Going into a cafeteria like Dexter Hall was giving Richie major flashback vibes - mostly to the days of his long-forgotten youth, where he’d roll up into school dressed like a kid who didn’t give a shit, too-big glasses sliding down his face and basically all knobby knees and muppet limbs, forgoing a healthy ‘packed by mom with love’ lunch (yeah, right, like his mom ever packed those) for processed garbage like rectangular pizza. Or even beef casserole, because it was easy to feed a crowd with and combined two things every kid would shove into their pieholes willingly - hamburgers and spaghetti. Half-pint cartons of chocolate milk were snatched up quickly, leaving white milk for the rest of the too-slow assholes - though the English teacher always went for buttermilk, weirdly enough. What the fuck.
Point was, there didn’t seem to be any pizza rolls options in the ginormous walk-in freezer - and he would know, that was the first thing he’d checked when he and Matt got down here. Kind of disappointing but also not wholly unexpected - they were in some weird Voidlandia where creature comforts weren’t exactly a thing.
He just had to hope and pray to any turtle-deity that they’d end up someplace with actual junk food in a week or so. Otherwise he may very well perish.
But alright, name of the game was lunch - they did some exploring, checked out a giant ‘fuck off’ monolith (and witnessed a bunch of people fail at doing magic voodoohoodoo or whatever they were trying to do), got a feel for the campus. Now he could make good on his word to provide the next best thing compared to pizza rolls. And that was -
“How do you feel about mac and cheese?” he wanted to know. “This shit’s been around since the Civil War, Matty, you can’t go wrong.” And it was Kraft - so let’s hope this box hadn’t literally been around since the Civil War.
***
Matt knew their food options weren’t all that spectacular once they’d entered the kitchen. His senses could tell their choice of fresh produce was limited. Dry goods, cans, frozen stuff was going to be on the menu, at least for this week. He wasn’t going to be picky, though - after spending his first two days confused, panicked, and unable to communicate, this was much better. Yes, there was a creepy as fuck monolith outside, and they’d just been present when a batch of people trying to do… something… collectively fell unconscious as a result, but there didn’t seem to be an immediate threat. Just a foreboding dread in the form of a giant rectangle, that’s all.
By the sink, leaning against the counter, he let Richie do most of the searching while he focused his senses to get a better idea of the kitchen’s layout. Typical setup, not unlike the one Columbia. A little outdated, though. Somebody had been there earlier - the scent of fried sausage, eggs, coffee and toast lingered albeit not strong enough for Richie to detect it, himself. Kind of made Matt wish he had some of that, instead, but he wasn’t going to be picky. He was hungry, and mac-n-cheese would be quick.
“Sounds good to me.” He threaded his fingers together and stretched them out as if preparing to engage a difficult task. “Time to break out those culinary skills. Which, to be honest, isn’t that impressive.”
**
“Speak for yourself - my culinary skills are as impressive as my abs,” Richie grinned, and - well, maybe his culinary skills were more impressive than his abs because most things were more impressive than his abdominal region. But he got to work, efficiently rummaging for a pot big enough to use to boil water - at the very least, this was a step above microwaved mac and cheese.
Fond memories of stumbling home, drunk as fuck, at three in the morning with too many vodkas poured down his gullet to even bother with a concept like ‘cooking.’ In college it was also a ‘this essay is two in due hours, I have no time for real food so I’m going to stuff my face in front of my computer’ type of thing.
He checked one of the fridges for milk and butter too - simple ingredients, thus he managed to find some. They were really in business now, weren’t they? “So what was your home planet like?” he asked as he ripped open the top of the Kraft box. “Or - home world. Whatever. Home place. Color me curious.”
**
Should he help? Matt wondered if he should, feeling a bit guilty. It wasn’t like he couldn’t, and he’d already revealed over the network how his heightened senses made up for his lack of sight. Did Richie forget already, or was he just on a roll? For the time being, Matt decided he’d just stay out of the way. “I’ll leave our meal in your capable hands,” he joked. Anyway, how hard was it to mess up mac-n-cheese?
“Normal, I guess?” was Matt’s answer, adjusting the sunglasses on his face. “Then again, normal is relative. There aren’t any demons walking around, or crazy ass monoliths, but we did have aliens from space attack once so that was a big deal. Tore apart Manhattan with these enormous worm-like creatures flying through the sky. I guess that’s not ‘normal’, is it? I live in New York City, in an area called Hell’s Kitchen, and to be honest, this is the first time I’ve ever been out of the city.” He shrugged. “For all its mess, I love where I’m from, and never really wanted to go anywhere else. It’s actually a big adjustment for me not to constantly hear the sound of traffic constantly buzzing in the background. This place is quiet in comparison.”
***
Never fear, Matty, Richie would put you to work - not with mac and cheese, necessarily. But there was fruit to be cut up (because why not go for the gold, when it came to filing lunch under the category of ‘things a middle school student would consume’) so he handed over a can or two of some selections - that, and a banana (oh god, that was may more phallic than Richie meant to go for but anyway). There was a can opener around here somewhere too - he saw it with the rest of the pots and pans and utensils, so he made sure to grab it to use.
“So we don’t get scurvy,” was his rationale, then back to the mac and cheese he went. “I’ve heard of Hell’s Kitchen though,” he said. “I’ve done a few shows in the Big Apple. Have a condo in LA that I never see but I grew up in a town called Derry. Which...sucked. Like in a worm creature kind of way - by the way, that’s not normal but what is, honestly?”
Definitely not Derry. One of those quaint, sleepy places - perfect to go for a bike ride down the hazy streets, or buy summer ice creams. Or, you know, get devoured by a clown, pulled into a sewer, forever floating on Pennywise’s paper boat.
***
“If this is a can of fruit cocktail, I’m going to say no, because that stuff is just gross.” He assumed it was canned fruit, since he’d also been given a banana, but just in case it was a vegetable, he added, “Or lima beans.” He set the can down upon the counter and set to opening it. “Hell’s kitchen is… intense. But that’s New York for you. I take it that you do a lot of travelling, doing shows across the country?” Once the can’s seal was broken, he could tell there were peaches in light syrup inside.
Emptying the contents into a pan, Matt continued their conversation while peeling and slicing the banana. “I’ll bite. Where’s Derry, and why should I avoid it?”
***
“It’s peaches,” Richie informed Matt, tone distinctly amused - while it was tempting to tell him it was, in fact, lima beans? He wouldn’t. Simply because, for one thing, that was rude as shit and for another he hated lima beans and had consumed enough green beans and other nasty, slimy, cold canned vegetables during the Silent Times. “Fruit salad was the goal here.”
The water was boiling so he dumped in the macaroni noodles - they were the tube kind, not the elbow macaroni. Because the distinction was very important, when it came to boxed deliciousness. “I do travel a lot. But yeah, Derry’s in Maine - it’s your typical small town with bloodstains and evil soaked into the ground. Most of the adults were in some kind of mind control thrall that the demon clown put on everyone after it crashed-landed there from space eons ago. But like, kids would go missing and arson and murder would happen and no one gave a shit - the cops never investigated, that sort of thing.”
Super creepy. He didn’t miss it. Didn’t miss all the bad feelings Derry invoked, even if now it was technically safe - but a concept like safety had been shattered for him awhile ago, when it came to the town he once called home.
***
Matt was in the middle of peeling the banana when he froze, hearing the description of Richie’s home not-so-sweet home. “Demon clowns?” he repeated out of disbelief. If Richie’s heart beating at a regular pace, Matt might’ve thought he was lying. Then again, why was he always so surprised after hearing about the incredible lives other people were having when his own was just as strange.
“That’s really not normal. Terrifying, actually.” He wondered what he would do in a situation like that, how would he handle it. “Is it still on the loose?”
***
The cheese (or should he say ‘cheese’?) powder of the mac and cheese was the best part of the whole blue-boxed experience - the brightness of that powder rivaled a neon electric jack-o-lantern, and Richie was a fan. “Nah,” he replied, dumping everything - butter and milk included - into the pot once the water was drained. “We killed it - me and my friends. Wasn’t exactly a painless experience, but that’s a story for another time.”
It was honestly about as weird as sky worms - maybe a little worse, considering Pennywise actually was the literal incarnate of evil. IT was timeless, ageless, not even really a thing - just a concept. Pure hatred, and a light that burned right through you.
“Now this is looking tasty,” he congratulated himself, once he’d stirred everything together. “Bet you’re glad you had me cook for you...” The pantomimed chef’s kiss was clearly implied.
***
The distinctive taste of the cheese powder was in the air, especially after it was poured into the water. Matt would’ve smiled, had it not been for how casual Richie spoke about killing the clown. He understood that it must’ve been a harrowing experience - Richie admitted at least that much - but he also didn’t want to talk about it. At least not over their meal. For a few seconds, Matt remained still, not certain what to say. Richie’s nature didn’t seem like the type to be aggressive, but then sometimes first impressions could be deceiving.
Matt snapped out of it to focus on the cutting board and knife. He wasn’t able see Richie’s pantomime, but heard the smacking of his lips and felt the movement of his hand through the air. “Hey!” he said, trying to get the previous light humor from before started again, “Don’t try to take all the credit. I’m here slaving over this gourmet fruit salad.”
Richie was a nice guy. Friendly. Funny. Even surprising. In a way, he reminded Matt a lot about his friend Foggy. That gave him a bit of familiarity in this strange place, and made Matt feel less alone. But at the same time, guilt crept in. It had been a big step to publicly admit that his senses were enhanced, but he purposely left out the part about being a masked vigilante. How he received a perverse sort of pleasure out of beating the crap out of criminals and other wrong doers. In a way, he was still living a double life,and that troubled Matt. Would Richie be so kind after finding out about his alter ego?
***
“You have, it’s true.” Richie scooted closer, peering over Matt’s shoulder (Richie was a little bit taller - but that was to be expected, he was taller than just about everyone, the lanky beanpole he was) to assess the aforementioned gourmet fruit salad. Vitamin C acquired - he was doing great at adulting today. “I’d say good job, Matty.”
Then he reached with one grabby hand and stole a sliced banana piece, right from the cutting board. Because he was sneaky like that, though with those super senses at play - he was pretty sure he was ‘seen’ anyway. Admittedly, Richie was kind of curious about how all of that came about - he’d heard that your senses kind of all overcompensated when one was lost, but being able to pick out the exact preservatives in food seemed like, uh. A lot.
“I’ll dish out extra mac and cheese for you, in that case. Because you’ve earned a gold star.”
*** Matty. That was what Stick used to call him. Coming out of his mentor’s mouth, it sounded condescending, because the kind of bastard Stick was. Then he remembered Stick was dead. Killed by Elektra. Two people in his life that provoked strong and conflicting emotions that was difficult to process. Distracted by his thoughts, he actually didn’t notice Richie’s snatch and grab until it was a little too late. At first, it startled him, but then he remembered Richie wasn’t a threat.
Chuckling to disguise his mood, Matt jokingly cried out in protest, “Hey!” then laughed, and wagged the knife at him in a playful manner. “After that, I better! This is officially my welcome to Derleth feast.” He lowered his knife, and his smile faded as he added, trying not to sound so serious, “Call me Matt, okay?”
***
“Matt, yeah. Sorry - I tend to just...nickname people,” Richie confessed, and he actually had the good grace to blush a little, pink creeping up along the scruff that bristled all on his cheeks and jawline. Obviously Matt couldn’t see it, but he was a little flustered - and that was likely apparent in other bodily function ways.
He really did tend to go with nicknames though - clearly, since he’d rather run into that knife Matt held than go by Richard. “But, you know - welcome to Derleth. I’m no magical paper airplane, but hopefully I’m not too bad of a welcoming committee.”
Granted, his welcome involved mac and cheese - so maybe that earned him some extra points. For someone who had earned the nickname Trashmouth himself, maybe - just maybe - he could use them.
***
“You don’t have to apologize,” Matt was quick to say, guilty for making Richie feel bad - that much was evident in his tone of voice and rising pulse. “It’s just that… well… Matty is kind of associated with bad memories for me.” Another awkward smile. To make it up to Richie, Matt added, “You can come up with another nickname for me.”
He turned back to the counter to finish slicing the fruit. “Your welcome is better than Maze’s. She knocked me out cold, after a fight. I mistook her knife twirling for a threat.”
***
What the fuck? Richie actually laughed a little because, no, he wasn’t going to be knocking Matt out cold. Or fighting with him. Or twirling any knives. “I have a feeling that’s just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to how interesting your life is,” he said, finding plates in one of the large cabinets - a large delicious plop of mac and cheese went onto both, and he scooted around to lean against the counter where Matt was and wait somewhat patiently for fruit salad to be all finished so he could add that to their very nutritious spread.
But let’s see - another nickname? He’d have to make it a good one. Richie hummed thoughtfully. “Mats. Matteus. Mattimus. Mattachu. You just let me know if you’re feeling any of those, or I could surprise you.”
Richie may even just start calling him Bilbo for shits and giggles and probably no reason whatsoever.
***
“You have noooooo idea,” Matt said, smiled, then added, “The life of a lawyer is perilous. Always ducking wise cracks about how everybody hates us as a profession.” It was a joke, of course, but he didn’t feel comfortable talking about Daredevil just yet. In order to explain how he could fight so well, he told Richie, “My father was a lightweight boxer. You could say I followed in his footsteps. I do a bit of boxing myself, but for exercise.”
Mattachu made him laugh out loud. “I hold the right to veto any nicknames you come up with. Those were terrible.” The fruit was unceremoniously scraped from the cutting board into a bowl, and then took the utensils to the sink to wash both them and his hands.
***
“Well, yeah, they’re supposed to be terrible. Oh - maybe Matz with a ‘z.’ Matterhorn. Mattatat. Mmmm-Hot.” Actually, Richie didn’t know what the fuck kind of nickname the last one was - but it probably counted (and it was true because - yeah, the guy was hot, let’s be honest with ourselves here) so he’d add it to the list for consideration.
But in true squirrel! kind of attention diverting fashion, he noted the completion of fruit salad and added nice portions to their lunch plates - it wasn’t anything artistic, in terms of presentation (and screw whoever said ‘you eat with your eyes first’) but he was pretty sure it’d be delicious and that was what mattered.
Sticking a fork in it, he offered one of those fully prepped meals to Matt in the Hat. “Bon appetit, Mattato.”
Like potato, get it? Oh, he’d created a monster - but that was okay. Richie had a feeling he could probably handle it.