

[summertimeblues]

[Whatever strange force was tugging on Prior puts some slack in the pull. He's off edge now, and Richie joins him, arms ceasing their queasy swing. Instead he clambers onto the couch next to the turntable. He hasn't forgotten it, nor his missive (there's still plenty of daylight left, and now he's all curioused up. Can't leave with that bee still buzzing in his bonnet.]

See things? Like what? Visions? The past? [He wrinkles his nose.] That's a bogus one if I ever heard of it. Getting dinged by bricks doesn't sound like fun. At least I didn't ralph this time. But that—

[—might have been the smoke. It also might not be something to talk about with a sort-of-stranger, who was definitely too old to get it. He stops up short.

Then pulls a saccharine smile and puts his chin in his hands. Golly gee, what a sweetie pie.]

Anyway! You know your way around, right big guy? Where's the best place to shoot cans in this here watering hole?

[priorly]

[Yeah, funny how when he tries to be cute it's somehow less charming than the accidental. Although so help him - ]

Shoot cans? Let me think.

[Let him give himself a minute to get up on the couch and take a photo of that little-orphan-Annie pose.

Prior still doesn't know if the real Richie's about to walk in on himself, or if this is some sort of pocket of storm again, mixing memories with real life like a cloudy cocktail. But either way, he's keeping this one for posterity. And, maybe, blackmail.]

I can think of a place. I'll draw you a map after you promise me you're not packing a BB gun in my apartment. We're a pacifist household.

[Welcome to the pinko liberal left. He's not missed that sudden change in direction, though. Lets go back to that.]

What do you mean you didn't ralph this time? You had more?

[summertimeblues]

[He's about to pull out of the pose and ask what the heck he was doing with that funny slab, but then the purpose of it becomes clear.

So he mugs even bigger, buck teeth front and centre. One for the scrapbooks he reckons, even if his mom would roll her eyes and beg him to behave for a change.]

Aw, come on! I haven't found anything like that! I was gonna rig up a sling shot instead. Get some rocks. You know, clean, wholesome, Church camp fun. Even David needed to belt the giants. I'm just practicin' what's all been preached!

[Yet lo, he has not escaped unscathed. Well.

There are half truths in it he can tell, he supposes. He has to leave out the purpose of the smokehole, and the fact that something's been seen. It was just him and Mike in that sweltering jungle that was Derry before man, before even there was a valley. When the sparking, silver bullet of the stratosphere was shooting down from somewhere far (or near, he thinks with a shiver, remembering the foreign nature of his new home with a near palpable smack), oozing wrongness, sending the creatures of old screeching and stampeding.

It cut the valley into being. And then it waited.

And Richie and Mikey had to be yanked out of the hole so they could puke up their guts above ground and relay the doomsday tale to their pals. Had it even helped to know how old the thing was? Or did that just make its shadow longer? Darker, more impenetrable?

He wets his lips. Half truths. That's the ticket.]

Oh. That was just us kids playing Braves. They used to build lodges and smoke pipes and sit around waiting for their gods to show them the good stuff. Give them a handbook for tough times and all that. We thought it'd be a hoot to try out, so we dug a hole and smoked it up, and then we yakked our lunches up. Bleeaugh!!

[He mimes the incident for extra flourish. Put a little mustard behind it, rolling off the couch for the Oscar winning touch.] Mom's cheese and crackers, fresh back up for the whole gang!

[priorly]

Well onward, Christian Soldier. So long as it's all good clean fun.

[Prior's got to cut in some response to that church camp bullcrap, even with the handy biblical reference thrown in. But Richie seems the kind of kid - no - Richie seems the kind of adult who wouldn't take a slingshot to anything that might yelp if you hit it, and Prior isn't his mother, so there's no doubt he'll be released into the wilds soon enough.

After this little story, at any rate.

This little story which doesn't match up at all with not puking this time, unless the kid's attempt at a vision quest actually resulted in a vision. Funny how the point to the story feels like it's being overlooked for the gross out detail. Which Prior's somewhat too seasoned to squirm at.]

Oh big deal, I puked three different colors yesterday, and that was before lunch.

[He so rarely gets to show off about that.]

But there's no smoke in this hole. You mean you saw something, back in your den in the ground, the way you just saw me taking a hit from those shitheads in the alley? [He's working on not seeming too invested, and throwing in a little cursing seems like it might be one shiny object to distract a kid from that. Besides, all this is probably nothing. Kids see things all the time.

Richie would have told him if he saw visions. They live together, now.

...]

Is that something that happens a lot?

[summertimeblues]

Which colors were they?

[This is the kind of socialite conversation boys lived for. Thanks, buddy.

He's rising from the floor to grip the seat of the couch, adjusting his specs for the umpteenth time. The playful mischief drains out of his face as his position dawns on him. He's not getting out of the door without a real answer, is he?

Richie casts a sidelong glance to the turntable. Could he nab it, nab the bag, and whizz out the door quick enough to escape? Doubtful, especially considering he'd have to come home at some point and this Prior fellow would be here, tap-a-tapping his feet and ready to twist his too big ears.

He's in the shit now, isn't he?]

No.

[to the latter question, and hopefully he'll take it as the former. It's just his luck that he seems sharp, and a sharp grown up is a kid's worst nightmare. They only ever use those smarts when they're trying to catch you out, and rarely to give a hand when it's needed.]

[priorly]

Green, black and regular. And that's a shame. People can do some wacky things here, you might've found somebody who had the same thing.

[He tips a shoulder up, halfway to a shrug, and reaches from where he's sitting to a suddenly-spotted blusher brush on the floor, pinching it up between his fingers like this is suddenly the more interesting thing. This, and not the synaptic response as Prior's question brushed over the sensitive part of a nerve.

While he's dusting the back of his hand with baby soft, only slightly smushed fibres-]

Still, I guess not everybody can have superpowers, right?

[summertimeblues]

[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.

What if there was someone who could help?]

Well...it's not powers. I don't think. Um...

[priorly]

Because you don't control them? [Leading, but he doesn't want to lead too far. He tosses a look Richie's way to show he's listening, but doesn't keep it there long enough to let this feel like an interrogation.

He's interested. Who wouldn't be. Nothing more than that.] Or something else?

[summertimeblues]

[How did he hit it on the nose so darn quick?

Richie's eyes turn owlish. His throat is getting all funny and thick. (A grown up, one who might get it, one who might know something about the unusual and not look the other way...)]

...Yes, but it only—only when there's, um. [Fuck, why is he so terrified to spit it out?

Richie slaps his hands to his face. He can feel the tears pricking up and he doesn't want to cry, he doesn't, but he's spent the whole summer ready to piss his pants and Bill needs help to FINISH it, and he doesn't know what's going to happen or if they even can.

The dam bursts, and Richie is in tears.]

When It's gonna kill ya! Th-that's when!

[priorly]

[Richie's eyes have been owlish this whole time, that's those glasses for you, but the moment he starts looking wet behind the lenses is the moment Prior gives up any pretence of not caring. He catches up Richie's hands, bringing them down bundled up in his own. First things first.]

Nothing is coming for you here, let me tell you that much. [And at the same time there's a presence in the back of his mind, screeching like microphone feedback. The beating of mighty wings. Things can reach this far, things you thought you could outrun. And if Prior knows that, maybe Richie does too. So.] Because if it does, whatever it is, if it so much as tries, it'll have me to deal with. And I am tougher than I look. I have friends here - you do too - with all sorts of powers, people who've fought dragons, and if whatever's scaring you ever, ever tries to reach you here we'll...


[There's really only a moment's pause.]

We'll fuck it up for you. Okay? We'll kick the shit out of it.

[Whether it's an angel or an ordinary man, a monster or an imaginary creature under Richie's bed. No matter that Prior hasn't the first idea how he'd keep this promise, no asshole that makes a little boy tremble this way's getting away with it here.]

[summertimeblues]

[When his hands are gathered up he leans hard into the reception. He squeezes back, gasping through his bawl and trying to hold Prior's gaze even through his miserable humiliation. He gives a big sniff, rounds up the pricks in his eyes again, tries to stuff it all back into the corall, but Prior swears so ferociously to help he's overcome all over again.

He must look like a real baby, bawl it up baby! Go home and cry to mommy!

And that's just it, isn't it? What he really wishes is that he could just say all this to Mom and Dad, and that they wouldn't poo poo him or make him swear off the horror pictures or whatever else. That they'd make all the promises Prior is and they'd mean it, and it would mean something.

He doesn't know what Prior could do. Whether being magic yourself made it possible to see, because the rest of the grown folks for sure couldn't.

Richie huffs again, sucks back a sob and pulls a hand free to wipe at his eyes, his nose.]

I—I don't wanna know what its shit would look like. Maybe just kick its head off.

[He pauses.

Then his arms thread around Prior's neck, standing on tippy toes and working through the last of his hiccups in the shelter of his shoulder.]

[priorly]

[Through all this, and as much as his heart feels like a tinfoil ball someone's scrunching tight, Prior hears one word louder than the others in the things Richie says.

I don't wanna know what it's shit would look like.

Maybe just kick it's head off.

it's.

it.

He sets his own jaw tight when that head of dark curls tucks in just below his throat, wrapping his arms tight round Richie's back and smoothing a hand over shaky shoulders. If he doesn't keep it together, that's a problem. Frightened kids get to be the only one crying in the room. He draws a breath between his teeth and drags his voice to something halfway light.]

Yeah? Well what if it's a shithead, huh?

[He smiles, because the sound of that works its way into a voice, but his lips narrow after.]

Something's been trying to kill me for a long time now. [And that's true in multiple senses, but just now he can see himself standing in front of the angel:

Is that it? You want me dead?

And her beautiful, terrible face betraying a beautiful, terrible truth.] Hasn't managed yet. So you can trust me on this one.

[He moves a hand to muss through Richie's hair, eyes closing tight for a moment to swear -if he has to - he'll somehow make it true.]

[summertimeblues]

[Richie snorts into the fine fabric of Prior's cardigan. Let Elmer Fudd do the talking.]

That's a weeeeeal big mess, wabbit.

[He doesn't like the sound of things, even if Prior's putting a positive spin on the message. That's still stinking of danger, a job unfinished. He says "trying", not "tried", and the final "yet" means the battle's still waging on.

He lets the fingers traipse through his hair, tracing patterns different than what his mother would but packing comfort all the same. Only minutes ago they hadn't been sure who the other was, and now look at them!]

Is that what got you in the leg? [He pulls back. The pasty stretch of his skin is still blotched red and the sheen in his eyes won't dim just yet, but he's not dripping tears and the sniffles have abated.] We'll kick the shit out of that too. You just watch. We'll get all the weirdies in town in on it if we have to.

[He might be scared, oh yes, you bet your fur. But if nobody does anything, then everyone loses. You can be scared all you like but people still got things done while quaking in their boots.

That's just what he'll have to do. Bear through it.]

[priorly]

[Prior drags back enough that he can look at Richie. He'll never be anybody's mother, but there's a few traits of that about him, when you get close enough.]

We don't call them weirdies. [Though no name's actually been assigned, has it. Hm.] Differently abled.

[And sure, maybe they'll rally the troops for him one day, too. The difference being that what he's fighting, no one else can see. No one else can touch. Whatever went after Richie as a kid, Prior assumes they at least have the benefit of knowing it didn't take its mark down. He settles in with his arms a low, loose sling around the kid and... he's got to ask.]

But you're right, we'll get them all on board. So you should really tell me what it is we're looking out for.

[summertimeblues]

How's that any better than weirdies? [It doesn't sound cooler at all.

He settles on the couch next to Prior, accepting the slung arm and leaning into the man's side as he thinks. And isn't that strange, the guy's all ribs. He can feel it even through the shirt. You could probably play them like the xylophone.]

See, that's the whole problem! It could be doing the polka right in front of you and you wouldn't see it. [He sniffs. Slides his arm under his nose to clear the wetness away and clears that on his shirt.] Grown ups don't see anything.

[priorly]

It's not about being better, it's about being polite.

[Prior thinks for a moment, too, not opposed to the small, warm weight tucked in against him even if it's sticky, snotty, and certainly the least fragrant thing in the apartment. He can always light a candle, later.]

Oh - screw it, I'm bored of political correctness anyway, call them what you like. Maybe regular grown-ups don't see much, but weird ones? I wouldn't be so sure about that. When you're a little weird you learn to be careful. Because weird stands out. So maybe you learn to look a little harder than other people might.

[A pause and, well, it's barely an admission of anything in a place like this.]

I see things.

[summertimeblues]

[He's about to squawk in with some terrible Tootles the Butler business, who was a man with a thousand observations about manners, but Prior carries on before he gets his chance. His open jaw snaps shut and he listens with a frown.]

Things like visions?