[He's a good listener when it's story time, for what it's worth. Not so much at taking orders. The boat ride had been demonstration enough for that, bullheaded determination proving stronger than fleeting adult authority. His abilities put him at the fore there. Gave the kid and his pal Akira the wind in their sails to edge in on the frontlines, and in some cases, that might be for the best.
In some.
Richie isn't going to pretend to understand it all. He has the vague sense that there were different laws for different worlds. What might have allowed an anomaly like a talking raccoon in one universe would never stand in another. Sandra might have turned into a plain bag of bones after attacking her emperor, if she'd tried doing it on different soil. Or the curse would have come out different, having her haunt the locale of her death, or some other such ghastly possibility. They were all cooped up together now, zoo exhibits from across the galaxies that would've never met otherwise, and justifying the altered physics was turning into a stampeding cacophony.
Richie takes that mug. He cups it close in both hands. It looks a little like he's praying. Pressed to the heart. Do you think he's here?
Kiddo, the question isn't if. It's what you're going to do.
Impressive as that flash boom bang had been, icicles shot out from the palms of a demonic summons dressed in kimono silks, Richie can't say if that magic could cut it. The gun didn't work. Blasted a section off the werewolf's skull, but the bigger hurt came from Richie taking the piss out of Mr. Nell and screaming at it in a voice not one bit his own. Stopped It in its tracks with sneezing powder (of all fucking things). Beverly had nailed it with her slingshot and the slugs they'd made out of Ben's silver dollars — and hadn't it been a lucky thing that it had come in the shape of a werewolf again? That's the rules, silver kills the howlers, but would silver have worked on the mummy? On Mike's bird? On Stan's dead boys?
What would really work on the clown?
If he could just...remember. (Chud.) The ritual, it was a ritual, but how to initiate and win it was all still crackling static. If he could say for sure what it was he could trust in taking on more people, he could spread the word as far as it needed to go. If the magic that brought the seven of them together would make an exception, keep a new group just as strong in the face of It, then he wouldn't have to tap dance around all these eggshells. He could shake Yusuke by the shoulders and tell him what's really what.
But he can't. Assuming he'd be okay because he's something different was as good as fluffing the pillow for his coffin. The clown played a rigged game. Different world, different rules. Yusuke's icy tricks might well be as useful as that profane bullet from Zack Denbrough's gun. Close but no cigar, and now you're dead kid. Time for the next contender, come on come on, I'll take em on, I'll take em all!
He'd rather die himself. He would die himself. He doesn't want Yusuke playing hero, he wants him to stay the hell out of harm's way.]
Not on the ground. No. I would have had a visit by now. [He flashes teeth at that, grim grins. Yes tea sounds lovely thank you, even if a smoke sounds outright divine, but he'll take a sip. Steady himself.] He made his intentions pretty clear.
[No need to go into the photographs. Red smears on the wall next to chunks that used to be a whole child, Come home come home come home. The implication sits well enough on its own.]
Honestly, I've yet to meet a soul here I'd really call a danger, but if you take a walk through the pods upstairs? Just going on the numbers alone. You have to know that eventually, something bad's gonna wake up. Maybe it'll be my guy, maybe yours. Maybe the neighbor's. Who knows.
Just exercise a little caution, all right? You're no slouch when it comes to doling out the hits, I've seen it. But...you can't know what the next guy's capable of either.
[He pauses. Gravely now, and with a hand to the younger boy's shoulder. Taller boy. Nearly a man.]
But if you see something and you think it's odd, you don't fight it. You turn and you run. You run and then you tell me first thing. Got it?
no subject
In some.
Richie isn't going to pretend to understand it all. He has the vague sense that there were different laws for different worlds. What might have allowed an anomaly like a talking raccoon in one universe would never stand in another. Sandra might have turned into a plain bag of bones after attacking her emperor, if she'd tried doing it on different soil. Or the curse would have come out different, having her haunt the locale of her death, or some other such ghastly possibility. They were all cooped up together now, zoo exhibits from across the galaxies that would've never met otherwise, and justifying the altered physics was turning into a stampeding cacophony.
Richie takes that mug. He cups it close in both hands. It looks a little like he's praying. Pressed to the heart. Do you think he's here?
Kiddo, the question isn't if. It's what you're going to do.
Impressive as that flash boom bang had been, icicles shot out from the palms of a demonic summons dressed in kimono silks, Richie can't say if that magic could cut it. The gun didn't work. Blasted a section off the werewolf's skull, but the bigger hurt came from Richie taking the piss out of Mr. Nell and screaming at it in a voice not one bit his own. Stopped It in its tracks with sneezing powder (of all fucking things). Beverly had nailed it with her slingshot and the slugs they'd made out of Ben's silver dollars — and hadn't it been a lucky thing that it had come in the shape of a werewolf again? That's the rules, silver kills the howlers, but would silver have worked on the mummy? On Mike's bird? On Stan's dead boys?
What would really work on the clown?
If he could just...remember. (Chud.) The ritual, it was a ritual, but how to initiate and win it was all still crackling static. If he could say for sure what it was he could trust in taking on more people, he could spread the word as far as it needed to go. If the magic that brought the seven of them together would make an exception, keep a new group just as strong in the face of It, then he wouldn't have to tap dance around all these eggshells. He could shake Yusuke by the shoulders and tell him what's really what.
But he can't. Assuming he'd be okay because he's something different was as good as fluffing the pillow for his coffin. The clown played a rigged game. Different world, different rules. Yusuke's icy tricks might well be as useful as that profane bullet from Zack Denbrough's gun. Close but no cigar, and now you're dead kid. Time for the next contender, come on come on, I'll take em on, I'll take em all!
He'd rather die himself. He would die himself. He doesn't want Yusuke playing hero, he wants him to stay the hell out of harm's way.]
Not on the ground. No. I would have had a visit by now. [He flashes teeth at that, grim grins. Yes tea sounds lovely thank you, even if a smoke sounds outright divine, but he'll take a sip. Steady himself.] He made his intentions pretty clear.
[No need to go into the photographs. Red smears on the wall next to chunks that used to be a whole child, Come home come home come home. The implication sits well enough on its own.]
Honestly, I've yet to meet a soul here I'd really call a danger, but if you take a walk through the pods upstairs? Just going on the numbers alone. You have to know that eventually, something bad's gonna wake up. Maybe it'll be my guy, maybe yours. Maybe the neighbor's. Who knows.
Just exercise a little caution, all right? You're no slouch when it comes to doling out the hits, I've seen it. But...you can't know what the next guy's capable of either.
[He pauses. Gravely now, and with a hand to the younger boy's shoulder. Taller boy. Nearly a man.]
But if you see something and you think it's odd, you don't fight it. You turn and you run. You run and then you tell me first thing. Got it?