[How about that taste of your own protag medicine, Red.
There's an alarmingly long stretch of silence from the Transistor, as Red and Richie dodge the rest of the trap and save him from clattering all the way down the stairs to boot. And at first, there's nothing. The red lens in the center of the Transistor dims, flickers, sparks alarmingly, on occasion.
Then, the light in the blade flashes in a more encouraging way. And they'll hear a groan. Familiar. But crackly and distant, like a radio with a bad connection.]
Ugh. Ow.
[It's not that it hurts, exactly. But...it's not that it doesn't. The whole thing is swimmy and distant, after he's done blacking out. Buzzing uncomfortably in his teeth, in what ought to be the space behind his eyes. The very air around him. But it's also...gone, done. There is no space between his eyes, no eyes for him to close, no air for him to breathe or teeth for him to grit while he tries to ground himself again.
But he does, anyway, sort of. In that quiet empty space where he's always been, in here. That sounds like calm nothing and smells like grass and Country air. He feels less out there and more in here, as is usual, when the function overloads and kicks him back. But it isn't usually half this disorienting. This time...it's like... Like something is keeping him from grounding himself in the grass beneath him, or bridging the distance between himself and Red the way he still ought to be able.
But he tries. A little clearer on the static front, but a lot like gathering the wits to speak is a matter of grand concentration—]
Hi. How'd you guys— [He trails off, for a beat. As he realizes belatedly where they are. Were. Ended up. And why.] ...Oh.
:ghost:
There's an alarmingly long stretch of silence from the Transistor, as Red and Richie dodge the rest of the trap and save him from clattering all the way down the stairs to boot. And at first, there's nothing. The red lens in the center of the Transistor dims, flickers, sparks alarmingly, on occasion.
Then, the light in the blade flashes in a more encouraging way. And they'll hear a groan. Familiar. But crackly and distant, like a radio with a bad connection.]
Ugh. Ow.
[It's not that it hurts, exactly. But...it's not that it doesn't. The whole thing is swimmy and distant, after he's done blacking out. Buzzing uncomfortably in his teeth, in what ought to be the space behind his eyes. The very air around him. But it's also...gone, done. There is no space between his eyes, no eyes for him to close, no air for him to breathe or teeth for him to grit while he tries to ground himself again.
But he does, anyway, sort of. In that quiet empty space where he's always been, in here. That sounds like calm nothing and smells like grass and Country air. He feels less out there and more in here, as is usual, when the function overloads and kicks him back. But it isn't usually half this disorienting. This time...it's like... Like something is keeping him from grounding himself in the grass beneath him, or bridging the distance between himself and Red the way he still ought to be able.
But he tries. A little clearer on the static front, but a lot like gathering the wits to speak is a matter of grand concentration—]
Hi. How'd you guys— [He trails off, for a beat. As he realizes belatedly where they are. Were. Ended up. And why.] ...Oh.
[A beat. Carefully—]
Maybe lets not...go down. That way.
[He's got a bad feeling.]