Richie Tozier

"You new to Darrow, boy-o? 'Cause that brand is shit," Sweeney says as he reaches past the guy hovering awkwardly in the booze aisle of the convenience store so he can pluck a bottle of halfway decent whiskey from the shelf. The guy's got a look about him, one that says he's needing to get drunk for some specific reason and the first one Sweeney can pluck out of the air is that he's new and this place is throwing him for a fucking loop.

That or he's just a drunk who likes shitty beer.

"Unless you're just lookin' for a quick, cheap drunk," he amends. "Then you're probably lookin' at just the right place."

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Richie's met Eddie's friend Mr. Sweeney a couple of times, and he's been pretty okay so far. But still, he can't help looking guilty for a moment when he's spoken to, like he's been caught red-handed even though he doesn't look like himself at all.

Still, he helped before, so maybe he'll help now too.

"Mr. Sweeney," Richie says, keeping his voice as low as he can, which turns out to be less of a whisper than he intends, but he's too excited to keep all the way quiet, "It's me, Richie!"

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"Fuck off with that mister shit," he answers before he even gets a chance to really hear what's being said to him. Then he stares, tilts his head, and surveys the man before him.

"Guess you're a pretty good fuckin' example of growin' into yourself, huh?" he asks. He's not bad looking now, but he's a fucking child, even in that body, so Sweeney leaves it at that, and grabs the beer from his hand.

"Here," he says, taking a different six pack off the shelf and shoving it into Richie's hands. "Let's go."

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Sweeney shoves the six pack at him and Richie staggers back for a second before he follows right behind him. At least it doesn't seem like he's gonna get ratted out.

"But I already picked some out," he calls behind Sweeney and even now he's resisting the urge to dive right in to his Irish cop Voice, if only because he might not get any beer if he does.

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"Your choice was shit," Sweeney answers as he puts his whiskey down on the counter and flips out some of his money to pay for it. He counts out the bills, then hands them over and takes the paper bag he's given in return.

"You believe this guy?" he asks the woman behind the register. "He was aimin' t'buy that garbage that comes in the yellow cans."

"Ugh," the woman answers, wrinkling her nose as she gestures for Richie to hand over the cans he's got now. "This stuff is much better. Good thing your friend is looking out for you."

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"Yeah, thanks," Richie says, looking back at Sweeney before putting his own cans on the counter, "It's my prescription," he adds, pushing his glasses up on his nose, mostly out of habit, "Grabbed the wrong shit."

The woman shoots a skeptical look at Richie, then finally seems to decide it's not worth calling this guy out on his obvious bullshit.

"That'll be $7.50," she replies, and Richie digs into his pockets, setting a couple of bills and a pile of change on the counter to count out.

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Sweeney's kind of surprised the woman still sells Richie the beer with the way he's acting, nervous and jumpy, like he's doing something illegal. Which he technically is.

She's in a hurry, though, they're getting a line up behind them and she helps Richie count out the correct amount of change, then hands him his bag without a second glance. Sweeney tips her a grin, then heads for the door, expecting Richie will follow.

"Thank fuck you ran into me, lad," he says once they're outside. "Saved you from buying stuff that tastes like rat piss and got you outta there without much of a glance."

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"Holy shit, it actually worked," Richie can't stop himself from saying once they get outside, and he's clutching his bag for dear life. He takes a long moment to savor his victory before looking up-- but not as far up which is fucking weird-- at Sweeney.

"I would have figured it out eventually." he insists, but doesn't sound completely sure.

Edited Date: 2019-05-29 04:18 am (UTC)

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"Before or after she kicked your ass out for bein' sketchy?" Sweeney asks with a snort. He bumps Richie's shoulder with his own as they head away from the store. "Even if she hadn't kicked you out, you still would've bought the rat piss."

He glances down at the bag as they walk, then asks, "So what's your plan with that? Gonna drink yourself sick and then go puke at the Home a bunch?"

Six beers isn't much for Sweeney, but he has to figure Richie's not exactly experienced.

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Richie's definitely had beer before. But not six, and not ones he bought for himself. And the truth is, now that he has them, he's not completely sure what to do. He's not sure he wants to tell even Sweeney that he'll probably just take them to Eddie and Jamie and Bev to share.

Except, he can't really pal around with Eddie and Jaime, since he can't even go home like this.

"I can't stay at the Home anymore," he settles on, "they kicked me out."

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"Yeah, because if you fuckin' stayed there, everyone'd think you were a kiddie diddler," Sweeney answers easily. "You got a place t'sleep or are you homeless these days?"

His flat is empty more often than not. There's no way in hell he would invite Richie to stay at Spike's place with the two of them, but since he's so often at Spike's, there's no one using his place.

If Richie needs it, he figures he can pass off his key.

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myfavoritedream

He wasn't my type, whatever the fuck that meant. Glasses, a little nerdy, and weirdly antsy as he stood right in front of the fucking beer cooler, a six pack clutched in his hands.

Still, I cut him a look, smirking faintly as I murmured an, "Excuse me," and leaned past him to grab a six pack of some knock-off Darrow lager to take over to Marcus's later.

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Richie's trying to figure out how to finally buy the beer in his hand and what exactly he's supposed to say, when someone walks up next to him. He nearly jumps right out of his skin, feeling like he's been caught red-handed.

"Sorry, my good man!" Richie blurts out in Toodles the English Butler's Voice and moves out of the way.

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myfavoritedream

What the fuck.

"Uh... yeah, sure," I drawled, giving him a wary look as I took a step back. It was, maybe, the worst fucking accent— British? Was it supposed to be British? It had to have been fake, but I couldn't figure out why.

Honestly, I wasn't sure I cared much.

"Do you... need somethin'?"

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Fuck. Now he's stuck as Toodles until he gets out of the store. Great. It's always been one of Richie's favorite Voices, but it sounds pretty much like wet shit right now.

"Just buying a spot of beer," Richie replies, keepin up the Voice, because he pretty much has to now. He still doesn't know just how he's supposed to do that, because he's convinced something is gonna give him away even though he looks the part now.

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myfavoritedream

"Sure," I said again, taking another step back out of his way, but at that point, I was too fucking invested in whatever the hell was going on with him to just walk away.

"Nobody's stopping you," I said, waving him along ahead of me towards the register, trying to figure out why in the hell he was using such an obviously fake accent.

I was almost positive I'd never met him, but honestly, I cycled through a lot of guys my first few months or so in Darrow.

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speakordie

The convenience store isn’t where I usually go to buy alcohol, but I had stopped in for a pack of cigarettes and decided to get Oliver some of that beer he likes. It should be an easy task, but there’s a guy standing right in front of where I need to get into the cooler. I stand there to try and politely wait my turn, but the man isn’t even looking at the beer. Really, he seems to just be staring into space.

I’ve had a very long day, with far too many hours spent in the library for finals, and I just want to have a cigarette and drown myself in a bottle of wine after gifting my equally stressed boyfriend with some beer. But I have to get home to do any of that, and this guy is currently standing in the way of what should be a very easily achievable goal.

“Hi, excuse me,” I finally say, sidling up next to him and pointing at the cooler. “If I could get you to scoot your existential crisis just a little bit to the left, thanks.”

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"Oh. Sorry!" Richie says, and for a second, he thinks it's Jamie, before he remembers Elio. It fools him pretty much every time. But he's not sure if it's okay for him to just tell Elio who he is. What if he takes the beer away? If Richie has to be like 50 years old, at least he should get to do cool adult stuff.

He scoots a little to the left, even though he doesn't know what 'existential' means, and knocks over display of chips.

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speakordie

The guy does the vaguest double-take when he looks at me, so I take a better look at him to see if there's any spark of familiarity. The glasses, maybe.

"No--" I pause as the big pile of chips all fall to the ground, slowly and one after another like we're in some slapstick comedy. "--problem."

The awkward silence lingers and I keep my eyes on him as I step forward to open the cooler and grab the six-pack. Oliver owes me for this, truly.

"I-- hope your night improves?" I tell him, squinting a bit as I try to think of why he looks familiar. "Treat yourself, huh? Upper shelf stuff."

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Richie looks down at the six pack in his hands, then back up at Elio, confused. "What's wrong with this stuff?"

It's cheap, and Richie only has so much pocket money to spend, especially since he's not getting his allowance from the Home now that he can't live there anymore. And all beer pretty much tastes the same anyway.

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speakordie

"Nothing, I suppose." I'm lying through my teeth, considering that it's actually swill, but who I am to judge this man's taste in beer? Well, out loud, anyway. "It's what teenagers seem to like. It's more affordable, I guess."

Before I can turn away to let the man enjoy his cheap beer, his face does something that makes me take pause. It's nagging at me, and I can't seem to let it go. "I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

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Lisbeth doesn't bother to hide that she's watching him, bottles of Coke cradled in her arms. Something about the picture in front of her just bothers her, and she can't put her finger on what.

She's cut down creepy staring by a lot since her visit to the amusement park, as a general rule, but she'll allow this much. The guy is suspicious, but he looks more like he's about to take off than rob the place.

So she kicks a can off a shelf behind him, letting it clunk and roll loudly.

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Richie nearly jumps out of his skin when the can hits the floor behind him, his first thought that it's a cop and that he's been caught. When he turns around and sees the lady on the other side of the shelves, it turns out it's a whole lot worse.

Holy shit it's the witch! Or at least, Eddie had convinced him that maybe a witch was behind this whole thing where he's been like 50 years old for almost a week.

His eyes go wide and he's frozen where he's standing. If he pisses her off again, he might end up as an old man with a shriveled weiner next.

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Lisbeth stares right back at him, and then, after a few seconds of it, stops to look at him, puzzled. The pieces are moving very quickly for her-- that's not new-- but trying to place the pieces that aren't so logical prove more of a challenge.

So when she's got most of it deciphered, or enough to act on, she steps forward, looking up at the guy. Being so much shorter doesn't seem to bother her as she leans in and says, "I know you."

Her tone stays neutral, but she's found her neutral still makes people nervous.

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"We've never met!" Richie blurts out, sounding even less convincing than he thinks. But maybe he should tell her who he is. Maybe Eddie's wrong and she IS a witch, and the only way to get back to normal is to get her to break this fucking spell.

Or she could just try and kill him again, only this time, she'd probably manage to catch him.

"I've never met you before in my life, lady!"

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The voice isn't the same, but the tone and the words, the movements-- she stares up at him. "You're not as good at lying as you are at running," she says. "Stop-- looking like that. How many feet have you got on me? You're not seriously worried I'm going to finally take revenge now that you're not a child."

Her head tips.

"Are you?"

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"I don't know, you already put a fucking spell on me, I don't know what else you could do," Richie says, at this point completely convinced she's a witch. He's managed this shit so far-- being like 50 years old-- but he doesn't know what he's gonna do if she decides to turn him into a frog or something next time.

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"I put a fucking spell on you," Lisbeth repeats, staring at him with a new lack of respect. "You really are that idiot child." She has to decide what to do with this information.

"I should have turned you into something less strange," she says finally. "It looks like you're not running the controls here well."

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daughterofawolf

Eponine spots Richie as she browses snacks. Adult Richie, which is odd to wrap her head around, but is probably stranger for him than it is for her. Honestly, she thinks he's sort of cute as an adult, in a very, sort of -- what's the word -- nerdy way.

"You look like you've never seen alcohol before," she says with a small laugh, wandering up and bumping him with her shoulder to shake him out of it. "Or like you've just quit being a monk. Relax."

She doesn't think it'll look too suspicious, her standing with an older man in the alcohol section. She's close enough to eighteen that she won't even need a fake ID or a charming smile soon.

Well, not suspicious that he's buying her alcohol, anyway.

Edited Date: 2019-05-22 05:15 am (UTC)

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