[Richie chuckles. The sunshine just emanates off this kid like he's a travel ad for Waikiki.]
Good on you, Mistah Parkah. [They must have been nicer bullies than the likes he knew. He'd hate to think that every school had a Henry Bowers. A guy who'd kill your dog because you were the only black kid in town, or wash your face in ice if you went to the Synagogue. Carve his name on your stomach because you wouldn't let him cheat off your paper. Break your arm while you choked on asthma pains.
Richie has to take a long fucking drag just remembering what had happened to his friends. His own gripes sounded like Sunday School playdates. Make no mistake, he'd gotten banged up by Henry plenty on his own merits — being ugly, buck-toothed and jug-eared and bespectacled, and most of all, being a wise-ass. He'd been the most frequently caught of his pals, sure, his mother had to squirrel funds just to keep up with replacing his snapped glasses, but he never had to suffer Henry at his worst. Not until the end.
Terrible reverie this is. The kidlet pulls him out of it with his over-earnest apologies.]
Don't sweat it kiddo, it's no fault of your own. I'll live. Your outstanding generosity is doing me wonders already.
[The rest still has him settling on a slight frown. He corrects course,] Left, here. On the next block up. [and corrects his instinctive protest. He doesn't know this kid from Adam, what right does he have to be nosing into any of his business? Besides which, he's in no position to provide. That's the only reason they're still talking, isn't it?]
I doubt they'd see it as you getting in their way. You're no baby, don't get me wrong — but you just got shot half-way across the universe and stuck in a verified dystopia. Most people would be painting their pants brown.
[Richie clucks his tongue. They're nearly at the doorstep.] Ain't no shame in checking in with a friend. All I'm saying.
--> Peter Parker, cw: mentions of past bullying & bigotry
[Richie chuckles. The sunshine just emanates off this kid like he's a travel ad for Waikiki.]
Good on you, Mistah Parkah. [They must have been nicer bullies than the likes he knew. He'd hate to think that every school had a Henry Bowers. A guy who'd kill your dog because you were the only black kid in town, or wash your face in ice if you went to the Synagogue. Carve his name on your stomach because you wouldn't let him cheat off your paper. Break your arm while you choked on asthma pains.
Richie has to take a long fucking drag just remembering what had happened to his friends. His own gripes sounded like Sunday School playdates. Make no mistake, he'd gotten banged up by Henry plenty on his own merits — being ugly, buck-toothed and jug-eared and bespectacled, and most of all, being a wise-ass. He'd been the most frequently caught of his pals, sure, his mother had to squirrel funds just to keep up with replacing his snapped glasses, but he never had to suffer Henry at his worst. Not until the end.
Terrible reverie this is. The kidlet pulls him out of it with his over-earnest apologies.]
Don't sweat it kiddo, it's no fault of your own. I'll live. Your outstanding generosity is doing me wonders already.
[The rest still has him settling on a slight frown. He corrects course,] Left, here. On the next block up. [and corrects his instinctive protest. He doesn't know this kid from Adam, what right does he have to be nosing into any of his business? Besides which, he's in no position to provide. That's the only reason they're still talking, isn't it?]
I doubt they'd see it as you getting in their way. You're no baby, don't get me wrong — but you just got shot half-way across the universe and stuck in a verified dystopia. Most people would be painting their pants brown.
[Richie clucks his tongue. They're nearly at the doorstep.] Ain't no shame in checking in with a friend. All I'm saying.