Quoted By:
>I love drugs!
Richard, that wasn't rhetorical.
«I will intervene to the best of my abilities.»
See? So it'll be fine. And it's not really drugs if it... if you... if it's for the purpose of saving the entire world. Your Aunt Ruby will understand someday. You shift your weight. "Um... maybe I can... but I don't think it's going to work how you think it will. My blood is— is cursed. It's encurseth with a mystic— a terrible— a monstrous spell, which, if activated, will turneth me into a—"
"A dread and terrible beast?" Earl says cheerfully.
"—a— an even more dreadful and terrible beast than what you're thinking about! But I need to work on controlling my dreadfulness and terribleness, so maybe I still could do it? In a safe way, with, um, help? From somebody who does it already? Ow!"
You flinch: Earl, face lit up, has grabbed your shoulder and tugged you into a half-hug, half-backslap. "YEAH! What the hell, kid! Giving me more than I bargained for! What's this fucker look like?"
"Um," you say, dazed. "I don't— I don't know. I've never been it in real life, and I don't remember... it's probably snake-y. Or lizard-y."
"HELL yeah! Big claws? Scales? Teeth? I guess you got those two sorted already, huh?" He crosses his arms, leans forward. "Didja want to start tonight?"
You could bite Jean Ramsey's head off. You could also bite Earl's head off, or Branwen's, and Richard didn't say he could definitely stop you. He said he could try. "I... I don't know if it'd be a good idea to... I don't want to get you hurt."
"Haw! I'm made of pretty sturdy stuff. How about banding it?"
"...Banding it?"
You know, banding it: wrapping something tight around an extremity to choke off bloodflow, then injecting below the band so only that area gets affected. Once Earl explains it, you do dimly remember him tearing a crate open with a monster arm. You imagine yourself with a monster arm, then ask, tentatively, if it would work with just a finger. To start.
He doesn't see why not, which is why you wind up with a rubbery band around the base of your pointer finger. Earl whistles as he screws it tighter. "This is exciting!"
You're trying not to look. "I guess."
"Aw, are you nervous? Don't be! Natural process, hon, natural process. I'm still kicking, and you've <span class="mu-i">seen</span> the kind of shit I go through."
"I, um—" Is this mean to say? It's true. "I don't really want to go through what you do."
"Haw! Who would? I'm not too good at it, really. I mean, I can stomach it, and a lotta people don't have the stomach, but the rest? One-trick pony, kid. You want real technique, you need my buddy."
"Now you're telling me," you mumble.
"Hey, you oughta know. But you've never done this before, have you? I know more than nothing, I'm thinking." He pinches your fingertip. "And I know that's looking pretty good. You wanna look, yes or no?"
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