Richie Tozier / OTA (MW)
Listen. It’d been… a very bad week. Also good? But bad. Richie wasn’t sure how to grade things on a scale that made sense anymore because like A++ Stan Uris but D - - - that creep-ass hotel. And F- - - Neibolt horrors. But…. A +++ again for what had been some really fucking great banter with Eddie throughout the week?
He’d give it a C+ and never become a teacher because his grading scale was not on a curve and didn’t make any sense, and frankly Starklandia should be really glad it didn’t have an Amazon typer service because Richie’s reviews would be inexplicable at best.
Whatever. The point was Richie was going to get drunk tonight. Like, real drunk. The kind that had him making questionable decisions and probably throwing up places that he shouldn’t be. Because he felt like he deserved it. Because he was anxious all the time lately and he wanted to relax just enough to get his stomach to stop feeling like everything was a bad idea.
Whoever had decided a party was a good idea after all those horror trips through the doors this week was either a sadist or a genius and Richie was going to throw up on their shoes in thanks later. But for now he had a drink in one hand and was poking through the iPod that the speaker system was set up to and looking to revisit the Monster Mash for the many-th time because it was funny and he needed funny.