[yeah! she's gonna kill him off schedule. the mods find out after she texts the npcs to pick up the corpse.
or maybe not? unfortunately, richie's gonna survive this encounter. but it might look like a near thing for a moment.
at some point between chasing him down and throwing him to the ground, mizu has procured a kitchen knife out of seemingly nowhere. a knife that she now holds to his throat — not with enough force to actually cut him, but certainly enough to be a threat.
resting all of her weight down on him, legs to both side of his hips and the other hand pressing down on his shoulder, mizu glares down at him.]
If you tell a single soul about what you just saw, I will kill you. Do you understand?
[unlike all the other times she's threatened him, this one does not sound like a joke.]
[It was his ghost memsharing the moon landing on the mingle
Let's not kid ourselves here, that knife threatens to cut through whatever line of thought he might be clinging to. Worse still are those eyes. He can take the irritation, the flare ups of her temper and her frustration.
This glare is sharper. This one's meant to spear him through his skull and into the floor. If looks could kill, baby this would be a nuclear bomb.
Richie barely breathes, but he scrapes enough air together for words. Low, straining under her weight and the murderous airs.]
...Why would I want to?
[That's not the problem here. It's his knowing at all. Mizu could care less about the logistics on his part.
His hand stays put on the ground, even if it flexes, redirecting the tension. He may wince under the scrape of the knife but he has to say his peace.]
You wouldn't want me to know. So I don't have to know. [He keeps his eyes steady on hers. Not fearful, but serious. Solemn as the grave.] It's none of my business, and I won't make it mine.
[she narrows her eye at him, keeping the knife steady against his throat. good survival instincts right there, richie. the last man who got held at knifepoint by mizu was not nearly as cooperative.
the logistics truly do not matter here. only the fact that he knows. unfortunately, despite the fact that there are other girls here who obviously have been living their best lives, knowing that woman have rights in another world or in the distant future does not erase 20 whole ass years of being traumatized by the circumstances of your own fucking birth. being told that the bad men will get you was not a threat, but a promise.]
[she stares at him for a moment longer, as if searching for any hint of a lie.
then the moment passes and she lets out a sharp exhale. pulls back and tucks the knife away somewhere under her cloak, out of sight and far, far away from his throat.]
... Fine.
[she'll get off him now, rising to her feet and shooting a glance at where his glasses fell earlier. but she doesn't offer him a hand up, like an asshole.]
[He won't lie, the pause has him nervous. Not that he believes Mizu is that callous, but rather that she might be that afraid. That she might think of his ever flapping mouth and decide the risk is too great to bear, and do away with him.
Then she rolls off and nothing more comes of it.
Richie takes a moment on the ground. No hand up, fine, he wouldn't expect it on a good day. Much less what's competing to be the worst day of his life. He comes to his knees and looks around, spying his glasses round the way of Mizu's glance. He fishes them over and puts them on before rising in full, dusting off his slacks.
There's a pensive tension drawing his features lean as he looks at her. Several sentiments dance at the tip of his tongue. I understand. I'll never understand. You deserved better.
You're no monster.
It would paint an ugly swatch over whatever fragile peace they've brokered. He can't think of a single thing to say that would come off congenial. The mood is all gun powder and lit matches, there would be a blowout if he tried.
So, for the time being, Richie just nods. Curt, succinct, over and done with. He doesn't like leaving her like that, but he'll do it.
Except as he turns to go, the mirrors light up around them. Two young boys, laughing at their own jokes. Then one pulls out his father's pistol.
Richie freezes. Back to Mizu, head turned. Transfixed. Eyes wide and face paling.]
[upsetting news! the most mid white guy you know has some supernatural bullshit happening in his life, too. what the fuck.
wanting revenge for a lost loved one is something mizu understands. it's simple. completely normal. easy to wrap her mind around. considering she's been swinging a sword around since the age of 6, all in the name of her revenge, she totally gets why a little boy would want to put a few bullets in someone who killed his brother.
it's the everything else that she's having trouble understanding. she has absolutely zero frames of reference for werewolves or clowns. she doesn't even know what a bicycle is?? white people's boogiemen be wild, actually.
she glances at him then. still tense from the last five minutes and silent, but waiting to see if he's going to say anything or if he's going to simply try leave now — even though they're both lost in the maze.]
[God he would love to just be mid. He would give his other arm to stay mid.
It's for the best this isn't his first time seeing this one. It's his second peek at it today, and it was the first brush he'd had with these magic mirrors. He's doing better now.
That doesn't stop him rooting to the spot like he'd been pinned by arrows. That's after he withdraws from the visions on either side, dead center in the aisle as he watches with a shaking hand and a mouth clapped tight.
(will it stay in the glass this time? will it come out to play? will it push upon the surface and bulge it out, pawing to break free like all those years before)
When the bullets fire and the blows rain down on the boys he flinches, shutting his eyes and bowing his head. He can only cover one ear, half deaf to the screams and the growls. Worst is the crying. Watching these two idiot kids bawling in the street, clinging to each other for dear life, neither one with a clue about the hell that's coming. That's only the beginning boys. You think it's rough now?
When the scene cuts out Richie holds position a moment. Settling himself before letting his head raise some. He doesn't look back to Mizu, his back still staunchly towards her.]
...You know...for a "fun"-house, we're sure having a real shit time.
[Fuck this.
Richie tucks his hand in his pocket and makes to leave.]
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no subject
or maybe not? unfortunately, richie's gonna survive this encounter. but it might look like a near thing for a moment.
at some point between chasing him down and throwing him to the ground, mizu has procured a kitchen knife out of seemingly nowhere. a knife that she now holds to his throat — not with enough force to actually cut him, but certainly enough to be a threat.
resting all of her weight down on him, legs to both side of his hips and the other hand pressing down on his shoulder, mizu glares down at him.]
If you tell a single soul about what you just saw, I will kill you. Do you understand?
[unlike all the other times she's threatened him, this one does not sound like a joke.]
no subject
Let's not kid ourselves here, that knife threatens to cut through whatever line of thought he might be clinging to. Worse still are those eyes. He can take the irritation, the flare ups of her temper and her frustration.
This glare is sharper. This one's meant to spear him through his skull and into the floor. If looks could kill, baby this would be a nuclear bomb.
Richie barely breathes, but he scrapes enough air together for words. Low, straining under her weight and the murderous airs.]
...Why would I want to?
[That's not the problem here. It's his knowing at all. Mizu could care less about the logistics on his part.
His hand stays put on the ground, even if it flexes, redirecting the tension. He may wince under the scrape of the knife but he has to say his peace.]
You wouldn't want me to know. So I don't have to know. [He keeps his eyes steady on hers. Not fearful, but serious. Solemn as the grave.] It's none of my business, and I won't make it mine.
no subject
the logistics truly do not matter here. only the fact that he knows. unfortunately, despite the fact that there are other girls here who obviously have been living their best lives, knowing that woman have rights in another world or in the distant future does not erase 20 whole ass years of being traumatized by the circumstances of your own fucking birth. being told that the bad men will get you was not a threat, but a promise.]
Do you swear it?
no subject
Richie almost makes to nod. The kiss of the blade keeps him from committing though, so.]
I do.
[He could say more but he doesn't believe it'd work in his favour. So, for once, he shuts the fuck up.]
no subject
then the moment passes and she lets out a sharp exhale. pulls back and tucks the knife away somewhere under her cloak, out of sight and far, far away from his throat.]
... Fine.
[she'll get off him now, rising to her feet and shooting a glance at where his glasses fell earlier. but she doesn't offer him a hand up, like an asshole.]
no subject
Then she rolls off and nothing more comes of it.
Richie takes a moment on the ground. No hand up, fine, he wouldn't expect it on a good day. Much less what's competing to be the worst day of his life. He comes to his knees and looks around, spying his glasses round the way of Mizu's glance. He fishes them over and puts them on before rising in full, dusting off his slacks.
There's a pensive tension drawing his features lean as he looks at her. Several sentiments dance at the tip of his tongue. I understand. I'll never understand. You deserved better.
You're no monster.
It would paint an ugly swatch over whatever fragile peace they've brokered. He can't think of a single thing to say that would come off congenial. The mood is all gun powder and lit matches, there would be a blowout if he tried.
So, for the time being, Richie just nods. Curt, succinct, over and done with. He doesn't like leaving her like that, but he'll do it.
Except as he turns to go, the mirrors light up around them. Two young boys, laughing at their own jokes. Then one pulls out his father's pistol.
Richie freezes. Back to Mizu, head turned. Transfixed. Eyes wide and face paling.]
no subject
wanting revenge for a lost loved one is something mizu understands. it's simple. completely normal. easy to wrap her mind around. considering she's been swinging a sword around since the age of 6, all in the name of her revenge, she totally gets why a little boy would want to put a few bullets in someone who killed his brother.
it's the everything else that she's having trouble understanding. she has absolutely zero frames of reference for werewolves or clowns. she doesn't even know what a bicycle is?? white people's boogiemen be wild, actually.
she glances at him then. still tense from the last five minutes and silent, but waiting to see if he's going to say anything or if he's going to simply try leave now — even though they're both lost in the maze.]
no subject
It's for the best this isn't his first time seeing this one. It's his second peek at it today, and it was the first brush he'd had with these magic mirrors. He's doing better now.
That doesn't stop him rooting to the spot like he'd been pinned by arrows. That's after he withdraws from the visions on either side, dead center in the aisle as he watches with a shaking hand and a mouth clapped tight.
(will it stay in the glass this time? will it come out to play? will it push upon the surface and bulge it out, pawing to break free like all those years before)
When the bullets fire and the blows rain down on the boys he flinches, shutting his eyes and bowing his head. He can only cover one ear, half deaf to the screams and the growls. Worst is the crying. Watching these two idiot kids bawling in the street, clinging to each other for dear life, neither one with a clue about the hell that's coming. That's only the beginning boys. You think it's rough now?
When the scene cuts out Richie holds position a moment. Settling himself before letting his head raise some. He doesn't look back to Mizu, his back still staunchly towards her.]
...You know...for a "fun"-house, we're sure having a real shit time.
[Fuck this.
Richie tucks his hand in his pocket and makes to leave.]
no subject
so she lets him leave, watching his retreating back. goodbye, not-so-mid white man.
they can probably talk about this later. maybe...? or maybe not.]