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It's not difficult to envision a better Richard: you've seen him often enough. (Maybe you don't even <span class="mu-i">remember</span> all the times you've seen him.) The difficulty comes from step #2, which is substituting the better Richard in for the thrashing, hissing version you're clutching in your fist. You squint to blur your vision.
«Stop.»
Can't he stop you himself if he's so concerned about it? He can try doing what he did this morning. <span class="mu-i">Surely</span> he isn't—
>[-1 ID: 6/13]
You swallow down a yelp (Ellery is <span class="mu-i">right</span> there) but your back still bucks and your shoulders thrust back. Damn. Damn. Maybe the bluff-calling wasn't the right move. You ought to be flashing back to this morning— your fingers scrabbling through the sand— but for whatever reason what comes to mind is some foggy vision of your back against a wall and a hand at— on your throat and Richard's pale snarling face in yours. Which is peculiar, since Richard got kind of upset with you pre-Headspace, but there were no walls involved there. Possibly it's a metaphor.
«Possibly it is your overactive imagination.»
Your vigorous imagination? Possibly. You crack your neck against the post-shock stiffness and vigorously imagine the terrifying Richard face in place of your fistful of snake. Only not terrifying, preferably. Fatherly. Nice. Nice and <span class="mu-i">interested</span> in helping you with this interesting Ellery project, in his own special Richard sort of—
«<No>. I will <never>—»
You wince as he sinks his fangs into your thumb, wobbles uncertainly, and vanishes, leaving two little holes behind. Wiping them neatly on your slacks, you glance back up at Richard, beaded with sweat and clenching a paper cup. His expression is inscrutable.
"<span class="mu-i">Lottie?</span>" says Ellery, and from the tone of his voice it's maybe not the first time he's addressed you. Richard is swigging down the cup and crunching it underfoot. You attempt to appear like you've heard the last 3 minutes of the monologue. "Yeah?"
"Can you not talk to your fucking eidolon in the middle of a normal— you realize <span class="mu-i">you're</span> the one who barged in <span class="mu-i">here?</span>"
"I walked in," you say primly, "and I wasn't talking to anybody. Maybe your ears are broken."
He has no good response. (Success.) "I— great. Well, I was <span class="mu-i">saying—</span> Maddie—"
"Still kidnapped," you say.
"Are you <span class="mu-i">working</span> on that?"
"Oh, yes." You nod. "As a matter of fact, I've ascertained the presence of a <span class="mu-i">secret passage</span> leading directly to Pat's lair." (Ellery looks puzzled.) "Residence. House. Wherever she lives."
Richard is circling behind Ellery— to paw through the stacks of boxes on the chaise longue, you think. Whatever. Ellery doesn't notice. "Wh— you <span class="mu-i">have?</span> So— what— we can just go through and <span class="mu-i">get</span> her? Is there a catch? There's got to be a catch, you don't just get direct shots to the—"
(3/4?)
