[Oh, no forgetting the toll on the living. Not that a thumb up that otherwise dainty nose isn't quite the image. But there are a number of visuals it may be best not to let burn in too long.
Prior chases those glasses instead, catching them before they can be tossed to the bed.]
So that's why they're only allowed out under cover of darkness? It's a shame-
[And they're settled at the bridge of Prior's nose, instead. At which point he cuts himself off to blink into the fuzz. Louis' glasses were half for reading, half for making himself look more intelligent. These things are a disability aid. Prior's tilting his head up and around trying to adjust.]
Oh, wow. Like, totally spaced out, man. Either that stuff's stronger than it felt or you're blinder than I am.
Blind as a bat, basically. Prior looks a bit better in them than he does, even if the sight is fuzzed and frayed, but a horror's still a horror and he's not fond of those geeky glasses no matter where they're sitting.]
Probably blinder. My eyes failed early and they failed fast. Now come on, nobody wants Groucho Marx's cast offs.
[By rights Prior should be the proud owner of a pair of his own, even if they wouldn't properly correct the way his vision's deteriorating in fuzzy blotches - the blackness around the edge. But it's come to him as some sort of penance for prophecy, he's almost sure: swapping one vision for another. What good would glasses be for that?
He likes these more, having seen worse horrors through other lenses, and shakes his head to Richie's waiting hand, sprawling back a moment to look at the room in a wider view.]
I had this kaleidoscope in my pillowcase one Christmas. The height of fifties engineering. Don't deny me a moment's nostalgia.
[He leans in again eventually, reaching up one hand to the arm of the glasses without letting them be taken off yet. It's the crazy backward logic of ophthalmology. Only the closest things will focus in these.]
Good lord. [He looks down at the sprawling man with mirth and its piggybacking cousin, exasperation. If Prior kept the thick lenses on long enough he'd be seeing kaleidoscope diamonds for real.
When he comes back up Richie leans away, putting himself square in the fuzz zone. He takes his hands to his mouth and mimics a salute from three thousand miles away, drifting echo and all.]
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Prior chases those glasses instead, catching them before they can be tossed to the bed.]
So that's why they're only allowed out under cover of darkness? It's a shame-
[And they're settled at the bridge of Prior's nose, instead. At which point he cuts himself off to blink into the fuzz. Louis' glasses were half for reading, half for making himself look more intelligent. These things are a disability aid. Prior's tilting his head up and around trying to adjust.]
Oh, wow. Like, totally spaced out, man. Either that stuff's stronger than it felt or you're blinder than I am.
no subject
Blind as a bat, basically. Prior looks a bit better in them than he does, even if the sight is fuzzed and frayed, but a horror's still a horror and he's not fond of those geeky glasses no matter where they're sitting.]
Probably blinder. My eyes failed early and they failed fast. Now come on, nobody wants Groucho Marx's cast offs.
[He holds out his hand. Gimme.]
no subject
He likes these more, having seen worse horrors through other lenses, and shakes his head to Richie's waiting hand, sprawling back a moment to look at the room in a wider view.]
I had this kaleidoscope in my pillowcase one Christmas. The height of fifties engineering. Don't deny me a moment's nostalgia.
[He leans in again eventually, reaching up one hand to the arm of the glasses without letting them be taken off yet. It's the crazy backward logic of ophthalmology. Only the closest things will focus in these.]
no subject
When he comes back up Richie leans away, putting himself square in the fuzz zone. He takes his hands to his mouth and mimics a salute from three thousand miles away, drifting echo and all.]
Hellooo! 'ello, 'ello...
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Heathcliff? Heathcliff, come in from the moors, you'll catch your death of cold.