"Your friend Captain Jack, huh?" Richie held out the bottle. "Does he really have a special island, or was that just bullshit?"
As for the reason he was drinking, well. Any other place, he'd clam up like low tide at a seagull convention, but if everyone was really here to fight monsters... None of his friends had thought anyone would believe them, back in the day. He hadn't until he'd seen It. But if there were truly, honest-to-God, bet-your-ass monsters ...
He closed his eyes, deliberating, and saw the afterimage of the deadlights burned into his soul. Maybe closing his eyes had been a bad idea.
"Fighting one monster was more than enough for me," he said at length, the words hoarse and rough, as though it was a fight all its own to get them out. He could still feel the squirming, pulsing thing beneath his fingers, intertwined with the others'. The wrench of his shoulder socket as he threw the rocks far too hard. Beneath it all, an older memory: the sensation of a cracking carapace carried down into his hands through the shaft of a bat. He felt like he might be sick again, but held it together. It was dead, disintegrated somewhere in the bowels of Derry. Very, very far away. For the moment, he was safe. "This feels like one big fucking joke, only I'm not laughing."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2019-09-23 03:50 pm (UTC)As for the reason he was drinking, well. Any other place, he'd clam up like low tide at a seagull convention, but if everyone was really here to fight monsters... None of his friends had thought anyone would believe them, back in the day. He hadn't until he'd seen It. But if there were truly, honest-to-God, bet-your-ass monsters ...
He closed his eyes, deliberating, and saw the afterimage of the deadlights burned into his soul. Maybe closing his eyes had been a bad idea.
"Fighting one monster was more than enough for me," he said at length, the words hoarse and rough, as though it was a fight all its own to get them out. He could still feel the squirming, pulsing thing beneath his fingers, intertwined with the others'. The wrench of his shoulder socket as he threw the rocks far too hard. Beneath it all, an older memory: the sensation of a cracking carapace carried down into his hands through the shaft of a bat. He felt like he might be sick again, but held it together. It was dead, disintegrated somewhere in the bowels of Derry. Very, very far away. For the moment, he was safe. "This feels like one big fucking joke, only I'm not laughing."