[Do the positives really outweigh the negatives. Do they really need to dive deeper into this tomb that badly. Do they. Boxer isn't a big fan of the wild jumping around while he's watching from inside the sword. Figures that having the world spin over your head doesn't do the greatest things for your equilibrium. Turns out getting tossed unceremoniously around outside it like a ragdoll isn't all that much better.
Least he's not alone in the sentiment. He pulls back to his full height while the floor under his (???) apparent feet seems to settle into something steady again. Just in time to frown back at Richie's griping, like he doesn't quite catch the meaning. (Because y'know, maybe Cloudbank doesn't really do the magic thing, and that clearly that had everything to do with video game nonsense and nothing to do with them—)]
Pair of what?
[Use your words if you've got a question, Richie, he's not following. Rather than lead them forward as Red gestures them patiently along toward their destination, he holds his ground and pulls his hand away from Red's shoulder to rest it over hers, where she's still holding the Transistor by the handle after reclaiming it from him. As if offering to take the weight back, if she's done. But not demanding it—it's more hers than his, in a lot of ways. If anyone's earned the right to carry it around—
(Though now that Red's got her hands on it and she's logged properly back in as a user, she'll be able to pick out the tentative breadcrumbs they've been following. The little >COME CLOSER prompt—closer to the three of them than ever, now that they're on the other side of the gap. Seems to being trying to point out something just a little further down the hall.)
Weirdo accusations aside, Richie's got a bit of a decent point. So, diplomatically—]
How 'bout a head's up next time? Keep us all on the same page.
[We can't all be yolo protag types, Red. He's pretty good at following your train of thought but. He's not a mind reader. He's pretty much resigned to the fact that you're gonna give him a heart attack some time. (If he can still get heart attacks, anymore.) But Richie's still new to this.]
no subject
Least he's not alone in the sentiment. He pulls back to his full height while the floor under his (???) apparent feet seems to settle into something steady again. Just in time to frown back at Richie's griping, like he doesn't quite catch the meaning. (Because y'know, maybe Cloudbank doesn't really do the magic thing, and that clearly that had everything to do with video game nonsense and nothing to do with them—)]
Pair of what?
[Use your words if you've got a question, Richie, he's not following. Rather than lead them forward as Red gestures them patiently along toward their destination, he holds his ground and pulls his hand away from Red's shoulder to rest it over hers, where she's still holding the Transistor by the handle after reclaiming it from him. As if offering to take the weight back, if she's done. But not demanding it—it's more hers than his, in a lot of ways. If anyone's earned the right to carry it around—
(Though now that Red's got her hands on it and she's logged properly back in as a user, she'll be able to pick out the tentative breadcrumbs they've been following. The little >COME CLOSER prompt—closer to the three of them than ever, now that they're on the other side of the gap. Seems to being trying to point out something just a little further down the hall.)
Weirdo accusations aside, Richie's got a bit of a decent point. So, diplomatically—]
How 'bout a head's up next time? Keep us all on the same page.
[We can't all be yolo protag types, Red. He's pretty good at following your train of thought but. He's not a mind reader. He's pretty much resigned to the fact that you're gonna give him a heart attack some time. (If he can still get heart attacks, anymore.) But Richie's still new to this.]