[Yusuke takes this in with the same stillness of body he wears day in and day out. It's a small relief. He's not so shaken by the facts that Richie would have to worry about whether or not he'd sleep easy. Nightmares were likely out of the question, but nobody took the notion of murder to bed without mulling it over for an extra hour or two.
Most of all, he'd hate to make the kid worry. It's his fucking birthday, why should he be bothering himself with the grainy memories of a sad old man? Yet the damage is done. The kid joins him at the sink and makes to fix tea. Richie watches as the water swirls and rises, flicking his gaze up to really take the boy in. He's stiffer than usual, he decides.
There was a third, almost stupid outcome he'd failed to consider. Akira and Yusuke were used to suiting up and getting something done about their issues. Even if this was something that preceded them by thirty-odd years (maybe more than that, even), Richie can just see that same flame sparking, the twin of the bee that hit all their bonnets when they were eleven and too dumb to think better.
Did we have any choice? He wonders with a shiver. He thinks of all those neat coincidences, those unusual instincts, the way they each felt tethered to the other when the task needed doing. The way the rope went slack when it was over, and how they all drifted away from Derry like leaves on a pond ripple. No, they'd had no choice at all.
When Yusuke speaks it's with the bitter earnestness of anger. Impotent and sympathizing. His voice hits a baritone most can't to begin with, but this new angle really puts the gravitas in like no other notion could.]
...Aaah, you know how these things go. They made an arrest and called it a day. [He gives a small smile. Soothe the matter over. Yes it's hard knocks, no the real killer wasn't caught. And it's not over, not by a long shot, but until there's a few more pods cracking open Richie can't say shit.] The killings did stop.
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Most of all, he'd hate to make the kid worry. It's his fucking birthday, why should he be bothering himself with the grainy memories of a sad old man? Yet the damage is done. The kid joins him at the sink and makes to fix tea. Richie watches as the water swirls and rises, flicking his gaze up to really take the boy in. He's stiffer than usual, he decides.
There was a third, almost stupid outcome he'd failed to consider. Akira and Yusuke were used to suiting up and getting something done about their issues. Even if this was something that preceded them by thirty-odd years (maybe more than that, even), Richie can just see that same flame sparking, the twin of the bee that hit all their bonnets when they were eleven and too dumb to think better.
Did we have any choice? He wonders with a shiver. He thinks of all those neat coincidences, those unusual instincts, the way they each felt tethered to the other when the task needed doing. The way the rope went slack when it was over, and how they all drifted away from Derry like leaves on a pond ripple. No, they'd had no choice at all.
When Yusuke speaks it's with the bitter earnestness of anger. Impotent and sympathizing. His voice hits a baritone most can't to begin with, but this new angle really puts the gravitas in like no other notion could.]
...Aaah, you know how these things go. They made an arrest and called it a day. [He gives a small smile. Soothe the matter over. Yes it's hard knocks, no the real killer wasn't caught. And it's not over, not by a long shot, but until there's a few more pods cracking open Richie can't say shit.] The killings did stop.