Ah, misery. It ran deep in this man’s psyche, like a stab to the gut. Though not quite broken, he was clearly the product of some other horrific extradimensional being. If Alastor remembered correctly, that wicked, self-proclaimed Eater of Worlds had taken residence on this miserable green and blue planet thousands of years ago. And though not familiar with the entity’s work entirely, Alastor was aware enough to know that their methods of toying with prey were similar. It began with fostering that sense of hopelessness. Pure dread. An inescapable sort of fear that tethered a person to the idea of their own mortality. Though, Alastor, himself, preferred to deal in the more organized chaos of violence and bloodshed to weaken a target, there was something undeniably beautiful about It’s approach.
Well, he hated to step on the toes of a kindred spirit, but this one made for easy prey. Not necessarily his first choice for a potential meal, but one grew peckish…
Nothing left to do but approach, and the fiend did with a bright grin and welcoming tone.
“Oh, but my friend, aren’t you a comedian? A man of jokes? Safe? Pah!” He laughed, tossing his head back briefly, leaning against the rail beside the human. “What fun is there in safe comedy?”
It had been pure chance that had brought Richie back to Derry. Or that’s what he’d thought. It was going to be a quick gig, in and out, just a few days and part of a comedy campaign centered in Maine. Only a couple of days in and the memories had returned, bit by bit, each one more horrifying. The worst was this evening when he had seen something while on stage, and promptly froze. The rest of the show he managed to stumble through, but it was one of his worst shows ever.
Which brought him outside at the back of the building, having a cigarette out in the crisp evening air, muttering to himself. The reply took him by surprise and he nearly inhaled his cigarette. Coughing, he turned to look at the other man.
“You got me there”, he admitted, grateful to have been yanked out of his dark thoughts. The stranger was right, and he was good at finding something to laugh at in dark places, even if it was mostly himself. Because things, things could always get worse. That was the awful, hilarious truth of it. At the moment, however, he was struggling to see how it could be.
“Dangerous comedy is the best comedy.” He paused, putting out his cigarette against the brick wall and flicking it into a nearby waste basket. “I’m Richie”, he continued, even though the stranger had already identified him. He didn’t want the lasting impression to be this evening’s terrible show, though. “And you are?”
