Stan | Richie
"Your eyesight is better than mine," Richie agreed, because okay yeah, he'd been dancing. Someone had figured out the iPod and the Monster Mash wasn't even going by the end of it anymore, but it hadn't really mattered. That dancing had been a dirty trick, anyway. Richie had learned things. "I dunno," he said awkwardly. "A month? That's how long I've been here, about. At the risk of sounding insane, dude's a wizard and when I showed up my glasses were broken. He fixed them for me."
Well. It didn't sound that insane. They'd all faced off a killer clown by the time they were thirteen so. Wizards just didn't really seem all that absurd. It'd been trying to trust the fact that Bill wouldn't try murdering him that had taken more time.
Richie poured ample drinks for the both of them and supposed that no, Stan didn't seem like a party in LA kind of guy. And why would he have been? He seemed more like a small get together kind of guy, something intimate with only friends. Which -- probably all the Losers would have preferred that.
Right now the Losers all probably would have preferred no party at all, but it was happening and there was no point in sitting at home and just listening to life going on around them. "You okay?" He asked, shifting a bit closer so their shoulders could bump. It was a bad question. None of them were okay. "Where'd Eddie go?"