holyspirits (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
holyspirits) wrote2025-03-09 04:46 pm
holyspirits) wrote2025-03-09 04:46 pm
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[Your head is foggy. Your body is numb. Prone on a flat, tepid surface. No seams, cracks, or earth. As if you'd laid down on the glassy surface of a mirror, and slept there for a hundred years. No light pricks at your eyes to wake you.]
Hey!
[The sound flits through one ear and out the other. It's distant, and it barely matters.
But you become aware of your breath. You are breathing, and it feels an odd thing to do in this place. Thicker than it should be, as if you have to work for it. Sensation tickles at the ends of your fingers and toes, and you have a sense that you are not alone here.]
Hey! Get up, won't you?
[Small hands prod at your arm. Your side. Somebody grumbles and darts around you — small feet, too, rubber soled — and sets to the same routine on someone else nearby.
Slowly you open your eyes, and are met with utter darkness. Shapeless, edndless, oppressive and complete. But you can see two figures lying down next to you. Say, don't you know them?]
Hey!
[The sound flits through one ear and out the other. It's distant, and it barely matters.
But you become aware of your breath. You are breathing, and it feels an odd thing to do in this place. Thicker than it should be, as if you have to work for it. Sensation tickles at the ends of your fingers and toes, and you have a sense that you are not alone here.]
Hey! Get up, won't you?
[Small hands prod at your arm. Your side. Somebody grumbles and darts around you — small feet, too, rubber soled — and sets to the same routine on someone else nearby.
Slowly you open your eyes, and are met with utter darkness. Shapeless, edndless, oppressive and complete. But you can see two figures lying down next to you. Say, don't you know them?]
[this is not the best situation to wake up in, no. her head feels clouded, there's no sensation of exactly how she got here, and breathing is harder than it ought to be. she tries to sit up, let her eyes adjust to the darkness to the extent they can.
she runs her fingers through her hair to push it off her face, and turns her attention to the two figures near her.]
Hello?
[while she's still adjusting to the darkness, she's hoping she knows these people.]
she runs her fingers through her hair to push it off her face, and turns her attention to the two figures near her.]
Hello?
[while she's still adjusting to the darkness, she's hoping she knows these people.]
[ waking up in a strange place with disturbing sensations is unfortunately nothing new for someone who usually spends so much time walking something like the Fade, but it's never a pleasant surprise. jerking his arm in close as he feels something touch it, curling his fingers in and struggling to sit up. it's dark and he's human, he doesn't have good night vision - squinting to try and figure out who's talking.
but not responding yet. you just never know in a place like this.
concentrating very hard on believing there is a floor, because if he stops, there might not be one. ]
but not responding yet. you just never know in a place like this.
concentrating very hard on believing there is a floor, because if he stops, there might not be one. ]
[ yeah, he doesn't love waking up like this either. though what seems to be a kid prodding him awake — that gets his attention enough to pull him out of whatever initial worries he's having. ]
What...?
[ just muttered to himself as he tries to sit up and look around and get kind of feel for where the fuck he is... but after he hears shadowheart's voice he will at least be polite enough to answer as he squints in her direction (he usually does have good night vision, but who knows how much that will help right now). ]
Yeah?
What...?
[ just muttered to himself as he tries to sit up and look around and get kind of feel for where the fuck he is... but after he hears shadowheart's voice he will at least be polite enough to answer as he squints in her direction (he usually does have good night vision, but who knows how much that will help right now). ]
Yeah?
[It would seem there are only two of you here. As only two people are speaking. Anders fades back into oblivion and is rent asunder forever.
No but there is a little more definition to the darkness now. You can make out the silhouettes of the people with you, and the voices come through clearly. Only one is on its feet. A boy, it seems, who straightens with a sigh.]
Oh, good. You guys were scaring me. Are you...hold on.
[There's some fumbling, a swear. He bends and strikes something on the floor, and a little light illuminates in his palm. A match.
The boy is buttoned up, fastidiously neat. Hair combed tidily and shoes perfectly laced. He looks between the three of you, bewildered.]
...Just who are you guys, anyhow?
[He is especially confused by Fidelio, though clearly too polite to say anything.]
No but there is a little more definition to the darkness now. You can make out the silhouettes of the people with you, and the voices come through clearly. Only one is on its feet. A boy, it seems, who straightens with a sigh.]
Oh, good. You guys were scaring me. Are you...hold on.
[There's some fumbling, a swear. He bends and strikes something on the floor, and a little light illuminates in his palm. A match.
The boy is buttoned up, fastidiously neat. Hair combed tidily and shoes perfectly laced. He looks between the three of you, bewildered.]
...Just who are you guys, anyhow?
[He is especially confused by Fidelio, though clearly too polite to say anything.]
Fidelio! It's Shadowheart, if you didn't realize.
[she's so relieved to hear a friendly voice. she'll immediately put herself between fidelio and the strange presence of the other man who doesn't announce himself and may have dangerous intentions.
she's readying herself to hit him, when the child lights the match, so she can see she's winding up a fist to hit anders. scowling at him like, "what's wrong with you, why wouldn't you say anything," but there's a strange child here so.
she looks at fidelio, the only one of us who probably knows anything about kids.]
...We're a little lost. Sorry to give you a fright.
[also doesn't identify herself because you don't trust random spooky children.]
[she's so relieved to hear a friendly voice. she'll immediately put herself between fidelio and the strange presence of the other man who doesn't announce himself and may have dangerous intentions.
she's readying herself to hit him, when the child lights the match, so she can see she's winding up a fist to hit anders. scowling at him like, "what's wrong with you, why wouldn't you say anything," but there's a strange child here so.
she looks at fidelio, the only one of us who probably knows anything about kids.]
...We're a little lost. Sorry to give you a fright.
[also doesn't identify herself because you don't trust random spooky children.]
[ he's won because shadowheart has just said her own and fidelio's name outloud! in front of the demon. scowling back like obviously why would I say anything and pre-flinching at anticipating getting hit. glancing over at fidelio too, like he's trying to determine how much of this is real and how much is false before he makes any moves. it's not the Fade. that much he can tell purely by the fact he is not glowing and angry right now.
but then there's a child asking questions and he turns his suspicion on him instead. ]
Where are we? Who are you?
[ also not answering. because you don't trust random spooky children. ]
but then there's a child asking questions and he turns his suspicion on him instead. ]
Where are we? Who are you?
[ also not answering. because you don't trust random spooky children. ]
[ despite this petty drama he's thinking these are two of the better people he could have gotten stuck with, actually, so at least there's that.
he just raises his eyebrows back at anders when he looks at him before they both turn to address the child instead. ]
Sounded a little like you were expectin' someone else.
he just raises his eyebrows back at anders when he looks at him before they both turn to address the child instead. ]
Sounded a little like you were expectin' someone else.
[The spooky child stares at all three in succession, looking a curious mix of apologetic, apprehensive, and slightly offended.]
Um... [Trying to ignore the way Anders is looking at him specifically. He swallows and carries on, desperately fighting some nerves.] I don't know that I was expecting anyone, so much as you were just suddenly here.
...You said— [He purses his lips, unsure.] Your name is Shadowheart? Like a...okay. And Fidelio. You're not Italian, are you?
[He blinks. Shakes his head.]
Don't answer that. It's stupid. I'm Stan. Stanley Uris. It's a pleasure to meet you. [It's said more from habit than fact, as can be evinced from the way his hand keeps shaking, wiggling the dim little flame. Funny, it doesn't crawl much further up the match.] And we're...well, I don't have a name for it. I guess it's like, in-between. I think.
Um... [Trying to ignore the way Anders is looking at him specifically. He swallows and carries on, desperately fighting some nerves.] I don't know that I was expecting anyone, so much as you were just suddenly here.
...You said— [He purses his lips, unsure.] Your name is Shadowheart? Like a...okay. And Fidelio. You're not Italian, are you?
[He blinks. Shakes his head.]
Don't answer that. It's stupid. I'm Stan. Stanley Uris. It's a pleasure to meet you. [It's said more from habit than fact, as can be evinced from the way his hand keeps shaking, wiggling the dim little flame. Funny, it doesn't crawl much further up the match.] And we're...well, I don't have a name for it. I guess it's like, in-between. I think.
I wasn't planning to wind up in-between today, Stanley, but nothing for it, it seems.
[she decides that this spooky child is probably not a demon or malevolent ghost, probably. at least to the extent of being polite. he seems too frightened to be a threat. not that any of this is likely real - this is a thursday adventure and no question about that - but she's hardly going to be cruel to a frightened dream child, either.]
Is there something we can do for you?
[she decides that this spooky child is probably not a demon or malevolent ghost, probably. at least to the extent of being polite. he seems too frightened to be a threat. not that any of this is likely real - this is a thursday adventure and no question about that - but she's hardly going to be cruel to a frightened dream child, either.]
Is there something we can do for you?
[ demons can definitely be polite and frightened but this one at least is not aggressive. he'll start trying to get to his feet, knees cracking if it makes stan feel better that this dude is a huge mess with bad knees. ]
... Anders.
[ it's really just a name. and not even a real name, so. ]
This doesn't feel like a good place to stay.
... Anders.
[ it's really just a name. and not even a real name, so. ]
This doesn't feel like a good place to stay.
[ sighs and takes off his italian stallion t-shirt and throws it away :\
anyway. he's not letting his guard down yet, but this kid seems pretty genuine, so he's not going to give him a hard time either. (and thankfully he's short enough that unless stan finds furries inherently threatening, he probably doesn't have to worry so much about coming off as such.) ]
Yeah, 'specially if you haven't got anyone else here with you.
anyway. he's not letting his guard down yet, but this kid seems pretty genuine, so he's not going to give him a hard time either. (and thankfully he's short enough that unless stan finds furries inherently threatening, he probably doesn't have to worry so much about coming off as such.) ]
Yeah, 'specially if you haven't got anyone else here with you.
[sweet free shirt, you don't get those very often in the void]
No. It isn't. [A good place to stay. He'll nod at Anders making a belated introduction, seemingly steadied by their ebbing suspicions. Stanley makes a face, peering out at the darkness. Is there something...no. Not as far as any of them can see.]
I don't know that I'm supposed to be here either. But...
[He frowns, cocking his head, as if lending an ear to something unseen. Then his brows pop up in shock, and he's glancing between all three with a renewed urgency. Panic, even.]
You can help. Yeah. That's why you're here — it's all gotten fucked up. And I'm — you have to help my friends. They're not here, they're outside. You have to, 'cause I can't.
[He steps closer, glancing behind himself again. No eavesdroppers or sudden shapes on the horizon, so we're all in the clear. He leans in, speaking at a hush over the clamshell he makes of his hands and the lit match, trying to dim their presence.]
Mike was writing a book. A history book. If you can find the pages of the manuscript, can you get them to him? His name is Mike Hanlon. He's black and a little taller than — [Stan stops short. Flinches, shakes his head, and changes tracks.] And if you get that to him first, then you can tell the rest of them to get out. Fast. You have to get them out of the Town House.
Can you please do that?
[He holds a hand out, pinky extended and fright drawing him near to tears.]
Pinky swear me. Please? [His lip quivers.] I don't have much time.
[There's soft sound. One drop of water. Nearby, but unseen.]
No. It isn't. [A good place to stay. He'll nod at Anders making a belated introduction, seemingly steadied by their ebbing suspicions. Stanley makes a face, peering out at the darkness. Is there something...no. Not as far as any of them can see.]
I don't know that I'm supposed to be here either. But...
[He frowns, cocking his head, as if lending an ear to something unseen. Then his brows pop up in shock, and he's glancing between all three with a renewed urgency. Panic, even.]
You can help. Yeah. That's why you're here — it's all gotten fucked up. And I'm — you have to help my friends. They're not here, they're outside. You have to, 'cause I can't.
[He steps closer, glancing behind himself again. No eavesdroppers or sudden shapes on the horizon, so we're all in the clear. He leans in, speaking at a hush over the clamshell he makes of his hands and the lit match, trying to dim their presence.]
Mike was writing a book. A history book. If you can find the pages of the manuscript, can you get them to him? His name is Mike Hanlon. He's black and a little taller than — [Stan stops short. Flinches, shakes his head, and changes tracks.] And if you get that to him first, then you can tell the rest of them to get out. Fast. You have to get them out of the Town House.
Can you please do that?
[He holds a hand out, pinky extended and fright drawing him near to tears.]
Pinky swear me. Please? [His lip quivers.] I don't have much time.
[There's soft sound. One drop of water. Nearby, but unseen.]
[she looks at anders. she looks at fidelio. she is genre savvy enough to know that you really shouldn't be making binding promises in this sort of situation. she's also familiar enough with the world and with failure to know that you also should never promise a child definitively to save them.]
We will try to find your friend Mike's book, Stanley. We will try to get them out.
[that's better than promising, right? but she's a bit of a soft touch anyway, even if she'll be judged, so she adds - ]
I don't know what a pinky swear is. [looks at his extended pinky.] Um. By my pinky, we shall try.
We will try to find your friend Mike's book, Stanley. We will try to get them out.
[that's better than promising, right? but she's a bit of a soft touch anyway, even if she'll be judged, so she adds - ]
I don't know what a pinky swear is. [looks at his extended pinky.] Um. By my pinky, we shall try.
[ anders is frowning heavily at her for the record. it's like mage school 101 to not make any promises to anything in mysterious inbetween places no matter how terrified or plaintive or convincing the vision appears. it's not the kind of lesson you forget, often because you learn it upon pain of ignoble end on a Templar sword.
then again he's already possessed once, and he isn't heartless. a begging child asking for help for his friends isn't an unmoving sight to him. the child seems more Dreamer than Demon - he's not asking for a deal as much as aid, and shadowheart has already said they'll try. so. ]
I won't swear to anything. But if someone truly is in danger, we'll help.
then again he's already possessed once, and he isn't heartless. a begging child asking for help for his friends isn't an unmoving sight to him. the child seems more Dreamer than Demon - he's not asking for a deal as much as aid, and shadowheart has already said they'll try. so. ]
I won't swear to anything. But if someone truly is in danger, we'll help.
[ he also feels like these promises often end badly, and seeing what fucking disasters the other thursday adventures seem to have been, he wouldn't have the highest hopes for success here even if that weren't the case.
but he's also not just going to leave the kid hanging. ]
...Yeah, I'm not gonna lie and promise somethin' that might be out of my control, but. Promise to try. That good enough?
[ he holds out his own pinky, ready to hook with his if he'll still take this downgraded promise. ]
but he's also not just going to leave the kid hanging. ]
...Yeah, I'm not gonna lie and promise somethin' that might be out of my control, but. Promise to try. That good enough?
[ he holds out his own pinky, ready to hook with his if he'll still take this downgraded promise. ]
[It's plain to tell he's not thrilled by the scale back, but it's what he can get isn't it? Stanley hooks his finger around Del's and shakes, nodding firmly.]
Promise to try. Okay. Thank you. And swear on all our pinkies, I guess. [He looks to Shadowheart and laughs a little. One sliver of relief.
Another droplet falls, sound quite close. It has a tinny quality to it, as if gathering on hollow metal — wop. Stanley releases Del's pinky and looks miserably down at the flame in his hand.]
...If nothing else, just tell them I'm sorry. Will you? I'm so terribly sorry. I would have come back if I weren't...
[wop.
There's water dripping off his bare elbows. A puddle at his feet. The light is dim as is, but Stanley's face is draining of colour, paling at the same slow drip as the water.]
Sometimes you just get used to it. The way life is supposed to be. You follow the rules. Go to school to get a job, get a job to make a family. Make a living, pay your taxes, have your birthday once a year and watch time suck the colour from your hair, one strand at a time. Your knees give out and your back aches. That's fine, because it makes sense.
[wop.]
I couldn't take it. I couldn't stand the thought of going back, and now they're... [He looks up to them again, and this time the tears fall for real.] Tell them all I'm sorry. I love them, and I'm sorry.
[The air seems to snap with the suddenness of the flip. Stan isn't a little boy anymore, but a grown man in a bathtub with the periwinkle blue curtain pulled to the side. There's fluorescent lights illuminating this 36 square foot anomaly of a cozy bathroom, a 3D cutout of reality sprung up in the middle of the stifling black abyss. There's women's toiletries and men's shaving cream on the vanity, and soft blue accents in the tiles and seashell themed decor. The water is pink, though.
That's on account of the razors. Gillette Platinum Plus, unpackaged on the lip of the tub while the man Stan became lays with his head cocked back and his lean body slumped deep in the water. His arms circle the porcelain bowl he'd died in, as if relaxing for a hot soak after a long day's work. The canals he'd dug into his wrists leak waning streams of red down the white tub, mixing with the bathwater into a swirling, translucent soup.
There's a knock on the door from the other side.]
Stanley?
[A woman's voice. The glass-cut knob rattles, and her voice pitches up slightly.]
Stanley...
[Then the whole thing disappears. They're wrapped in darkness once more.]
Promise to try. Okay. Thank you. And swear on all our pinkies, I guess. [He looks to Shadowheart and laughs a little. One sliver of relief.
Another droplet falls, sound quite close. It has a tinny quality to it, as if gathering on hollow metal — wop. Stanley releases Del's pinky and looks miserably down at the flame in his hand.]
...If nothing else, just tell them I'm sorry. Will you? I'm so terribly sorry. I would have come back if I weren't...
[wop.
There's water dripping off his bare elbows. A puddle at his feet. The light is dim as is, but Stanley's face is draining of colour, paling at the same slow drip as the water.]
Sometimes you just get used to it. The way life is supposed to be. You follow the rules. Go to school to get a job, get a job to make a family. Make a living, pay your taxes, have your birthday once a year and watch time suck the colour from your hair, one strand at a time. Your knees give out and your back aches. That's fine, because it makes sense.
[wop.]
I couldn't take it. I couldn't stand the thought of going back, and now they're... [He looks up to them again, and this time the tears fall for real.] Tell them all I'm sorry. I love them, and I'm sorry.
[The air seems to snap with the suddenness of the flip. Stan isn't a little boy anymore, but a grown man in a bathtub with the periwinkle blue curtain pulled to the side. There's fluorescent lights illuminating this 36 square foot anomaly of a cozy bathroom, a 3D cutout of reality sprung up in the middle of the stifling black abyss. There's women's toiletries and men's shaving cream on the vanity, and soft blue accents in the tiles and seashell themed decor. The water is pink, though.
That's on account of the razors. Gillette Platinum Plus, unpackaged on the lip of the tub while the man Stan became lays with his head cocked back and his lean body slumped deep in the water. His arms circle the porcelain bowl he'd died in, as if relaxing for a hot soak after a long day's work. The canals he'd dug into his wrists leak waning streams of red down the white tub, mixing with the bathwater into a swirling, translucent soup.
There's a knock on the door from the other side.]
Stanley?
[A woman's voice. The glass-cut knob rattles, and her voice pitches up slightly.]
Stanley...
[Then the whole thing disappears. They're wrapped in darkness once more.]
[well okay turns out anders was right and completely fuck this.]
Oh no. It's ghosts, isn't it?
[rest in peace stanley i guess! nice to meet you and see your death!]
Oh no. It's ghosts, isn't it?
[rest in peace stanley i guess! nice to meet you and see your death!]
[ yeah! turns out anders was right! creepy children are never to be trusted! Rest in peace Stanley ... ]
It's ghosts.
[ the setting is unfamiliar in that modern way that much of heaven itself tends to be, but the image before them is not. the cramped infirmary at the Kinloch Hold had seen more than its fair share of mages young and old who were too terrified to face another day, who could not stand the idea of going on. Tell them all I'm sorry. I love them, and I'm sorry.
For all the stubborn refusal to listen to a demand in an in-between place, it's harder to ignore the last request of a man already slipped away. ]
It's ghosts.
[ the setting is unfamiliar in that modern way that much of heaven itself tends to be, but the image before them is not. the cramped infirmary at the Kinloch Hold had seen more than its fair share of mages young and old who were too terrified to face another day, who could not stand the idea of going on. Tell them all I'm sorry. I love them, and I'm sorry.
For all the stubborn refusal to listen to a demand in an in-between place, it's harder to ignore the last request of a man already slipped away. ]
[ well. that's definitely a jarring change of scenery while it lasts, and those last words echo in his head for a little longer than he'd like as he glances down at the pinky that was linked in stanley's just a moment ago — or maybe a long time ago.
he slips his hands in his pockets and exhales. ]
Great.
he slips his hands in his pockets and exhales. ]
Great.
1958 (CW: mentions of bullying, fatphobia, implied child abuse)
gutterbound
2025-03-10 09:53 pm (UTC)(link)
[Suddenly, it's summer.
You're enjoying your freedom from the long dragging days of school. You pitched your schoolbooks and bopped on out into the sunshine and the tall grass, scampered across paved roads and haunted the Aladdin Movie Theater (now showing a creature double feature! I was a Teenage Frankenstein and I was a Teenage Werewolf, because if it ain't broke why fix it?), paid pennies for candies and turned up the dial on the radio whenever the teen programming came on. One of you brought your transistor radio today, even, just so Chuck Berry and Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers can join the fun.
It's the first time you've played out in the Barrens. It is, ironically, absolutely thick with tall grass, swampy sponge, and if you wandered in a ways, dotted with wide, heavy-topped pipes that pushed out of the ground like mushrooms and lead straight down into Derry's labyrinthine sewers. You'd been warned once or twice not to heave the lids off and hide in there, even the grown men of Derry Public Works can get lost. But why the hell would you want to hide out in miles of shit and piss anyhow?
No no, here in the grasses it's fine. The rough and tumble bruisers from school haven't rubbed all three of their brain cells together to figure out that's where the bullied kids go. Which, you may as well be. You don't have it as bad as say, Eddie Kaspbrak, who was famously frail and had to honk on his aspirator if he took up so much as a light sprint. Or Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier, whose perilously running mouth was fronted by two buck teeth and earned him the nickname Bucky Beaver, though with how often the Bowers gang caught him you might as well call him Roadkill Rich. Or stuttering Bill Denbrough, who was a solid kid that in any other world might have done all right for himself, if he could only spit out one sentence in a straight shot. Most people laid off him a while though, after his brother Georgie was murdered last October.
That's the other thing. Curfew's at 7pm, sharp, and that goes for every kid in town. You don't want to end up dead or missing.
But here, it's safe, right? You're a bit hidden away, and the three of you are together, along with two other kids from the Bill-Richie-Eddie crowd of big old Losers. Shy and sweet Ben Hanscom, who wore sweatshirts even in the hot stink of July so that no one would call him "Tits" or remark upon his gut, and Beverly Marsh, who was pretty but poor, and usually had a bruise splotching over some stretch of her lean limbs or across the flat of her cheek. It's they who led you down here, come hang out a while and bring your tunes, Ben's got his comics and Beverly's got her cigarettes, but hey, it's your guys' first time here!]
What would you like to play? [Ben asks, inquisitive.] We don't have firecrackers or anything crazy like that.
Save it for a big celebration. [Beverly says and winks to Ben, who turns both rose-red and utterly mute in the blink of an eye. She turns to the three of you as he attempts to regain his composure.] I'm game for anything. As long as it's not Cowboys and Indians, but war or safari or stuff like that is cool. Or games like tag. Did you bring any cards?
[The world's your oyster. Do you like to play pretend, or do something a little more organized?]
You're enjoying your freedom from the long dragging days of school. You pitched your schoolbooks and bopped on out into the sunshine and the tall grass, scampered across paved roads and haunted the Aladdin Movie Theater (now showing a creature double feature! I was a Teenage Frankenstein and I was a Teenage Werewolf, because if it ain't broke why fix it?), paid pennies for candies and turned up the dial on the radio whenever the teen programming came on. One of you brought your transistor radio today, even, just so Chuck Berry and Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers can join the fun.
It's the first time you've played out in the Barrens. It is, ironically, absolutely thick with tall grass, swampy sponge, and if you wandered in a ways, dotted with wide, heavy-topped pipes that pushed out of the ground like mushrooms and lead straight down into Derry's labyrinthine sewers. You'd been warned once or twice not to heave the lids off and hide in there, even the grown men of Derry Public Works can get lost. But why the hell would you want to hide out in miles of shit and piss anyhow?
No no, here in the grasses it's fine. The rough and tumble bruisers from school haven't rubbed all three of their brain cells together to figure out that's where the bullied kids go. Which, you may as well be. You don't have it as bad as say, Eddie Kaspbrak, who was famously frail and had to honk on his aspirator if he took up so much as a light sprint. Or Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier, whose perilously running mouth was fronted by two buck teeth and earned him the nickname Bucky Beaver, though with how often the Bowers gang caught him you might as well call him Roadkill Rich. Or stuttering Bill Denbrough, who was a solid kid that in any other world might have done all right for himself, if he could only spit out one sentence in a straight shot. Most people laid off him a while though, after his brother Georgie was murdered last October.
That's the other thing. Curfew's at 7pm, sharp, and that goes for every kid in town. You don't want to end up dead or missing.
But here, it's safe, right? You're a bit hidden away, and the three of you are together, along with two other kids from the Bill-Richie-Eddie crowd of big old Losers. Shy and sweet Ben Hanscom, who wore sweatshirts even in the hot stink of July so that no one would call him "Tits" or remark upon his gut, and Beverly Marsh, who was pretty but poor, and usually had a bruise splotching over some stretch of her lean limbs or across the flat of her cheek. It's they who led you down here, come hang out a while and bring your tunes, Ben's got his comics and Beverly's got her cigarettes, but hey, it's your guys' first time here!]
What would you like to play? [Ben asks, inquisitive.] We don't have firecrackers or anything crazy like that.
Save it for a big celebration. [Beverly says and winks to Ben, who turns both rose-red and utterly mute in the blink of an eye. She turns to the three of you as he attempts to regain his composure.] I'm game for anything. As long as it's not Cowboys and Indians, but war or safari or stuff like that is cool. Or games like tag. Did you bring any cards?
[The world's your oyster. Do you like to play pretend, or do something a little more organized?]
Edited 2025-03-10 22:04 (UTC)
[Once the vision disappears, it's not long for the rest of you either. You don't fall back asleep. It's a bit more like capping off a dream. A soft fade, and when you come to
you're at home in your bed. There's birdsong outside, family members moving and shaking, and a whole wide, chore-free day ahead of you.
What were you even dreaming about? Something about a tub?]
you're at home in your bed. There's birdsong outside, family members moving and shaking, and a whole wide, chore-free day ahead of you.
What were you even dreaming about? Something about a tub?]
Edited 2025-03-10 21:59 (UTC)
[will i use baby icons this whole time probably now, but for now.
this girl is jen hallow. you would assume jen or jenny was short for jennifer, but it's actually short for something long and dated sounding and probably biblical. she's moved to town some [redacted] time ago to live with her aunt, an unpleasant woman most of the town children probably avoid, a mean church lady. she wears her hair in cute buns and braids and dresses in decent clothes, though not cool ones by any means.
the impression of her family situation is weird and religious and somewhat mysterious, but the impression of jen as a person is that she's moody and reserved and kind of unpleasant. would probably be a bully more often than she'd be spending time around these kids, except that she's equally rude and unfriendly with the popular kids as she is with everyone.
it is a mystery why she bothered showing up to this, but she seems more willing to be included today than she usually would be. maybe the way bev asked was nice.]
I still haven't agreed to play anything.
[but she will probably ultimately go along with whatever anyone else proposes, while acting disdainful about it.]
this girl is jen hallow. you would assume jen or jenny was short for jennifer, but it's actually short for something long and dated sounding and probably biblical. she's moved to town some [redacted] time ago to live with her aunt, an unpleasant woman most of the town children probably avoid, a mean church lady. she wears her hair in cute buns and braids and dresses in decent clothes, though not cool ones by any means.
the impression of her family situation is weird and religious and somewhat mysterious, but the impression of jen as a person is that she's moody and reserved and kind of unpleasant. would probably be a bully more often than she'd be spending time around these kids, except that she's equally rude and unfriendly with the popular kids as she is with everyone.
it is a mystery why she bothered showing up to this, but she seems more willing to be included today than she usually would be. maybe the way bev asked was nice.]
I still haven't agreed to play anything.
[but she will probably ultimately go along with whatever anyone else proposes, while acting disdainful about it.]
[ i probably won't stick to baby because i only have A FEW. but its fine. you get the picture.
this boy is ❚❚❚❚❚❚ ❚❚❚❚❚❚❚ but refuses to go by anything but andy. new school, new name. he spends most of his days doing his absolute best to beg out of class and then escape out of a bathroom window or sidle out the door of the nurses office when no one is looking, a skinny blonde headache through and through. just an absolutely incredible escape artist. he has a certain charm though, even if his moods tend to cycle somewhat unpredictably from energetic to ... a bit dark. maybe he'll grow out of it.
he looks incredibly disappointed there aren't firecrackers, by the way. sticking his tongue out. ]
I hate cards. I always lose. [ he does seem to have extraordinarily bad luck with cards. ] Safari doesn't sound so bad ... Oh, have you guys heard of Lord of the Rings?
[ already kicking around and looking for a Good Stick. You know. One that looks like a Gun?]
this boy is ❚❚❚❚❚❚ ❚❚❚❚❚❚❚ but refuses to go by anything but andy. new school, new name. he spends most of his days doing his absolute best to beg out of class and then escape out of a bathroom window or sidle out the door of the nurses office when no one is looking, a skinny blonde headache through and through. just an absolutely incredible escape artist. he has a certain charm though, even if his moods tend to cycle somewhat unpredictably from energetic to ... a bit dark. maybe he'll grow out of it.
he looks incredibly disappointed there aren't firecrackers, by the way. sticking his tongue out. ]
I hate cards. I always lose. [ he does seem to have extraordinarily bad luck with cards. ] Safari doesn't sound so bad ... Oh, have you guys heard of Lord of the Rings?
[ already kicking around and looking for a Good Stick. You know. One that looks like a Gun?]
Edited 2025-03-10 22:51 (UTC)
[ mine aren't accurate no matter what because he's not a mauve-haired catboy now
the last boy is del mcgarry, a small and pale auburn-haired kid who looks at least one grade younger than he actually is. he and his brother bax — who's younger than him but already bigger, and pretty much his opposite in terms of appearance with a darker complexion and longer, wavier hair — have been getting kicked around in the foster care system for most of their lives. they get a lot of shit for it, for being these scraggly kids nobody wants enough to keep, but the one thing that really pushes del's buttons is any insinuation that his brother isn't his real brother. he's generally a fairly well-behaved (if sharp-tongued) kid who likes to read and does well in his classes, but he's ended up in detention a few times for socking kids in the jaw when they said the wrong thing.
especially lately. he's been even more protective of bax ever since georgie died.
today though, bax is off at baseball practice, and it's just del and his backpack full of ratty old books hanging with the other outcasts. ]
Yeah, 'cause you stink at playin'.
[ annoyed because he wanted to play cards... short legs are too much of a disadvantage in too many physical games!! ]
the last boy is del mcgarry, a small and pale auburn-haired kid who looks at least one grade younger than he actually is. he and his brother bax — who's younger than him but already bigger, and pretty much his opposite in terms of appearance with a darker complexion and longer, wavier hair — have been getting kicked around in the foster care system for most of their lives. they get a lot of shit for it, for being these scraggly kids nobody wants enough to keep, but the one thing that really pushes del's buttons is any insinuation that his brother isn't his real brother. he's generally a fairly well-behaved (if sharp-tongued) kid who likes to read and does well in his classes, but he's ended up in detention a few times for socking kids in the jaw when they said the wrong thing.
especially lately. he's been even more protective of bax ever since georgie died.
today though, bax is off at baseball practice, and it's just del and his backpack full of ratty old books hanging with the other outcasts. ]
Yeah, 'cause you stink at playin'.
[ annoyed because he wanted to play cards... short legs are too much of a disadvantage in too many physical games!! ]
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