ā iām a being of pure power, i donāt need sleep. ā
Bill would not beg to differ (because he didnāt beg, for one), but he would still insist greatly.
Richieās leg had been going for hours. There was too much zing in his blood and the kid couldnāt deal with the reflex of the zang. Whatever containment had been there was now ruptured, and there had never been any filter. At the midnight mark, Billās own leg had begun to make a good mockery of Richieās. Up, down, up,down, updownupdownupdown. Good company inspired good company, or something like that. (He wasnāt sure if that was something he had come across before, or if he had made that up himself, but it worked.)
āI donāt think Rockstars count as power,ā Bill said, slow-like - for the benefit of his disorder, and from the cause-effect of his own tiredness.Ā āIt technically counts as being rented energy.ā One that, he was certain, Richie would come down from in a grand crash. It wasnāt like he hadnāt been exposed to the vapid whirlwind that was Richieās incredibly ability to zip around, but heād never been there for the aftermath. Or, not really.
āIām tired.ā He admitted, half a laugh born from something soft in his diaphragm. Billās gaze fixed itself to Richieās, and his head inclined a moment after.Ā āAnd IĀ nuh-need,ā Here, while he didnāt pause in his speech, he did throw a quick gaze to rat-nest boy that was a fair epitome of a visualĀ see? āsleep, and Iām sure if we laid down, by proxy you would probably conk out.ā His mouth settled into a comfy line, good humored despite his initial issue of exhaustion.
āYouāre not the energizer bunny, buddy.ā
