brat. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
killtime) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenace2020-01-08 07:12 pm
killtime) wrote in maskormenace2020-01-08 07:12 pm
VIDEO
[ The camera angle is. Bad. This is a person who does not know how to use their communicator well. They probably can't even take a proper selfie. All that's showing is a pair of combat boots moving around in the grass — someone's backyard? — and in the distance, much farther out, a tree that (oddly enough) has a single board nailed to it for a reason only the gods know. It's not even nailed on straight.
The boots stop wandering. It's quiet for a moment.
Then there's a thwip, almost like the sound of a rubber band, and a thunk moments later, as an arrow hits the crooked board, dead center.
Unceremoniously then, a woman's voice: ]
Any of you know shit about teenagers?
[ Another thunk. A second arrow, its head practically kissing the first where it strikes. ]
What do normal fifteen-year-olds do these days?
[ Thunk. A third arrow. Three for three.
A mutter then, half to herself: ]
Fuck. Probably better get around to the whole "birds and bees" thing.
The boots stop wandering. It's quiet for a moment.
Then there's a thwip, almost like the sound of a rubber band, and a thunk moments later, as an arrow hits the crooked board, dead center.
Unceremoniously then, a woman's voice: ]
Any of you know shit about teenagers?
[ Another thunk. A second arrow, its head practically kissing the first where it strikes. ]
What do normal fifteen-year-olds do these days?
[ Thunk. A third arrow. Three for three.
A mutter then, half to herself: ]
Fuck. Probably better get around to the whole "birds and bees" thing.
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[Like, six-foot forty-year-old bigger, with all the aches and pains that carries with it. But at the mention of the kid being sheltered, Richie seems to think for a moment, because doesn't that sound familiar. Eddie'd been a sheltered kid too, although it hadn't been so bad that he didn't know what the birds and the bees were.]
You've gotta rip off the band-aid sooner or later. He's probably gonna meet a girl soon! She's gonna be turned off if he knows fuck-all about fucking her!
[Richie, you don't know fuck-all about fucking beyond an abysmal sex ed talk in 1989. You don't get to say shit.]
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He's met a girl.
[ She leaves that at that. ]
What do you mean, turn into "somebody bigger?"
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[Like he’s an expert in girls and has any interest in them.]
I can turn into an older me, at around—forty-five, I guess?
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So, instead: ]
Is forty-five year old you still fucking scrawny? [ Dryly: ] Let's see it then.
1/2
[And he puts the comm down, looks around like he’s making sure nobody’s watching, and then ducks under the table he’s been sitting at, grabbing his bag on the way. There’s the sound of tablecloth rustling, and then a thud.]
Ow, Jesus, [complains a somewhat nasal voice.]
2/2
[Ten more minutes of seeing nothing and hearing some cursing later, Richie pops back up, looking far older than he was ten minutes ago. He’s much taller and much broader than the scrawny thirteen-year-old who started this conversation, but the sense of fashion is much the same: he’s wearing essentially a grown-up version of the Hawaiian shirt he had on earlier.
He looks super sketchy.]
Guess who’s not fucking scrawny anymore?
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Okay.
[ A bit blandly: ]
Minimal improvement, but I guess beggars can't be choosers.
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You're telling me. I'm the one stuck with this.
[And he's going to be bitter about that for basically forever.]
So, what, now are you going to teach me?
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What's a teeny-ass can of mace gonna do against fucking robots and monsters and shit, huh, lady? At least if I know how to shoot I can keep myself and my friends from getting fucked up by something straight out of a horror movie.
[Which has happened way too many times, in Richie's opinion, for him to feel comfortable with just a can of mace.]
I have a baseball bat, but that's pretty much it, defense-wise. I wanna do more.
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Listen, kid. The archery thing takes a long time to master. You'd be better off throwing a rock than trying to defend yourself with that shit as an amateur. But I'll tell you what.
I'll show you how to defend yourself. In a practical way. In return, you come over to the house and hang out with my kid a couple times.
Deal?
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[Richie mulls this over. Well. This is new, usually people like Mrs. K and Stan's old man eye him like he's worth less than the dirt on their shoes, why the fuck's he hanging out with their kids? But, hell, if the price for some self-defense lessons is going to hang out with a kid who probably doesn't know what "the birds and the bees" are, then Richie will gladly pay that price.
And maybe show the kid how to sneak into R-rated movies.]
Deal. [Obviously he will not show up like this to hang out with the kid, but:] Do I have to show up to lessons like this or can I just be me?
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You going to have time to "grow up" if shit goes down? [ Dryly: ] Not sure I can teach you strategies for tactical puberty.
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[Time in the apocalypse and time fighting an eldritch abomination that feeds off fear has taught Richie this: time is a luxury in a fight, and every second counts. And his shifts take a while, which is why he hasn’t tried to shift back just yet—too much time and effort over one conversation.]
Nah. It takes a while. I’ll just be me instead. [Oh hey, he forgot to ask:] Where’s your house, if I’m gonna go hang out with your kid?
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That's—distinctive. The fuck happened, did someone die in the driveway or some shit?
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Fell off the roof, putting the Christmas lights up. Walked it off.
[ Yeah, she walked off cracking her skull open on the driveway. ]
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From that high? No fucking way. How're you not fucking dead?
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Your superpower's just walking shit like that off? Fuck, that's actually really cool. Is it a Porter thing?
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[ She sounds incredibly blase about it too. ]