＊ ☆⠀ .. ⁱⁿᵇᵒˣ : RANDOM QUESTION PROMPTS , CURRENTLY ACCEPTING. .. @whimsyck , richie. “ WANT SOME COMPANY? ”
lunch hour arrives as a catalyscm , a surge of lockers slamming and sneakers shrieking and voices stacking atop one another until language itself liquefies into noise and pressure. sonic hail rattling against the thin glass of her concentration. it is too bright and too loud and too full of elbows. and here, eleven compresses.
this is not a metaphor: she physically reduces herself, chin ducked, knees angled inward, fingers driven hard against her ears as if she may pin the sound in place and keep it from crawling any deeper. richie tozier, who tends to enter rooms like a thrown chair, reduces himself into a boy standing a respectful several feet away. it isn't looming, it's just there and eleven feels the attention before she'd acknowledged it, eyes flicking upward only after her fingers hover away from her ears.
this gaze is sharp and nocturnal, the look of a creature deciding whether this will be food or snare. she speaks with practiced bravery, “ is this a trick ? ” eyes narrowed, chin lifts, suspicion calculating every velocity and angle. “ if you joke, i will know. ” it is a statement of physics. she says it the way one say storms bring rain or blood shows on white cloths.