Richie made a noise at Dan's teasing which came about as close to being massively put upon as one could be without actually making words. But -- well. He followed the advice as best he could anyway. At least, he could manage the quiet part.
If only because he realized, the second time around that him shutting up didn't quite mean he had to shut up. He just had to go about talking in a different sort of way.
He listened, first. And looked with -- not his eyes. Which was kind of fucked, but not so much, because he tended to think in images anyway, so it was sort of just like being shown new pictures to think on. Interesting. The maze was --
Depressing, kind of. Like seasonal affective disorder wrapped up into one David Lynch-ian image. It was one checker board tiled floor away, really.
Okay, Richie thought right back, because damned if he wasn't figuring out how to do that. Talking was a necessity. Like breathing or making your mom jokes.
He wondered what it was, though, that shaped a mindscape to what it was. How honest they were vs what the owner imagined up on their own.