❪ event ❫ harvest valley

[natha]

THE GREAT HARVEST     While change is inevitable and those on El Nysa have always been adaptable, it’s clear that some things do not change. Citizens in both cities have began finding ways to return to a sense of normalcy, and most have done this by partaking in seasonal traditions and celebrations. With the heat of the previous months finally simmering down, the cooler air signifies the passing of the summer and the start of the great harvest. Though many crops were destroyed in the battle that preceded this event, those that have survived seem to have grown healthier in light of their hardships, and many believe this to be an unspoken blessing. In Wyver, festivities begin earlier in the month. Copious amounts of food are prepared from the first, and refugees will find that the people of Wyver are always hungry. The daily contests of strength are easily turned into contests of appetite. Not partaking, like many things in Wyver, can be taken as a sign of weakness. Losers will find themselves expected to do the bidding of those who win one of these contests. But it's all in good fun, right? Outside of contests, Wyver is keen on creating a festival-like atmosphere. Throughout the month there will be multiple food stalls open featuring food made from the harvest and game available to the city. Due to its popularity, many of the stalls will feature Shanrian’s favorite meat jellies. Refugees will be encouraged to assist in preparing delicacies for the stalls and will be rewarded for their efforts by being given specialty ingredients. When consumed, these foods can heighten one's senses for a period of time, so they're perfect to eat before heading on a quest or hunt. I. With their emphasis on cooking enormous portions of food and gorging themselves for days, it should come to no surprise that a lot of the age-old Wyvern traditions revolve around the act of eating. Particularly, of dining beside their scalier brethren. It isn’t uncommon to see the people of Wyver feed from the claws of dragons, or to mimic the act of a dragon eating on all fours— often sharing the same game (not always cooked either!). The trick to this is knowing how hungry the dragon is and finding the appropriate timing to take a bite without offending the creature. Some dragons are known to be a little more disciplined in this regard, while others are loose cannons. It’s important to be able to gauge this, and the people of Wyver are more than delighted to teach the refugees the tricks of the trade! The bigger question is... does everyone have the stomach for this? II. Maybe from all the eating they do and all the grooming, the dragons tend to avoid people during this time of the year, but some also start to look like they need a bit of help. During this time, native Wyvers use their free time after the steady and grueling days of harvest to maintain and care for the dragons. They help wash them up, take a look at their claws, and even pull some decayed teeth. However, precisely because this is such a tedious process, there's always a need for a helping hand or two to get the job done. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Wyverns are extra keen to grab a refugee or two for the job. They say pulling teeth is easy, the trick is simple after all! Don’t get bitten and don’t let the smell get to you! Seriously though, they advise that the work goes more smoothly in pairs. One person is typically in charge of making sure the dragon’s mouth remains open, while the other does the actual dirty work. While experts can mix this dynamic up a bit, or even work between those roles, it helps to have a starting point at least! III. These months are crucial to the people of Wyver as many of their dragons lay eggs in the later half of winter. In preparation, they believe now to be the most essential time for establishing bonds and building on pre-existing relationships, either between one another, or with the dragons. As they are a people who are proud of strength, Wyverns often display this in every aspect of their lives, including their blood exchange ritual. During this process, they will physically show the closeness between themselves and their companions by using a ceremonial knife to cut into their flesh. The wound they make on one another is meant to act as a symbol of the impact they have in each other’s lives. They are then meant to smear the blood of the individual they cut and mark some part of their body with it. Due to utilizing the specially crafted ceremonial blade, this streak of blood will stick to their skins for the duration of the month— a constant reminder of the bond they’ve formed. There are some variations to this, and there are no rules to how deep the incision must be… some Wyverns are known to take this a little too far, and so this ritual is certainly not for the faint of heart. In Olympia, the celebrations will begin a little later than they do in Wyver. The focus in Olympia seems to be their fruit liquor. Considering their newfound interest in “Thesaens,” it’s no surprise that refugees will find themselves target #1 for trying these various flavors. Additionally, as this act of liquor-making is often experimental, those brave enough to try it will find that the vintages' tastes and their effects will vary in extremes. As these fruits are produced from a vine with magical properties, it won’t be unusual to discover oneself overtaken by a series of strange inclinations that typically amplify whatever positive emotions the drinker is feeling. If they're feeling open and friendly, for example, they'll find themselves oddly handsy and affectionate. If they're feeling inquisitive, they may find themselves oddly invested or overly fixated on something— maybe it's that stray hair on that stranger's face or their unusual eyebrows? But, while the city is full of life and action, this is also a period of time that Olympians celebrate some of their oldest myths. According to their ancestors, this season marks the time of reunion and connection with those who have passed on. It’s said to correlate with the appearance of the constellations that best fit their most notable heroes. For Olympia, this is a time of coming together as a community and displaying a sense of gratitude for the harvest and the people of the city who make it all possible. I. One staple of the season is wine sharing. A form of showing closeness and intimacy with ones’ companions, people often will share a drink together, though, not exactly in an orthodox way. As an icebreaker for joining in a number of gatherings (especially those near temples), people are often seen transferring beverages mouth-to-mouth. The act of swallowing shared wine is meant to display acceptance and tolerance. Even rivals and old foes occasionally partake in this ritual to show mutual respect for one another. Declining can be seen as offensive, however with everyone swiftly becoming intoxicated, it may be easy for the more reserved individuals to bluff their way out of this. II. Food isn’t the only thing harvested during the season. The special magical vines that thrive during this period of time can be utilized as a material for weaving protective accessories. These accessories are traded between friends and lovers all throughout the month. They have a small energizing effect and will permit the wearer to exhibit a little more strength than they normally exhibit. The only catch is that the accessories must be tied on by someone else and be kept for at least a week. When the wearer feels the effects fading, the vines must also be removed by the same person who tied them on. If anyone wears the accessories past this period of time, they will find that they often feel restless and be prone to experiencing sleep paralysis and night terrors. Some Olympians claim that during that state, you can sometimes hear the voices of loved ones from beyond the grave. But, that’s probably just an old wives' tale... THE (IM)POSSIBLE MAZE     Midway between the cities, a vast maze of corn has been erected. Its purpose is twofold — to demonstrate a camaraderie between Olympia and Wyver and to be harvested by each side at the end of the celebrations. Both the Olympians and the Wyverns agree that the first maze of this kind was created in recognition of a treaty from long ago — decades ago, when the treaty was first signed, representatives from each city went into the maze together to demonstrate that they could work in tandem, but instead of emerging victorious, dead Wyverns were found on the Olympian side of the maze, and dead Olympians were found on the Wyvern side of the maze. Depending on who you ask, the specifics of this slaughter vary — some claim that those found dead were killed in self-defense, while others insist it was merely a misunderstanding, and others tout the theory that the truce was deliberately sabotaged. What the people can agree upon now, however, is that with the Thesaens among them, perhaps they can try it again and bring in a bountiful harvest together. Locals are charged silver to enter the maze, but refugees are allowed in for free to experience the tradition for themselves. I. The maze itself is long and winding, with overgrown stalks that block out most of the sky. It is, the promoters insist, not an easy trial to overcome. Those who enter the maze are given sparklers to signal their position for extraction should they become hopelessly lost — but if you manage to make it through the maze, the sparklers can be surrendered to those waiting on the other side for a modest sum of 30 silver each. Team up with someone to make it through… and don’t get lost! II. While this is a time for celebration, there are always some hooligans who don’t quite get into the spirit of things — or who, perhaps, get too much into the spirit of things. Unofficially, some of the locals have taken it upon themselves to sneak into the maze in costume and chase the participants through it. The motivations behind this vary — some are in it for a laugh, some insist that they’re doing it to help strengthen the bonds between the people they chase, and some claim that they’re doing it to prove a point: that the Olympians and Wyverns will turn on each other at the first sign of adversity, and they will even draw blood to show it. Will you make it through the maze despite these unexpected setbacks? Or perhaps this sort of mischievous thing is right up your alley…? III. Of course — and unfortunately — there are also those who get in over their heads. Midway through the festivities, on both sides, parents begin to notice that their children have gone missing… and that there are some decidedly child-like screams coming from the maze. It seems the kids have decided to sneak into the maze themselves and now require some rescuing — luckily, there are plenty of Thesaens around to lend a hand. FINAL OOC NOTES     As a reminder, REP will now primarily be given for completed QUESTS that are available throughout the month, and will not be offered through this event log. Additionally, as stated in the monthly outline, Nadril will still need the assistance of the refugees and there will be an IC call to action for that later in the month. Then as a final note, our Test Drive Meme will be up on October 24th! Thank you! QUICK NAV premise ● faq ● lore ● map ● npcs ● bestiary taken ● atp/emp ● application ● rep/acp ● quest bulletin calendar ● hiatus/drops ● modbox [ FULL NAVIGATION ] elnysa nysalogs nysaisles nysaooc elnyan

Comments

[priorly]

[It's too late for that. He's worrying a lilac nail against the raggedy strands, chlorophyll staining his fingertips before the thing finally snaps and peels off in the pincer of his grip.]

I'm not changing the subject, I'm getting back to it. They go bad. Bad juju. Somebody got hauled out of a place up the street last week for bringing up bad blood with his long-passed papa. Didn't you hear about that?

[It all sounds like the scolding someone's mother would give them for muddying the knees of their sunday suit. He holds the vine at arm's length, worrying it a little before slinging it away and rubbing his hands until he's sloughed a layer of skin off along with the last traces of vine juice. It's a furious moment of busyness, and when it's done he's right back where he was before with that leading line hanging over him. There's an undeniable ache for it to be true.

But you can't know what you'd like to hear until you've heard it. It's all very nice to want to be supportive before you know the detail. And maybe it won't change things, maybe things here are mad enough that it'll just be a drop in the ocean. What's one more cuckoo in a tree full of them, etcetera.

But maybe it will. And Prior's had himself convinced that Richie's from his world for the longest time now: his world, not some twist on a theme. There are plenty of people here who say Earth's home, not much has changed, but they live underwater. That's not Prior's earth. All of which makes Richie the single solitary schmuck keeping Prior from being the sole survivor. He feels like home.

He just feels like home.

And now his home's a land of unseen monsters and

God almighty, maybe they do share a world. What's heaven without a dark mirror. He catches himself before he laughs, but there's something of the absurdity leaving traces in his voice.]

If you still see things now, visions, then they're you. If not, blame lax horticulture.

[summertimeblues]

No, I didn't hear — now what the devil has that got to do with these pea shoots?

[Let the pieces snap into place on this jigsaw, give him a second to catch up Prior. The guy's severed the weed and tossed it away before Richie's got the wherewithal to connect the dots.

You see, when the intended effect is a physical enhancement, one would expect the drawback to be likewise. Giveth and taketh away. Seems that even magic doesn't work in such a straight line. He'd expect sloppy work of new pills. There was always a rolling scroll of side effects on every one, but for the most part they stayed in their own sensible lanes. The leap from a muscle boost to hearing goddamn ghosts? You'd think he was padding his ass with a Ouija board all week.

Richie's nose wrinkles. Lip curls, brows knit. Not unlike the fury that overtook him when he'd spotted the mistletoe dangling over Byerly's head.]

Oh isn't that just rich. Isn't that a hoot and a half? Where the fuck do these people get off passing around direct lines to the dead? [Maybe half the fault's on him for being stupid enough to leave them on. Fair. Maybe it's on him for not triple checking with the dealer about the fine print.

The most blame Richie can see lies square on the people that made this shit and passed it out like party favours. And he wasn't the only one suffering for it. No no no, whoever that was in the street Prior was talking about got front row tickets to the All Dead Rock Show, same as him. He's betting the casualties count more than two.]

Say Prior, what say you we set up some FDA committee? Since no one else will put up a damn standard about what's safe to push on people. Not even after Ysevrai came through, I bet those ghosts are a real gas riot—

[He stops himself short with a hard click of the jaw. They were all well aware what those spooks were like.

Richie takes a hard look at his feet. Grits his teeth like he might have something more to say. Turns out he just needs to wipe his face one last time before he sets to work on freeing Prior of the same curse. He'd tied one strand on the guy himself. Looks like half the village joined in after.]

Look at you, Mister Popularity over here. [His fingers slip under the first vine and tug.]

[priorly]

[Oh christ on a bike, Richie, didn't anybody read the manual for these things? Prior's hand twists in against Richie's wrist in a trice, his grip tighter than it should be thanks to the sprouts still looking verdant halfway to his elbow.]

Only the one you put on. [A warning note to his tone, he carefully, carefully unhooks Richie's fingers and crooks them again beside the next band up, growing slowly knotted and brown against his pulse point.] I'll follow up with the rest of them, never fear. And frankly I would take poison plants over the pharmaceutical authories back home. I don't know that I'd like to don that shadowy mantle. But it's not this, for me.

[It couldn't be, could it. He wasn't dressed up like Poison Ivy the day he made his little confession to little Richard (and to think he'd just been grateful Richie forgot enough not to bring 'Big Rich' up again).

He's quiet, long enough to make it seem like the subject's changed, or at least diverted a little. He's still on the afterlife, after all:]

Do you, um. [There's a pause, a shake of his head, a little jolt to make himself spit it out.] Do you believe in angels?

[summertimeblues]

[He didn't get no stinkin' manual. Do you think he'd agree to the new bracelet if he did?

The correction is met with more grousing. Further complications, how quaint. One good yoink ends the life of the scraggly vine he'd tied on himself. Richie dangles it a moment with the same affection he's show hairballs yanked out of the tub drain, and tosses it with equal gusto.]

Oh God, are you kidding me? You're wacko, Pry. Absolutely nutter-butter. I can't stand this magic shit. Maybe it works out for other people, but in my experience? When its on your side it's about as reliable as a blind guide dog, and when it's not your ass is grass before you can lift a finger. [Evidenced by what they'd just witnessed. He gives a shudder and his eyeballs try to resurrect those tears he'd shucked away. Richie's laughing, thumb and finger jabbing into his cinched-shut eyes.

Give it five. Four. Three. Two...

There we go. The fit is tucked away again. Richie breathes heavy even so, because the matter's not over with is it? Now he's got to inoculate Prior as best as he can against what sleeps upstairs, same as he did to Gamora. Red. Boxer. Byerly. And not long after he'd disclosed the details each and every one of those chums teeter-tottered off to slumberland for good. Almost as if the words were cursed. He's the ghoul of King Tut's tomb, he's the wicked things sealed in Pandora's box. Don't let him out, you'll regret it more than you know.

Better than the alternative. It wakes up and It comes for those who know too much.

Prior's given him the silence needed to let Richie damn him. Then he takes it away, Richie's cowardice stopping up his tongue at the root.]

Angels? [He looks incredulously to the other man. Richie cracks a laugh again.] Sure. You're looking at one.

[priorly]

[Prior's last nerve sizzles and chars out at the look Richie turns on him. As if he hasn't just run the same gamut of emotion listening to the stories of animated dummies stalking the streets of a small town. Crazy, and just crazy enough to be true at the same time.

But Angels? Prior knows it's different. Bring God into anything and there's a whole new world of neon-blue eyeshadowed, televangelistic crazy to take into account. Too many people are credulous for a rational mind not to question.

Well, if Prior still does, why not.

He rubs a hand up against the back of his neck and casts a frazzled smile across at Richie, letting the thought of truth fly away on gossamer wings in favor of wry humor.]

You could at least have put that the other way round. Still, who would, in a place like this.

[In a city with a giant statue that used to be .... something standing guard over them, and heaven reached by teleporter, and paradise thoroughly lost.

Sniffing through some betraying remaining traces of tears, Prior reaches out to brush his thumb against the outer flick of Richie's eyelashes where something wet still gleams.]

Don't fret, I'll get mine taken off in time. Don't begrudge me one more day with a little extra strength.

[summertimeblues]

Oh, I don't know if that's fair, honeychile. There's enough worlds out there. Jesus has got to be the real deal in one of them. [He snorts, amused.] Or we've got it all backwards, and it's Mohammed and Allah after all. You know some gal was telling me she palled around with Thor, of all deities? We'll meet Moses yet, baby, you just mark the days.

[What a curious question, now that he thinks about it. Angels. He doesn't think he's heard the word outside of a joke or chats with the mystifyingly devout Monsieur Ultime (née Jean Valjean, but such information had never been divulged to the likes of Richie).

Prior wipes the aborted tears from his lashes like a lover might. Richie's query vanishes in a poof of smoke. He ought to shirk the intimacy but he's about eighty percent certain Prior Walter was the only person around keeping him the right side of sane.]

One more day, sure. [He reciprocates by grabbing his shoulder. Squeezing it. Affirmation, I'm okay and you're okay. Gently, he turns them. It's high time they take this ugly scene out of the street. The occasion calls for scotch, and a gallon of it.] You're gonna need it me foine boyo, yer nuthin but a scarecrow that nicked the preacher's toupee. Jes look at these twiggy ahrms!

[He reaches down to give Prior's elbow a wiggle and hopes for a silly wiggle in the limp hand before he's shaken off or one-upped. It's a toss up with this man.

Richie's lips thin soon after. His tone takes a hush.]

It's upstairs, Pry.

[priorly]

Is Moses really who you'd be waiting on? I mean, if sandy robes and a terrible temper are your thing... [Prior's mind skims through the sparse religious education he manages to remember. He's paid more interest to the text, recently: here, of course, there's no way to get a copy and few people to question about it. So, with the fragments of what he knows:] Though no wonder, on the latter part. Endless years in the desert only to die before entering the promised land. They screw over prophets, you know - you'd have a temper too.

[He's leaning into Richie as they walk, not ready yet to stand too far alone and confused somewhere along the line over who should be holding who up. Which makes him close enough for a yelp at that grab for his elbow, the ticklish shiver that goes right up his arm.]

Well that's rich, coming from a man more matchstick than muscle. You couldn't scare crows, turn sideways and they wouldn't know you were there.

[He takes Richie's hand only to tug his arm forward for examination and drop it again, no question in the verdict. They're nearly home, and Prior thinks of completing the skit by asking if Richie wants a piggy-back up, when he's shifted off course again.

It takes a minute not to connect it to their home.]

It's - [But light dawns, with a flick of his focus upwards along with the upward squeak of his voice. ] You mean in a pod? Like some kind of house-of-horrors visitor attraction?

[It means it could wake up, to continue that thought.]

all of this prophet foreshadowing is going to make him feel so stupid when he finds out

[summertimeblues]

You betcha. Only a nickel admission.

[God. There were parts of those glassy halls that did seem like the horror section in Madame Tussaud's. Monsters lurked behind the eyes of regular looking men and women to be sure, but there were literal cases abound. What were their merits in the new world? He'd asked himself that question ceaselessly, but neither Natha nor philosophizing would answer him.]

I found it with Steve Trevor in my first week here. Around the corner from the gang. Thank Christ for that, I'd be bald and getting monthly strokes if it was sitting next to Big Bill and the gang. Visiting hours are sour enough, but...

[It seems prudent to sling an arm around the younger man, so he does it. Richie's head sticks to a semi-bowed position. Eyes on the cobblestone and the tips of their feet as they walk.]

It's there. As the clown. It's stuck that way for now, but if It wakes up it can and will be anything it wants. Whatever scares you, that's what you'll see first. It's more like a mirror than anything. Those disguises are reflections. It can pull things out of your head. It can answer the little voice you talk to yourself with inside, and it'll drag up all the nastiest shit you've been through just to see you crack. But really, kids scare the easiest. Every bugger's got a boogeyman, don't they? That's quick business. Slip into Boris Karloff's skin for a minute and it's a one and done deal.

[Grown folks have their fears, but they splinter and morph into intangible things. Unemployment. Heartbreak. Loss. They'd still jump at ghouls, but kids did it oh so much better.]

But it will kill adults. [Richie gives an acidic grin.] Particularly if It thinks they're a problem.

[priorly]

But most people can't see it. That's what you said. [It's a little too easy to look at Richie and remember him small and terrified.] You said you only see it when it wants to kill you. And it seems its hit rate is above average.

[Prior's jaw squares off, mouth a narrowed line. He's been fed little morsels about all this for longer than he realises. It's just now that he's starting to figure out they're all shaken from the same cake.]

That's your serial killer. The one you went back for. You had to go back, because nobody else ever got away and all those parents and teachers and passers by who never saw when it was after you... you can't be like them. It's too late for you to try. Right?

[There's a softness to the question, almost as if he wants to be told he's gone wrong somewhere and Richie and his small group of survivors weren't called upon to try their luck again.

They're at their building now and Prior shrugs off Richie's arm, taking the step first and turning to him.]

You must have felt caught between crazy and like the only sane ones in the world. That's a lot for a few people to carry alone.

[summertimeblues]

[Richie gazes up at Prior like a vision from above. He claps those fine boned cheeks in both hands, jest and gesture sincere in one.]

Baby I could kiss you right now. Is that your plan? Because I huh-ate this talk, nothing worse in the world and I've interviewed Ozzy Osbourne, so you know I'm not fooling around.

[He lets go, wiping at his own brow and fluffing his already too-wild hair. He's overdue for a snip, make a note to check for a barber tomorrow.]

It wasn't as if I had to contend with it my whole life. We forgot. When we moved out of town we all forgot, it slipped out of our heads like water through a sieve. It never seemed strange to me that I couldn't remember the summer of fifty-nine, I mean, who's got a play-by-play recollection of their baby years anyhow? But that was part of the trick, too. Some other force was keeping it out of the way. Then it woke up again, twenty seven years later — it's like some Grecian myth, I swear, it runs on this clock and takes its sacrifices for a year, it lives in this labyrinth of sewers under the city — legendary, am I right?

Anyway, twenty seven years later we all get a call from Mikey and things start coming back. I hucked up my lunch, breakfast, and dinner from the night before when I remembered what happened to Georgie. It wasn't until we got back to Derry that the locks started popping on all those closets, those trap doors. I didn't believe it even then. I didn't believe it when I popped a fortune cookie and there was an eyeball inside. It wasn't until I sat under that same statue in the square, and then I'm staring down a twenty foot clown that's bending over to waft the breath of death over my face. All it had to do was point, and my eyes — it was like being stabbed through to my fucking brain.

And nobody stopped to look. Not a one. There was a toddler, he started wailing when It called for me as I ran away chicken, but that's it. And Pry, there is a way to fight it. A ritual to kill it for good, but that part hasn't come back yet. We didn't get to finish the homecoming tour, the apocalypse came before that.

[He grips both of Prior's biceps. His supernatural strength is dead and gone by now but you wouldn't know it from the urgent curl of his boney fingers. His eyes are wide and desperate.]

So if it does wake here, you gotta promise me. If you see It, if it comes for you, don't you fight it. You run. It's not regular. We shot it once with a gun, and it did squat. My voice — you remember the alley? That's the kind of shit that does it, but it's not reliable. And I'm not sure anyone else can pull it off but the seven of us.

[He pauses.]

Six. [He grins.] Or maybe just one. I'm hoping not just one.

[priorly]

[Prior listens faithfully through this, even the parts that make him bristle, even with Richie's thumbs pressing their prints into his arm. He doesn't pull away - lets what's got him manic work its way out. Anyone looking at Richie now couldn't help but believe that whatever insanity's tripping off his tongue is true, at least to him. He's not recalling so much as reliving it, images painted bright enough to read off his retinas, no matter how long forgotten before.

There's an ache to that grin that makes Prior's own jaw hurt.]

I hope you realize that's terrible advice. [It's benevolent. A gentle let down.] You're a good idiot, but an idiot all the same, if the best suggestion you can give a lame duck is to run.

[He runs the next sentence on quick, voice preemptively raised over any protest.]

I'm not too proud to run from an impossible fight: I'm not that kind of dope. But I've tried running, all it does is run me down. And I am damned if I'm letting Bozo the Butcher catch up to me from behind. So, assuming it wakes - which it won't, but just in case–

[He made this promise first, months ago now. Who knew this was what he was getting into.]

Then I'm sorry, but at least it's not – it's never going to be just one. [I'm tougher than I look is what he'd said back then. And maybe that was a lie, but the one thing Prior does have is an unshakeable sense that Heaven's got no plans to let him die until they're done with him. And his work is long-off over. So. Like he promised –]

We'll kick the shit out of it. We'll find a way. And you're a dark horse, I thought I imagined what happened in the alley. I'm still not sure what it was.

[summertimeblues]

[Neither sense, fright, nor any amount of concern can stop this confession from reaching its natural conclusion. Prior takes all that his warnings and decides that he won't run.

It'd be admirable if it wasn't going to scare the shit out of him forever.

Richie's head dips low as he laughs, painting the chuckles over the tops of their feet.]

Simple Rich, that's me. Forgetting your leg, what a dumbass gaffe. [He hadn't forgotten and neither one of them are hapless enough to believe it. He just didn't want Prior to do this.

Outside the fear that knowing more scooted your head closer to the chopping block, Richie's bigger worry was the gumption of everyone around. Why would he tell a soul? They were all apt to swear in, sword and axe at the ready. Would any of them be able to do shit? How would you prepare them? Could the strange, insipidly childish magic imbued in him extend to these strangers? The people outside their cloistered circle? Would Prior summon up some vestige of Cowboys and Indians and shoot real bullets out of finger guns? If anyone had a chance at harvesting make-believe — and it was still oh-so-slim — it might have been the kids. But they were far closer to twenty than ten, and telling them about the clown was as good as sitting them on death row. No better than the draft, and probably a deadlier task to boot. Richie couldn't live with that on his conscience.

He can't live with this on it either.]

I don't know myself. It comes as it pleases and then goes just as easy. I don't even think it's me.

[Which is why you shouldn't try fighting it, Prior my dear. If the chosen champions know fuck all about what's to do or how to get it done, it's a pretty lost cause for an outsider. Wouldn't you say? Won't you pretty-pretty-please promise to stay away? Stay safe?

He says none of this. He's grateful. Please don't get him wrong, because all of that doubt is leaking out of the pores on his face like sweat on a summer day. He looks back up and gives them skinny shoulders a squeeze of resignation. No eulogies to write yet but he's got to start the brainstorm sometime. Prior has death hanging over him from another unstoppable force already. How cruel is life to pile on another?

Even so, the worry cracks and sloughs away. The strain between Richie's brows loosens, and though he still looks in need of a Rip Van Winkle sleep what remains on his face is a pure love. The kind he cast on Beverly when she was still around. The kind he showed to Bill and Mike and Ben and Eds, sitting down with them for the first time in nearly thirty years and finding that he loved them just as ferociously in their strange, sagging, bulging, stretched adult forms as he had when their knees were knobbly and bruised.

You can't buy this kind of dedication. He knows that. To find a friend like this is a rare thing indeed.]

You're something else. I hope you know, Pry. [He climbs those stairs at last. Draws Prior in for a hug, tight and urgent and not one bit the desperate cling he'd been giving while listening to Georgie wailing, but just as earnest. It's "thank you" in a better language. Richie pulls off with heated ears and darting eyes, sheepish and eager to pass this ugly conversation by.]

Lou was a fucking fool to ditch you.