(The trouble is that Eddie doesn't really say 'shut up' so much as literally giggles it in this nervous sort of way. He wishes with all his might that he could melt right through the car seat and into the center of the earth. Not having seen Richie around for so long made him a lot weaker to this sort of thing. He wanted to tell Richie to knock it off like he always did, to not call him those pet names of his, but he had missed Richie more than he could put into words.
He was almost afraid that if he really told Richie to shove it, really told Richie to stop calling him things like 'Eds' or 'My love' then Richie would disappear just like that. And then what? It'd be another year before he heard Richie saying those things again? No thanks. Eddie wasn't taking his chances.
Thank fuck he had Richie's fingers to focus on. He holds Richie's hand very carefully, bringing it up close to his face for a better look. He really hadn't been lying about needing glasses.)
You mean an ent? (Lord of the Rings was blessedly the one pop culture thing Eddie definitely knew even in the 1950s.)
Oh, I'm sure that they just had loads to say. Were they making fun of my morning wood again? (Get it...Because...wood? Trees? Anyway this is the boy Richie signed up for and he was a trainwreck most days. He gets up onto his knees then, letting go of Richie's hand briefly so that he could bend over the front car seat and dangle himself into the back. His legs kick around for a second because hello! Short! But he drops back into the seat a second later with a red fanny pack. He pulls it open and begins to tug out a variety of simple medical supplies: tweezers, alcohol wipes, a small can of benzocaine, and a pair of bifocals. The glasses go on first, and they're not as thick as Richie's, but they're as big. He's used to wearing them for medical stuff over at F.E.A.R by now, so he doesn't think twice about the fact that Richie hadn't seen them yet.
He proceeds to sanitize the tweezers with the wipes and grabs Richie's hand again, bending down low to start his work. He's meticulous but exceedingly gentle.)
Sorry. It'll probably hurt a little. (He snags the first splinter and pulls it out with quick precision. Deposits the splinter into the alcohol wipe wrapper, and goes in for the next. It's far from the hardest medical thing he's had to do in a while, and Eddie's done with it before long. At least the ugly part. He slides his fingers very carefully over Richie's palm and over his fingers, frowning.)
I think I got them all. Does it feel like I missed any?
no subject
(The trouble is that Eddie doesn't really say 'shut up' so much as literally giggles it in this nervous sort of way. He wishes with all his might that he could melt right through the car seat and into the center of the earth. Not having seen Richie around for so long made him a lot weaker to this sort of thing. He wanted to tell Richie to knock it off like he always did, to not call him those pet names of his, but he had missed Richie more than he could put into words.
He was almost afraid that if he really told Richie to shove it, really told Richie to stop calling him things like 'Eds' or 'My love' then Richie would disappear just like that. And then what? It'd be another year before he heard Richie saying those things again? No thanks. Eddie wasn't taking his chances.
Thank fuck he had Richie's fingers to focus on. He holds Richie's hand very carefully, bringing it up close to his face for a better look. He really hadn't been lying about needing glasses.)
You mean an ent? (Lord of the Rings was blessedly the one pop culture thing Eddie definitely knew even in the 1950s.)
Oh, I'm sure that they just had loads to say. Were they making fun of my morning wood again? (Get it...Because...wood? Trees? Anyway this is the boy Richie signed up for and he was a trainwreck most days. He gets up onto his knees then, letting go of Richie's hand briefly so that he could bend over the front car seat and dangle himself into the back. His legs kick around for a second because hello! Short! But he drops back into the seat a second later with a red fanny pack. He pulls it open and begins to tug out a variety of simple medical supplies: tweezers, alcohol wipes, a small can of benzocaine, and a pair of bifocals. The glasses go on first, and they're not as thick as Richie's, but they're as big. He's used to wearing them for medical stuff over at F.E.A.R by now, so he doesn't think twice about the fact that Richie hadn't seen them yet.
He proceeds to sanitize the tweezers with the wipes and grabs Richie's hand again, bending down low to start his work. He's meticulous but exceedingly gentle.)
Sorry. It'll probably hurt a little. (He snags the first splinter and pulls it out with quick precision. Deposits the splinter into the alcohol wipe wrapper, and goes in for the next. It's far from the hardest medical thing he's had to do in a while, and Eddie's done with it before long. At least the ugly part. He slides his fingers very carefully over Richie's palm and over his fingers, frowning.)
I think I got them all. Does it feel like I missed any?