Richie isn't thrilled to be jettisoned here again. He's had enough already, on every front, but the way out isn't so easy to find. And once he sees it's Shadowheart? His chest cinches tight. Goes up another notch in the belt in fact, once the kid shows up. The place is a grim fantasy to be sure, but the basics he can follow.
Or so he thinks.
It's funny. The one person here he's told about his sensitivity over eyes is the same one whose memory gifts him another dose of horror. Richie makes a sound he's not proud of when the mad doctor pierces them, withers, hand groping for the mirror opposite to stay upright as his own peepers sear in sympathy pains.
(cookie crumbs sticking in the unblinking ball—
tentacles seeping over the pipe, pulling the wet, bloodshot boulder closer—)
It's over soon. Quicker than he thinks, and still not quick enough for his liking. His skin is ready to crawl off his body at the grisly massacre, both deserved and undeserved. His chest pinches off another inch when they find the girl's parents — when Shadowheart catches her again and delivers the bad news.
He shouldn't look any further. It feels invasive. Is. It's none of his business and he's apt to lose his lunch if he has to see more flesh rent.
So why is it his feet are picking up, plodding forward, hand trailing along the glass for support as he follows the darkness down? What happens to her? he wonders, wetting his lips with a sandpaper tongue and blinking hard behind his spectacles. What happens to that little girl?
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branchandroot
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Date: 2025-03-04 03:06 pm (UTC)Richie isn't thrilled to be jettisoned here again. He's had enough already, on every front, but the way out isn't so easy to find. And once he sees it's Shadowheart? His chest cinches tight. Goes up another notch in the belt in fact, once the kid shows up. The place is a grim fantasy to be sure, but the basics he can follow.
Or so he thinks.
It's funny. The one person here he's told about his sensitivity over eyes is the same one whose memory gifts him another dose of horror. Richie makes a sound he's not proud of when the mad doctor pierces them, withers, hand groping for the mirror opposite to stay upright as his own peepers sear in sympathy pains.
(cookie crumbs sticking in the unblinking ball—
tentacles seeping over the pipe, pulling the wet, bloodshot boulder closer—)
It's over soon. Quicker than he thinks, and still not quick enough for his liking. His skin is ready to crawl off his body at the grisly massacre, both deserved and undeserved. His chest pinches off another inch when they find the girl's parents — when Shadowheart catches her again and delivers the bad news.
He shouldn't look any further. It feels invasive. Is. It's none of his business and he's apt to lose his lunch if he has to see more flesh rent.
So why is it his feet are picking up, plodding forward, hand trailing along the glass for support as he follows the darkness down? What happens to her? he wonders, wetting his lips with a sandpaper tongue and blinking hard behind his spectacles. What happens to that little girl?
Richie takes the bait.]