Richie had to give her points for not acting terrified — or even being terrified — because in his experience, his presence was always unsettling to others. Not that he ever tried not to come off that way. Social situations weren't his forte, but you put a locked anything in front of him, he could get it open, he could hit the bullseye of a target with a knife no problem. He even had a mind for math and strategy, but on the latter he was usually overshadowed by his older brother, even if Richie's plan was the better of the two options. Recently, where he fell short, was that he didn't care about the lives of other people where his goals were concerned. It was always more important to think of yourself first in the life they chose, but Richie had lost almost all respect for anything alive that wasn't himself or his brother Seth thanks to Santanico rooting around in his fucking head.
Maybe that lack of respect carried over.
He hoped it didn't.
"I have a unique problem," Richie began as his always borderline creepy smirk found its way onto his face. "Where I need to basically kill people to survive." He didn't move from the wall he was leaned up against, having already proven the woman couldn't really outrun him. Did he plan to kill her? No. He didn't want to be a murderer. Could it happen? Possibly. As he transformed, Richie couldn't help but notice that the fangs still felt odd like those moments when you remember your tongue exists and it refuses to sit right in your mouth for a while.