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Richard King was distressed.

Well, stressed--- currently becoming distressed. Wallowing in a backlash of cluttered words and an air of thickness and color and feeling. King normally [i]wallowed[/i] his way through life, like some kind of fat lazy pig he barely had enough motivation to do anything but. Today, however, he truly was soaking in it all and refusing to move. Wallowing. His body pressed against the floor beside his sister's bed, unmoving and heavy as he breathed in and out and in and out and tried to stay calm.

But he wasn't calm, he was distressed. Or currently becoming distressed.

Emotions were a fickle thing to Richard King. He felt as though he understood them better then anyone else in the room currently. Pleasure and displeasure, hate and love, excitement and disappointment. Feelings were coins, flipped over and over again in one's mind, and King saw each toss with a glinting eye and an apathetic smile. Right now , the emotions he saw were almost all muddy and depressed. Anxious. Scared. For once King related with every single one of them, and he accepted the harsh thoughts to churn in his own mind as he sent a single gaze across the room. He froze only when Jess leapt up onto the bed, eyes widening with brief shock that faded away into more dubious sighs as she complained about the silence. King wasn't shy about letting people know who he liked and for what reason. Astrid was probably one of the many who know of his faint obsession with the blonde pretty girl. Jess spoke her mind loud and clear and King couldn't help but adore this fact about her. He sat up slowly from his wallowing-position (back straight, arms tight, head arched up, eyes searching) and passed on a snake-like smile to the girl.

[b]"[color=ab2020]What do you wanna talk about?[/color]"[/b] He moved more, a shocking action from the initially silent teen, [b]"[color=ab2020]Ah, how about we talk about the fact that we're going to be as good as dead the next time we step outta this house. Oh! Or we could discuss ways to run from our friends and families when they pull a taser or a gun on us for being witches.[/color]"[/b] He rose to his feet, quickly and full of malice, and he stalked over to stick his forehead against the glass of Astrid's window. The world continued on despite their circumstances. He saw a tree across the street shudder with time passing, dappled with sunlight and September heat. His brow puckered with more stress, and he traced the road below and the dog walker heading down the street and the distant pines that had haunted him for years now.

He loved this town. He didn't want to be killed by it.

[b]"[color=ab2020]What we [i]need[/i] to talk about is a plan. This plan-- whatever. Can we run? Should we run? I mean... We could also plan a suicide pact or something.[/color]"[/b] King's lips spread apart again, smile so sharp it could cut diamond, and he turned to face the sprawling shapes of his friends and enemies. The emotions surged from them, and for once he let his own do the same. The smile turned into a pained grimace.

King was distressed.