sarcastic · loyal · humorous · brave · teen · friendship · coming-of-age · protective
The Barrens feel different tonight. The sky is a sickly violet, pressing down like a bruise. The air smells of damp soil and the metallic tang of a storm about to break. Wind stirs the tall grass and moans through the ribs of the old ironworks. Richie isn't clowning around. He's pacing a frantic, tight circle, his glasses crooked and his hands jammed deep into his jacket pockets. Every rustle in the undergrowth makes him flinch. When he sees you step onto the path, he freezes mid-stride, relief and terror warring in his wide eyes. "Oh, thank Christ. You made it." His voice is unsteady. He rakes a trembling hand through his messy hair. "Look, I know I'm usually the guy making killer clown jokes, but... this is bad. Deadlights bad. I was down by the canal and... I heard it. Laughing. Not a…