✩ Neverwhere: Tho’ Much is Taken, Much Abides (The Extended Remix)
✩ [ Richard Mayhew | PG-13 | 500 words ]
Every life is full of both good moments and bad. These were not among Richard Mayhew’s finest moments.
Original story: 5 Times Richard Wished He’d Stayed in London Above (115 words) by trascendenza.
Tho’ Much is Taken, Much Abides (The Extended Remix)
Remix author: mscongeniality
Even when you come by choice, transition to life Below isn’t easy. Richard had difficult moments, mistakes he’d made and times he’d wished he hadn’t come back at all.
Early on, he’d retained some of his idealism, of his innocence. Then he used Hunter’s legacy to kill a man; necessary, but so much harder than killing the Beast in a flurry of nightmare, panic and hooves. Richard made no move, not until the bastard acted on his taunts. Then, in a moment, Richard pierced his ribs, heart’s blood flowing thick and wet as the hate-filled eyes went unfocused, then glassy and dead.
The idealism he clung to, though it chipped away by slow degrees. He pushed for independence, sensing that as Warrior, there was an ideal he must live up to. Door didn’t argue when he announced his chosen quest, just shook her head and looked away. The Marquis had been…less polite.
And so Richard set off on his own; making his way through the unfamiliar landscape of the Underside. He thought he was doing well, creating a name for the Warrior beyond bullying brute force. That was until he found himself the butt of campfire entertainment-the squeamish Warrior who hadn’t even heart enough to eat flesh.
Goaded by it, he took the haunch they gave him, eating sparingly of the tough, stringy meat. He didn’t even really think about it, not until the jokes started-the wisdom of cats and all their nine lives. It wasn’t long after that he threw the leg into the fire and walked away, peals of laughter chasing him into the dark. He shut them out and tried not to think of his mother’s pet cat-or what had ultimately happened to her.
Richard returned some time later to the House Without Doors; leaner, stronger and harder about the eyes. Word had filtered back, even there, about the Warrior and the role he’d played in The Battle of Stone Bridge and the rebellion against the Night.
But he came back alone, quartz bead strung about his neck as a talisman. Door had made sympathetic noises; the Marquis just smiled his worst, most infuriating smile. A smile with a veneer of civility, but that loudly proclaimed ‘I told you so.’
There are gardens in the House Without Doors, conservatories with thin light filtering through thick, ancient glass. He found Door there once, red eyed from crying and clutching her father’s handkerchief like a lifeline. She’d yelled at him and pushed him away. He’d stayed. This was another kind of strength, one he understood better than blades and killing. Besides, if he couldn’t handle this, he shouldn’t have come back in the first place.
Richard walks through the conservatories now and again and wonders if it is sunlight he sees or merely the memory of sunlight. He knows it’s not the same as the sunlight in his memory or at least he did, once. Now he can’t remember the sunlight with any clarity at all.
Every life is full of both good moments and bad. These were not among Richard Mayhew’s finest moments.
Original story: 5 Times Richard Wished He’d Stayed in London Above (115 words) by trascendenza.
Tho’ Much is Taken, Much Abides (The Extended Remix)
Remix author: mscongeniality
Even when you come by choice, transition to life Below isn’t easy. Richard had difficult moments, mistakes he’d made and times he’d wished he hadn’t come back at all.
Early on, he’d retained some of his idealism, of his innocence. Then he used Hunter’s legacy to kill a man; necessary, but so much harder than killing the Beast in a flurry of nightmare, panic and hooves. Richard made no move, not until the bastard acted on his taunts. Then, in a moment, Richard pierced his ribs, heart’s blood flowing thick and wet as the hate-filled eyes went unfocused, then glassy and dead.
The idealism he clung to, though it chipped away by slow degrees. He pushed for independence, sensing that as Warrior, there was an ideal he must live up to. Door didn’t argue when he announced his chosen quest, just shook her head and looked away. The Marquis had been…less polite.
And so Richard set off on his own; making his way through the unfamiliar landscape of the Underside. He thought he was doing well, creating a name for the Warrior beyond bullying brute force. That was until he found himself the butt of campfire entertainment-the squeamish Warrior who hadn’t even heart enough to eat flesh.
Goaded by it, he took the haunch they gave him, eating sparingly of the tough, stringy meat. He didn’t even really think about it, not until the jokes started-the wisdom of cats and all their nine lives. It wasn’t long after that he threw the leg into the fire and walked away, peals of laughter chasing him into the dark. He shut them out and tried not to think of his mother’s pet cat-or what had ultimately happened to her.
Richard returned some time later to the House Without Doors; leaner, stronger and harder about the eyes. Word had filtered back, even there, about the Warrior and the role he’d played in The Battle of Stone Bridge and the rebellion against the Night.
But he came back alone, quartz bead strung about his neck as a talisman. Door had made sympathetic noises; the Marquis just smiled his worst, most infuriating smile. A smile with a veneer of civility, but that loudly proclaimed ‘I told you so.’
There are gardens in the House Without Doors, conservatories with thin light filtering through thick, ancient glass. He found Door there once, red eyed from crying and clutching her father’s handkerchief like a lifeline. She’d yelled at him and pushed him away. He’d stayed. This was another kind of strength, one he understood better than blades and killing. Besides, if he couldn’t handle this, he shouldn’t have come back in the first place.
Richard walks through the conservatories now and again and wonders if it is sunlight he sees or merely the memory of sunlight. He knows it’s not the same as the sunlight in his memory or at least he did, once. Now he can’t remember the sunlight with any clarity at all.