i said a-MONAAAAY......CHANGES EV-REEEY-THAAaaang....[Closed]

[summertimeblues]

Who: Richie Tozier (summertimeblues) & Red (persistor), Boxer (desistor), Sandra the Unseeing (tutorb), and J.J. Leroy (underwhelms), possibly others
What: Mission stuff!! And a catch-all for January if need be
When: Early January
Where: Olympia, visiting Wyver for the lovely mountains and lakes and the profit they hold
Warning(s): Potty mouths, perhaps dirty humor, maybe a violence...also J.J. is a terrible embarrassment to dw rp and Canada as a whole, I'm threading with him so you don't have to. You're welcome.



Rod and Bexer - Disturbing the Dead

[Not a month ago, Richie would have outright laughed if you told him to hitch up his suspenders and drag his ass out for a tomb raid. The whole thing would have seemed ludicrous. Childish even, searching for buried treasure in taped off ruins. That's the shit you pulled when you were fourteen and bored and you hear a rumor that the old mill's light turns on by itself at the stroke of midnight.

But call him curious. Or suitably bored. Suitably irritated with how daily life in Olympia now means he's serving liquor to men and women who can't shut up about what a pack of ingrates the good folks of Wyver are. That insipid survey that'd been floating around ground his gears further. Though the two situations hardly co-relate, rising dissent versus hunkering around in caves for trinkets, some irrepressible madness was stirring in him. A need to dissent himself, the likes of which he'd abandoned in his early thirties when he cast off the picket signs and weekend marches. Get his head out of the puckered asshole Olympia was becoming and throw a middle finger to the air.

Also, his wages as a barkeep were fair, but he was used to far, far better. This had money involved.

He contacted Red on a whim for company (and for a moment doubted the choice — she was a mute, would that make it harder to navigate together? They'd have their phones but maybe she'd be stuck doing hambones and finger snaps to call his attention if there was a bat nest he might trip into) and she'd responded quick enough that there was nothing more to discuss. The pair were to meet at the mouth of the mountain and make the trip into the crypt together.

Except the pair's more like a trio.]

So I've gotta say, of all the coincidences I could have imagined, I wouldn't have sat you two down on a love seat if you paid me ten dollars to think it over. Don't I look the fool.

["Wally" is human now, the light from the flashlight catching his fleshy ridges and the leather of his jacket, but he's dragging the sword with him. The sword that he lives in, clinking over ancient stone as they pass into the dark world of the dead. The world's most solid hologram, folks, step right up and take a poke yourself! You won't believe your eyes!] I take it that you hitched wagons before all of that. Or you're a Super Freak the likes of which Rick James couldn't conceive. Congratulations Red, I'm impressed.


Sandy Crabs - A Day in the Life

[The second rebellion takes place on a deceptively more forgiving stage. There's no ghosts or trap doors, but there's pitfalls here all the same. This one is bordering on (or in fact, is) illegal. Something a sensible adult wouldn't have done, and he wouldn't have dared as a grown man in California. There was no risk worth taking it for. In Maine, maybe, but the snooping they'd had to do laid firmly outside of the realm of man and institutions. This was legitimate espionage.

Richie's only been here how long, now? Two, edging on three months? He can't decide if this sudden bout of daring is a healthy change or a stupid one.

This time, he enlists what he can only imagine is the perfect accomplice for the job. She's travel-sized, smart, a verified psychic, and easily hidden into small spaces. Hello Sandra, we're very impressed with your resume and we'd like to welcome you on board. Happy to have you on the team.

They slip through security with relative ease. Sandra's got a neat trick there: blind she may be, but unseeing is a damn lie. She confirms or denies the presence of approaching bodies, and only through her cheats does Richie slip through doors and around the right corners until they hit the office they need.]

You oughta do this full time, babe. You're a dab hand at playing dispatch for thieves. [Richie shuts the door behind them with his heel, and gently props the old gal on the sprawling desktop as he takes a quick gander around.] Maybe we can get you some wheels. Motor you around and you can zip in where man may not follow.


Jimmy Johns Leeroy - Preaching in the Material World

[After all that recklessness, he's ready for something a little more sedate. A trip to the country, so to speak. Luckily there's an option to earn some money there too, and as much as he misses swimming daily in pools or long California beaches, he can only shudder remembering that horking motherfucker that tried to bite his face off on the boat trip in. The lakes might be inland, but even so? No thanks.

He opts to get quartz from the Edrathe Ruins instead. Sets off early in the day so he has a bit of time to see the sights as well, admiring the graceful lines of ancient monuments and having a quick lunch on a snowy knoll. The weather has been downright amicable, even if there's no melt. While the sun is still high and he has plenty of hours to make it back to town, he treks into the dark.

It's some time before he comes across what he needs. He's careful to chart his way through the cave. While not labyrinthe, it's dim and deep enough that he feels caution is necessary. Richie hums, wedging the light between his shoulder and cheek as he pries the crystals off the wall.

There's a splashing sound from further ahead.

He freezes. Whips the light around with a hunchback's pirouette. His hands are still on his knapsack and the rocks so he has to tuck them away before fetching the light proper. Richie waves the light this way and that, but only sees the esophagus of bedrock stretching longer and longer down. How deep does this go?

What's splashing around in the dark down there?

For once, he opts to stay silent. He's alone out here, he's sure of it...]


((if you want to do something in our fair month of January, please feel free to shoot me a PM on this journal! Happy to throw up closed starters anytime.))

Comments

[persistor]

[ In theory, this is an awful idea. In theory. But in theory she shouldn't have lost her voice, and in theory she should have been alone that night. In theory she should be in the Country, or in Cloudbank spending the rest of her days haunted by pristine, white buildings. In theory Boxer shouldn't be by her side again.

But then, Red's never been much for theories. Which is why she agrees the moment the text arrives, in all honesty — no time to think about whether or not it's a good idea if she just snatches the first offer that shows up. The life in Olympia is a comfortable one, a safe one, but that's what makes the thought of exploring a tomb that much more exciting. And then Boxer caught wind of it, which means he wanted to join, and — well, Richie probably doesn't mind the extra hand.

Or he does, a little. At least from the way he seems to speak about it; she tears her gaze from the old walls ( actually bricked, amazing ) to raise an eyebrow at Richie. Her shoulders tensing despite her best efforts, because lighthearted or not, it prickles at the worst of her nerves and no one should be talking to Boxer like that, really.

So, her answer comes with a dignified silence. Making a point to not look at Boxer ( because she has a feeling she'll know what he's about to say ), but instead look down. It's not long before she lifts her foot, shifts it to the side, then comes down on Richie's shoes. It's not a stomp, but she knows how to aim the heels. So.

"Dignified silence." Her gaze moves to her phone, but she looks entirely smug with herself. She almost contemplates adding in a jealous? But she's probably made her point clear. ] Which way? [ Addressed to both of them, but she has a feeling Boxer has a better idea. ]

[desistor]

[Look, if Red thinks he's not going to be interested in tagging along while she goes gallivanting through trap-laden tombs, she's kidding herself. He's paused to haul the Transistor up onto a shoulder when Richie's chatter starts tipping kind of crude for his patience. (Dangerous territory, bud. Say what you want about him, but—)

Red's never needed help defending herself, though. Most of the time, she tends to beat him to it. And he can see the stiff in her shoulders that says she's losing her patience, too. (Tends to be a much swifter process for her.) While Boxer's still weighing the pros and cons of telling the guy to can it on the invasive questions before he feels the need to do it for him, she drives a heel decisively into Richie's asking-for-it foot.

That answers that. He smothers his smile not a bit and chooses to follow suit on the dignified silence. Instead, he catches up to Red as she finishes texting. Subtly puts himself between them like he's done it a thousand times before and takes her free hand in his as he reads the question off her screen. As if in reassurance, or thanks, or to make sure this scuffle stops at stomping. Probably not the place to pick a fight.]

Search me. This whole place's gone off to the Country. Let's see...

[His sense of direction is one of his more reliable skills, but this is uncharted territory in basically every way. On the plus side, the Transistor's been doing its best to acclimate to the new world it's wound up in, day by day. So while it's not as effective or as immediate as it tended to be in Cloudbank, every now and then—

As if to oblige him, a little white >come closer prompt renders into his attention. Somewhere deep in the distance, down one of several near-identical spooky corridors, blinking into existence in his field of view and into his hindbrain, like he'd just forgotten to notice it the first time around.

Good a lead as any.]

Think there's something down that way.

[summertimeblues]

—Yeowch! [This day was a long time coming.

The heel presses down before he can dodge and Richie looses a yelp more befitting a trod-upon Yorkie than a man. And yet?]

Heh-heh-heh-heh... [He's suddenly giggling. The boy he'd been nearly thirty years ago makes an unexpected comeback in the high rise and the way his head ducks to hide the snicker. If you looked quick you might even catch sight of him. An optical illusion of youth, living just under the surface of this old man's skin.

It's almost as if they'd given him exactly what he wanted. People here had been far too polite: he hasn't heard the words "shut up" in so long he was liable to forget they existed.

The boyfriend moves smoothly into the space between them. It's so cute, you oughta stick it in a Coke commercial. Richie throws the man a wink. He speaks breathily.] I was hoping you'd get close to me...

[He backs off when Red's whipping out the phone. The way Wally picks looks absolutely unremarkable to Richie, but hey. Path's a path, and as long as they come out of this with something shiny, the good man Cree will cross their palms with coins of silver.] Seems like a decent bet. Keep watch for patterns in the stones and what-have-you. Whole place is supposed to be booby trapped. You step on a bad tile and we might have to start dodging boulders.

[On that merry note Richie strides forward, one hand in his pocket and the other on the flashlight. It's not confidence pushing him forth so much as curiosity. His light flicks this way and that, and indeed he is checking for patterns. Suspicious blow dart shaped holes in the wall, drops of old blood. Anything that might give Indiana Jones gooseflesh.

The first sign of trouble is a relatively predictable one. Eventually the parchment yellow of the brick breaks for shadow, then continues on after the pause into endless twists. A gap in the floor, just long enough to make you think you could clear the jump. But take a closer look (and Richie does) and you might find that down below are all the people that assumed the same.

They're little better than bones and tattered fabric now, but the way they've curled around the stone spikes at the bottom of the pit gives you all the fuel you need to imagine how the fall felt.

Richie clucks his tongue and moves his flashlight beam back up to the wall adjacent.]

Chee-rist. Either of you excel at the long jump?

this is the clunkiest tag i've written in forever i'm sorry

[persistor]

[ Since he seems to be asking for it: the flirting earns a small glare from Red, largely stripped of humor. Before a flicker of a smile disrupts the entire look she wants to give off — because for as close as Richie was to skirting dangerous territories, Red's a person for the public. This is the closest thing she's going to get with verbal sparring, anytime soon ( also she's definitely interpreting Boxer's hand as a sign to cool off, and follow along with the rest of the group ).

Except — she expects smooth sailing, and then gets anything but. Maybe she's putting too much faith in a tool that was very obviously built for another city. But the reliance on it is surprisingly hard to break, even if she's not the one normally carrying it around — either way, her lips twist into a small frown, as she studies the drop. The other side looks stable, at least, which means, maybe—

It's definitely the thrill seeker in her that has her attempting this in the first place. Her expression shifts to something wicked, and she looks up at Boxer. No time to ask for permission, not from either of them, because she has a nagging feeling that if she were to suggest this she's going to be met with a resounding no. So her hand reaches for the Transistor, and gently dislodges it from Boxer's grip — all the while dislodging her own hand from his grip, as well. If questioned, she simply smiles back, until the Transistor's completely in her possession again.

... Then, the following things happen in rapid succession: she throws the giant, glowing sword to the other side of the pit, and jumps after it. She makes the jump with startling ease, but before either of them give her shit for it—

She takes a few steps back, plants the Transistor on the ground, and — the remaining duo should feel a sudden force pushing them towards the other side. And succeed, probably — hello from the other side ( the protag solvin' all your problems, gents and ... gents ). ]

gpoy.

[desistor]

[Yeah, nothing cuter than trying to keep your gf from clocking a dude in the middle of a booby-trapped dungeon. Richie gets a slightly more verbal response from him—a sharp and amused sounding snort from Boxer's direction. Not offended, just incredulous. A loudly unsaid yeah, right, pull the other one—

But he affords more attention to where they're going, as per Richie's advice. Keeps a mental tally of the inconsistencies in the halls. The turns they take, as they take them. Stops short once the ground changes beneath them, to lean over the gap.]

Yikes. Rough landing.

[...and he looks back up, once Red seems to settle on a course of action. (She always does have a plan.) But he frowns, not-quite-following.]

Hey, Red... What're you thinking? [A beat, as she pries the Transistor from his hands. (He hesitates. But she's the USER, and part of him relinquishes control without even thinking.)] Red? Hey. Hey wait—!

[Too late. She's off and over the gap before he can do anything about it. And the before he can catch his breath, she's slamming it down to Get() the both of them over the gap with a flash of light and a rush of vertigo.

It's the first time he's experienced the Transistor in use while he's (sort of) outside it. Couple it with the sudden vertigo of the jump, and the whole thing is a little hard to reconcile from a sensory standpoint. He staggers a little on the landing. Claps a hand on her (his? someone's.) shoulder as if to steady himself. Eyes closed, as if motion-sick. Breathless, slightly harried—]

Lets...not do that again.

you're right, i deserve better. let's end this thread and never converse again.

[summertimeblues]

[What, Wally, don't you believe you're a handsome man?

Richie's more than a touch anxious at Red's sudden jubilation. See, this was why he should have thought twice before he texted her. Talking through the phones the whole way was going to be too clunky, and if she got some brilliant idea they might not have the time to hash it through proper.

Like now, for instance. Wally's trepidation spells bad news. The sword yanking is equally alarming. (Was he going to disappear in a puff of smoke if she swung it wrong?)]

Red, what the fuck, slow it dow— RED NO!!

[He reaches and fails to catch her before she is fucking leaping over the gap like she's gunning for gold in the long jump. Richie gapes in her wake. Sure it's not the most fantastical thing he'd seen, considering her sword boyfriend is up here rubbing elbows with him, but it's a feat and he's flummoxed all the same.

He doesn't get much chance to say anything about it, because then the real nonsense begins. That pull in his gut has him throwing his arms over his face (no no no no no no) and the wind whooshing past his ears has him convinced for a split second that he's falling.

Yet his feet skitter over tile and there's a decided lack of impaling when it's all over. Richie looks up from the nest of his arms. Looks to his compatriots. Looks back behind them. Then he gives them a flat stare.]

Why didn't you warn me that you were a pair of damn wizards? You owe me a new pair of shorts.

[His might not last the trip if this crap keeps up.]

nah love me

[persistor]

[ And — yeah, maybe she should have thought through this a little more when she's got two people screaming after her the moment she jumps. But she stands by her "if she had brought this up then neither of them would have agreed to it" ( with good reason ), which means they would have never made it over the pit.

But she's committed, which means there's no backing out now. There's a quiet sort of satisfaction when everyone's over safe and sound, even if the other two are completely and utterly exhausted. If she feels guilty for worrying them, she doesn't show it — it got the three of them results so the positives outweigh the negatives. Probably.

At least she waits for them to catch their breath — she crosses her arms as she watches, raises a brow at the wizard comment. She's not so heartless as to tease them during a near death experience, probably, and only motions to the rest of the hall once the two of them have calmed down.

( Only pausing to duck her head once, if only to let her smile get the better of her before she composes herself once more. She should feel bad for scaring the shit out of them, she should, but ... well, she knew it'd work. And it feels good to get shit done. ) ]

[underwhelms]

[ Most of the time, JJ tries to be more sensible than he is greedy. (And he'd never known just how greedy he was until he'd come to El Nysa, stripped of all his wealth and fame. He'd worked hard to open that rink, and he's so pleased with it, but his dreams don't end there: he wants a bigger, indoor one that can operate year round. He just wants and wants.) Especially when he knows quite keenly how ill-equipped he is to deal with the dangers that lurk in the jungle of Wyver and the thick forests are Olympia.

But this job seemed simple. He'd done a bit of gem collecting with Keith and Lance earlier, and it had been harmless enough. Certainly the ruins are darker and murkier than the treetops he'd climbed last time, but he wasn't about to be scared off by a few skittering insects or creepily shaped vines. Besides, when so many of his acquaintances are battle hardy warriors, it's hard to feel like he shouldn't toughen up a little.

He hates to be left behind.

This should've been a safe job to take up, prying the quartz from the walls with a little hammer that he'd brought along. A little tink tink here and a little tink tink there, and it was all going smoothly. At least until he encounters a particularly stubborn gem, wiggling and tapping it harder and harder until he knocks the hammer a little too hard and sends it flying. He doesn't think anything of it, sighing and walking over to retrieve it with a lazy rub of his arm over his face.

But something rumbles. Only for a second, but sudden enough that it stops JJ in his tracks, one foot still in the air as he wonders if he'd imagined it. Because it can't be anything, when this was supposed to be a safe job. Of course, if it really was that safe then everyone and anyone would be doing it to make a bit of cash and—

The cave shakes again, something that sends a chill right up JJ's spine and pinpricks of warmth in his eyes from the wrongness of it, and it's only because he's spent faced off against giant spiders and dragons and sea serpents before this that he doesn't just stand there like a dumbstruck idiot. Instead, he turns sharply on his heel, and the second he does something comes alive further down the cave, but it's not like it could get any worse at this point, because it could be a pink bunny that's hiding in the cave and JJ would still be booking it in the opposite direction, voice caught in his throat and body burning with a need to get far, far away.

Richie's got it right staying silent, and JJ's both relieved and concerned to see the light of another person uphead, but unfortunate he's making enough noise to give away both their positions. ]

[summertimeblues]

[There's something living down there, all right. Given a half-second, that single splish in the distance has turned to rumbles, thundering footsteps, panicked breath and the scuttle of something big. Something dangerous, inhuman.

That's not the shape careening towards him.]

What in the—

[The boy (isn't that the Canadian kid?) rockets too close, just as there's a wet squelch deep in the shadows behind him. Alien chittering. Too quickly his mind leaps to that Sigorney Weaver picture, the black-carapaced beast from another planet that had picked off a space crew one by one by one.

Every goosebump from scalp to sole hits their peak at once. Richie nearly drops the pick he'd been working at the wall with, nearly drops the light too. He lets the former tumble into his sack and turns his light the other way as he joins the boy in the run. Better to live another day than to catch a glimpse at cavely wonders.

He catches up soon enough, still sprinting as he calls out.]

What the fuck is that?!

[underwhelms]

[ Who knows, really. JJ probably should care more; the more information they have the better they can fight whatever it is that they're dealing with. Unfortunately, he's in no mood to do any recon. He's probably running too fast, heart beating fast and limbs feeling the exertion of every step when he should be pacing himself so that he doesn't run out of breath.

He's glad that he's not alone, just as much as he can feel the guilt of dragging someone else into this mess. Maybe Richie has a family that's waiting for him—friends and loved ones. ]

I don't know!

[ He's lucky he's an athlete if nothing else, lugging his bag of crystals with him as he charges ahead through the cavern, it's harder to see without the light of their flashlights to guide them, and there are a few terrifying moments where JJ can't tell where the path leads ahead and where there's just solid rock. But they haven't gone crashing into a wall yet, and there's no option to stop.

The path eventually splits, not a particularly noticeable fork, but the wider clearing opens up wide before narrowing again into two different paths. There's not enough time to really consider which way to go, the thundering and shriek echoing behind them, the sound so awful that it feels like it pierces right through his flesh to grab onto his bones to stop his escape out of sheer intimidation. ]

Hey!

[ His brain thinks, just run. Just run, and if Richie can keep up, good for him.

Too bad he doesn't have time to think, and one of his hands is curling into the fabric of Richie's sleeve before he even registers what he's doing, grabbing on tight, and practically yanking at him in an effort to keep them both together, stumbling, running, and desperate toward the narrower path. ]

This way, this way!

that icon is so dramatic but the sparkle makes it hard to see true pain

[summertimeblues]

[Family? Not so much. Not for a decade. Friends he's got a few of, but none that are awake. And speaking frankly, if they woke to hear about him biting it in the middle of a Blade Runner meets Lord of the Rings fusion kingdom, they'd be upset but reasonably unsurprised.

Case in point: he'd caught up with the younger man but is winding himself much too quickly to hold the pace. He wasn't that old but he's hardly a sprinter. Soft jobs led to soft bodies sooner or later, and Richie had been lucky thus far that his wasn't showing outwardly. In motion?

The fork in the road has him doubting his chances. The harrowing shriek behind doubles down on the drop in morale. The kid's snatching his jacket before he can think twice, and they're pulling to the right.]

I got it, I got it! Stop yanking!

[Let go already, shit.

Up ahead. There's a small wedge in the wall, and some mad instinct shrieks at him (not unlike the kinds he'd get at home, come to think of it, and later he might wonder) to cease fleeing. It's just wide enough, and the pair of them both lean slim.]

In here! [Hypocritical, but now its his turn to force manhandling as he all but shoves the Canuck into the split, and squeezes himself in soon after. It runs long enough that they can shuffle sideways another two or three feet. Maybe four. Please don't let whatever's chasing them have long arms.]

[underwhelms]

[ And to think, JJ took hold of Richie's arm to make sure that he wasn't left behind! He doesn't really care about Richie's protests however, and he doesn't have any of his own when Richie shoves him toward the wedge in a manner similar to a bully shoving a nerd in a locker. How ironic, considering that JJ is very much a jock, and Richie, a loser.

He goes, thinking of nothing but survival, even while his overactive imagination conjures images of a thousand slender hands reaching forth from the creature behind to follow them into the crevice, broken and disjointed, but unrelenting all the same. He hopes that isn't what happens, trying to keep levelheaded as they both slow down—they can't very well continue to barrel forward and risk smashing their heads against the rock in their haste. Turned to the side, he keeps his breaths as even as possible as the pair of them squeeze as far as they can go, the wall behind JJ damp enough to chill him from where it's hard against his back. ]

What...

[ It's only then that JJ risks a look back, and the rest of his sentence is stolen from as another shriek echoes through the cavern, but that's hardly the worst of it.

A dark, scythe-like arm smashes against the opening of their little hideout, hard enough to get JJ's ears to ring, and he yelps at the impact, unable to help himself.

His eyes squeeze shut against the scraping of that arm trying to penetrate the opening, but he's still able to breathe out a question, ] What... now?

[summertimeblues]

[maybe jj should learn to respect his elders before he gets chucked out as chum for their new monster pal

The battering ram hitting their sanctuary has Richie banging his elbows as he tries to throw his hands over his ears. The sound rattles through the fine tinny caverns to shake at his brain, sending him to grit teeth and clench his eyes shut as the onslaught continues.

What now? Good question bud, let him ponder that a little bit.]

I'm not sure. [A mutant squeal cuts in. The monster's in dismay at the lack of treats. He can hear it snuffling, see it scraping at the rocky edges. The pair of them are blessed by Jesus Christ himself that whatever loose rock there was has already been scraped away. The mouth of their crevice is bordered by impassable bedrock, rigid and seamless.] Feel around your way, huh? Maybe there's an exit through the other end?

[tutorb]

[ She had agreed quite easily to come along, largely in part, for shots and goggles, as it were. It isn't as if the reward is any incentive, much as the consequences for her are hardly a deterrent. After all, she's just an accessory. A table centerpiece, even with all the party glitter scrubbed from her surface. Espionage wasn't exactly her department, but the thought of slinking around rustles up a strange twinge of nostalgia all the same. tldr: It's something to do... With... a friend. ]

[ Somehow, it doesn't take the two of them long to work it down to a perfect, silent science. Which, considering her partner in crime and inevitable fall-guy, here, is a goddamn miracle. She hadn't been entirely certain Richie Tozier was capable of silence, at least not for more than a couple minutes before some sort of gasket blew and killed him. Perhaps that had been part of the draw to the cause in the first place: no matter the outcome, she will be witnessing a rarity few can lay claim to, or a hilarious failure worth the time in ye olde evidence locker. ]

[ But digressions aside, the science in question, further into the halls of the offices, distilled into a simple signal. A veritable red-light-green-light, had she any idea what a traffic light was. A humming little shimmer for go, a silent little shimmer for halt, and a total darkening of her surface for retreat, punctuated by soft directions as the coast cleared to permit them. Especially with her insight, it wasn't exactly an impossible mission, let alone a difficult one requiring absolutely silent coordination, but she had hoped against hope that her firm silence and curt instruction would... encourage him to play along. ]

[ By some stroke of luck, that, and/or the simple thought of getting apprehended... saw them through safely, right to the office of note. And of course, before Richie can even shut the door, his mouth is open like a pressure valve in the relative seclusion. But once it does close, she doesn't endeavor to stifle her scoff. ]

At one point, I more or less did.

[ Toting around her band of merry assassins. Replace psychic sense with all five of hers at full bore, borderline supernatural, and she could still sneak through the best of them. A body with which to suffer consequence, maybe, but a body she could direct with no lag, and with absolute, athletic precision. Not... however it is Richie chooses to gangle along. ]

What is it you imagine to be less conspicuous, a glowing cart roaming the halls of its own volition, or a rather overambitious jeweler with an incredibly poor sense of direction? Besides, one door would put a stop to me rather quickly, I would think.

alluding to friendship in meta text, i see my s-link has been upgraded

[summertimeblues]

What if I like the thought of you scooting around with a mini motor humming on the back? It'd be hilarious. [She'd probably look like a droid. Zip zap zoom, until the door put a stopper to it or a flight of stairs put her in flight. More's the pity, they've got some nifty gadgets knocking around in the stores here. He'd probably find something that would do the job.] Either that or we train a monkey. Get him a little hat and a backpack, teach him how to cross the street and not pick lice in polite company.

[Did they even have monkeys here?

Richie takes a closer look at the bookcases. There's a fat lot of tomes on propriety and guardly duties. Someone could slip notes in between the pages and no one would find them before a future dictator ordered a thorough book burning. Not exactly literature for light reading.

Even so, he decided to check them last. The meat's probably all in the desk anyway. Richie pops the first drawer open to inkwells and pens. He probes the bottom for suspicious compartments, hidden triggers. This is some real Hardy Boys shit.]

So those extra senses of yours: do they do anything aside from picking up people? You can't, say, tell me what's in the desk so we don't waste too much time mucking around.

i can reverse it...

[tutorb]

[ Yeah, about as hilarious as watching Richie try to snoop his way in here without her guidance. She hasn't the foggiest what a motor is, or for that matter, a monkey. Honestly, on any given topic with him, the parse rate is at about 80% for her, but at least he usually leaves enough context in for her so she doesn't have to delve. She's been doing less and less of that on a whim, as of late. ]

What would I need a second for? [ she hums, as he begins to poke around the room. ] If the lice become too much of a distraction, I am sure we can have you shaved.

[ Well, now that they've reached their destination, she has nothing to do but talk, so talk she shall. She sighs, allows her apparition to shimmer into view for now, arms folded placidly, ]

Unfortunately, I can only go so far as to assure you that there are no people in this desk. Nor is there anything alive, moving, or producing sound. Should the owner of this desk happen along, I could offer a full report... Though unless you can fold yourself into a drawer, I would suggest you expedite your search before it comes to that.

no take-backsies

[summertimeblues]

[Probably for the best that she does less and less delving these days. People around here are all fit for the funny farm.]

Oh, you like a bald man do you? [Can she sense the eyebrow waggle that comes with that?] I could do a chrome dome if it really suits your fancy. I'm afraid it'll never shine as bright as your globe but I'll wax it just the same.

[She's elected to join him, that green glimmer sprouting from the crystal like a shot from steam whistle.] That doesn't sound like a half bad idea. Damn. Would you be all right hanging around solo for a while longer?

[He moves on to the next drawer. In here there is a small leather pouch, note clipped to the top. Richie pulls it out with a frown. It gives a telling jingle.]

"For you know what." Huhm... [He shakes the coins into his palm and does a hasty count.] Looking to be about one hundred silver, here. So not a big favor, but enough to look suspicious all the same.

[tutorb]

[ Just on you, Richie. Just on you. Grandma needs her soaps, she's just a little sick of jump scares. ]

[ Anyway, perhaps not technically, but there's only one thing a set of eyebrows can be doing with a tone like that, isn't there? Hers leap up appropriately. ] Oh, yes. Never am I quite so stricken with the vapors as when I gaze upon a smooth and shiny head. Why do you really think I have stayed within a polished orb all these years?

[ Not obligation, desire. Stockholm Syndrome isn't funny, Richie. No, she hates it. And doesn't give a damn how you look, dweeb. But at his next suggestion, she cocks her head, half curious and half doubtful. ]

And you will, what, go sneaking back through the halls on your lonesome? What if you are apprehended?

[ She doesn't sound totally opposed, but, you know. Doubtful. Appropriately doubtful, she feels. Rightly concerned. He follows instructions fine enough, but beyond for company, she hasn't had much of an opportunity to discern whether or not he's remotely reliable, and never has she once erred toward the benefit of the doubt in this regard. But then there's coins, and she has to scoff as he quotes. ]

You take the amount to be more suspect than the label, then.

[summertimeblues]

[come on you're an 800 yr old assassin, surely you've seen worse.]

I knew it, you saucy minx.

[She's giving it a consideration, and more gravely than he was. Richie does have to take a pause there. Would he really be able to sneak out as easily as all that? Much less return safely to fetch her? Maybe there was a broom closet to stuff into. Something suitably convenient that wouldn't require a full on evac and recon.

Not impossible. But without Sandra's help, a touch improbable.]

I suppose I'll have a handsome mugshot. Let's see what we can get through here first. Maybe there won't be a need if we nab something real juicy.

[He funnels the coins back into the pouch, taking care to nestle them back in the same spot among the clutter.] It could mean anything, couldn't it? A hundred bucks doesn't take you much anywhere, and we're getting paid how much to snoop around here? Probably gave someone a handy or dropped a name for promotion.

The rest of this is...oh. [He pulls loose a drawing. It's not bad though certainly not skilled, but all the same it's...leaving an impression.] It's my boss.

[Koralle in the buff, tits pushed up and on her knees. Several experimental poses line the margins. Christ, this was taking him back to high school.]

For Yooski

[summertimeblues]

[The kid's birthday had been a rather modest affair. He was somewhat surprised to get an invite, frankly, but finding out that Sandra, Wally, and Red all held down the fort next door shut the case pretty quick. No doubt they didn't mind a fellow grown up coming along, and Yusuke wasn't the kind of kid who craved a reckless keg party in the dark of the woods anyhow.

What a strange lil' fella.

Even so, rather than heading back to his own place he was invited to spend the night at this lunatic's jumble of a halfway home. And Richie, head spinning from plenty cups o' wine and feeling the post-cake coma setting in, had agreed. Not to mention he'd offered to make a killer brunch the next day. It wasn't all boast either. Akira had tasted his cooking and deemed it good enough to back up his hype once the offer came. Wouldn't it be easier to get a head start if he stayed? Wasn't it nicer to fall asleep in a place that felt alive, held other souls, seemed like a home? His sleep had been shit anyway, maybe it would help to get out of the empty den for once.

It doesn't.

It's four hours from sunrise when the prone form on the couch starts turning in his sheets. The apartment has a slight chill, yet sweat is starting to dot at his forehead.

He dreams. He dreams of long tunnels. He dreams of the fetid stench, shit water lapping at his legs. He dreams of Patrick Hockstetter propped up in the muck, the remaining half of his liver lips bloated even bigger than they'd been in life.

He dreams of something huge, skulking, waiting in the darkness. A deafening sense of wrong.

He dreams of the house with the elves in the wallpaper, mouths stretching into screams as the ceiling and the doors rose away and away until Stan lost his mind. He dreams of Paul Bunyan, twenty-plus feet high and rendered in plastic, lifting off the metal spikes that held him up to swing his axe down on a little boy's bench, to cleave the pavement behind his fleeing heels as he ran for his short and unstoried life.

He dreams of a photo album, of motion picture cast in sepia browns where only two small boys played audience. Two small boys watched the picture move, watched themselves in the picture, watched their small picture selves giggle and trot towards the canal ledge.]

Don't...

[Watched them look over the edge.]

Don't do that.

[Watched as it sprang up, watched as it reached for Bill, watched as it grinned wide and without eyes and wearing Georgie Denbrough's face.]

That's not Georgie!

[The world explodes in pain and Richie yelps himself awake, clutching a goose egg sprouting on his temple. He'd rolled off the couch and hit the end of the coffee table, and was now sprawled on the floor like a suicide jumper. He struggles to sit up. His hands fly to his face and press into the cooling sweat as his brow.]

Shit...

[tricksune]

[ His 17th-ish birthday comes and goes without incident. January 28th probably isn't accurate anymore, but with a new life comes a new start—or so it's easier to say. It was a nice get-together, so he doesn't belabor the more existential questions. Or, if he does, it's simple enough to attribute his wakeful energy to new art supplies. He breaks in some paints he'd been so graciously gifted, wiling the time away until he loses track of it altogether, only leaving his room to get more water to clean his brushes.

But their very full house is a little bit fuller tonight. (Which he doesn't mind—much as he likes his own space, there is a fine line between a private home and a lonely one, and the latter would be a shame tonight.) It does make navigating a little trickier, and he steps quietly through the space, careful not to wake anyone as he runs the tap.

—Apparently, not careful enough. He's about to apologize when he hears Richie's rumblings, but the closer he squints through the dark, the more something seems... amiss. It isn't the grumbly, murky sluggishness of someone roused to half-consciousness, and there's a sudden cry-jerk-clunk of motion and noise that has him quickly trotting over. ]

Mr. Tozier—!?

[ A harsh but low whisper, though the rest of the apartment is quiet enough that it rings clear enough. He crouches beside him, reaching out cautiously for his shoulder in the dark. ]

Are you all right...?

[ That was a very... abrupt tumble. ]

[summertimeblues]

[The touch to his shoulder isn't a comfort. Woozy thoughts and a throbbing head had him missing the shout out, and the hand that brushes him is the first sign of life he registers. Richie startles violently. He jerks back into the couch as if brushed with a hot poker. When he turns to see his eyes have gone owlish. Even in the dim light he's lost several shades of color. You'd have to take the faintest dab of Ultramarine and drown it in Titanium White to make a true match.

Richie squints for a moment, then gropes for his glasses on the coffee table. Settling them back on confirms that he's looking like a jitterish dolt. That cream stroke topped by a black, swooping blob solidifies into a human form. It's only Yusuke.]

Fit as a fiddle in a junkyard heap. [Read: could be better. How embarrassing. When he makes to lift himself upright he finds his legs have been sapped of strength, making due on half a tank of gas. He has to steady himself on the couch arm to rise. Can the kid hear his heart hammering? It feels like it's trying to batter ram its way out of his chest, it wouldn't be a surprise if he could. Richie winces, rubbing at the lump.]

Man, what a knockout hit. I didn't wake you, did I? [Blearily, he takes the boy in. His frown deepens.] Is that paint water? It's tits o'clock in the morning...

[tricksune]

[ Yusuke responds with like surprise, twitching his hand back, fingers curled in towards his palm with uncertain stillness. Richie's reaction is much more violent. There's enough ambient light from the moons and the kitchen enough to spot the nasty swell on his face and how hard he's washed out, practically vibrating.

He waits a long moment, then answers quietly with a loose shrug. ]

I hadn't gone to bed yet.

[ Him being awake definitely wasn't as weird as... whatever just happened. He upturns the glass, water turning to ice as it pools in his hand. He hands the chunk to Richie placidly, figuring his usual skittishness to magic might take second place to whatever's got him spooked now. ]

...For your wound. It's clean, don't worry.

[ He'd only just refilled it, the tiniest swirl of ink embedded in the ice. It should do—doesn't look like the skin's broken, anyway. ]

[summertimeblues]

[It's a nifty party trick when there's no thirty foot sea snakes to kill.

Richie takes the ice cube with a bemused calm, palm stretched flat. He's less shocked by the gesture now, considering relativity of strangeness (both Boxer and Sandra outclass a little instant freeze, and they're sleeping none too far away) and the fugue state he was rousing out of.]

Wound is a strong word. Idiot bonk is more like it. [He presses the cube to the second head sprouting next to his hairline. Richie's laughter lives high and quiet in his throat, more breath than sound as he tries to temper his volume. He drops back onto the sofa and shuts his eyes.] Sorry about this. You should get to bed, kiddo, you're gonna be dragging excess baggage under your eyes come morning, and that's a look that don't suit anyone south of thirty-five.

[tricksune]

[ Looks like they're making strides. Granted, showing up in a place like Thesa Station and not getting accustomed to the various, otherworldly abilities and people sounded like a great way to die of heart failure. Though Richie only looks a few shades better than corpse-white right now anyway. Yusuke rolls back onto his heels, curling his legs up as he makes himself comfortable, apparently fine with a little sleep dep. ]

It's all right. Sleep seems very slow to find me tonight anyway.

[ Hence why he doesn't run back to his room now either, instead quietly tidying the table of some leftover cups, crumpled napkins, and other residual signs of a modest get-together. The clean-up was put off for the next morning, but it keeps his hands busy, and it seems a bit callous to leave right after Richie's knocked himself upside the head. And... y'know. The other stuff. There's a lot that he's really very dense about, but not that. ]

—Was it a dream?