Richie is still pretty shell-shocked by this whole thing when he stumbles into the middle of town. It looks like some dystopian YA novel that he absolutely didn't read the whole series of, nor did he watch the accompanying movies. He cleans his glasses four times, half expecting some sort of giant man to pop out and mock him about his sexuality. It's just his experiences with insane things that don't make logical sense.
Christ. Do they have a therapist here? He might actually need a therapist.
He is aimless as he wanders around, not touching anything and trying very hard to not have some sort of nervous breakdown. He killed an alien-demon clown thing. This, comparatively, wasn't so weird. Who knew, maybe someone he knows will be here. Like Bev or Bill or ....
Well, as long as it wasn't Pennywise, he was fine. Anyone but him, please.
The Deep End
A bar. Thank GOD, a bar. Richie pushes himself inside and only fleetingly wonders if that is a good idea, considering anything could be inside. Whatever. He needs a fucking drink. "Thank fuck this weird alien ruin has liquor. It does, right?" He directs the questions to the room at large and anyone in it. "And like, not stuff that will make me piss acid or vomit up my lungs, right? I'm fine with the little baby alien popping out of my stomach. Like, that is a hell of a way to go. But the rest of it is just awkward."
He sidles up to the bar and smiles, slamming his hand on the top.
"One drink that won't kill me, please!"
NETWORK!
Anyone else get the feeling these Agrii folk aren't too good at their job? Hero my ass. I am an alcoholic comedian who just barely survived killing a fucking clown by negging it. Who the fuck looked at that and said 'Yep. This is our guy!' I want to talk to a manager.
Richie Tozier | IT | OTA
Richie is still pretty shell-shocked by this whole thing when he stumbles into the middle of town. It looks like some dystopian YA novel that he absolutely didn't read the whole series of, nor did he watch the accompanying movies. He cleans his glasses four times, half expecting some sort of giant man to pop out and mock him about his sexuality. It's just his experiences with insane things that don't make logical sense.
Christ. Do they have a therapist here? He might actually need a therapist.
He is aimless as he wanders around, not touching anything and trying very hard to not have some sort of nervous breakdown. He killed an alien-demon clown thing. This, comparatively, wasn't so weird. Who knew, maybe someone he knows will be here. Like Bev or Bill or ....
Well, as long as it wasn't Pennywise, he was fine. Anyone but him, please.
The Deep End
A bar. Thank GOD, a bar. Richie pushes himself inside and only fleetingly wonders if that is a good idea, considering anything could be inside. Whatever. He needs a fucking drink. "Thank fuck this weird alien ruin has liquor. It does, right?" He directs the questions to the room at large and anyone in it. "And like, not stuff that will make me piss acid or vomit up my lungs, right? I'm fine with the little baby alien popping out of my stomach. Like, that is a hell of a way to go. But the rest of it is just awkward."
He sidles up to the bar and smiles, slamming his hand on the top.
"One drink that won't kill me, please!"
NETWORK!
Anyone else get the feeling these Agrii folk aren't too good at their job? Hero my ass. I am an alcoholic comedian who just barely survived killing a fucking clown by negging it. Who the fuck looked at that and said 'Yep. This is our guy!' I want to talk to a manager.