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Tweak says, "Give me 1000 kisses, then 100!"

Richie Trashmouth Tozier (trashmouthloser) wrote in snapthread,
@ 2019-11-28 10:37:00

Entry tags:

beverly marsh, richie tozier

Who: Richie Tozier and Beverly Marsh
What: Finding Beverly (some shoes)
Where: All about town
When: November 28th

Beverly fucking Marsh.

Richie went half wild over finding her on the network posts and went the rest of the way wild pulling on a sweater and his own shoes, ransacking his own clothing to find something warm for her (one of the Ugly Christmas Sweaters he’d been on a mission for the other day) and realizing he’d have no kind of shoes that would even remotely fit her because even if Beverly was the biggest badass the world had ever seen, it was in a tiny package and no men’s size shoe was going to do her any kind of favor.

Not even Eddie’s much smaller ones.

He probably should have said something before he left. To the rest of the Losers. But every time one of them showed up here, Richie found himself in such a state of panic and disbelief (and worry, maybe, that if he didn’t move fast enough, they wouldn’t actually be there when he arrived) that his tunnel vision didn’t allow for pit stops of any kind. They could yell at him later, but assuming he found Bev — real, alive, et cetera, they wouldn’t have a reason to yell anyway.

The snow was crunchy beneath his shoes, and Richie was a mess of wind blown hair and slightly askew glasses and it didn’t matter for even one fucking second because the moment he spotted out Beverly in the town square looking a little like — well. Exactly like he’d seen her last — he had to pause for one long beat and remind himself that breathing was what all the cool kids were doing these days.

Beverly fucking Marsh. Wet, shoeless, looking miserable and scared. Richie had never seen a woman more beautiful than her just now, or maybe ever. He wondered, vaguely, if all his constant thinking about her (and the rest of them, all of Them) had brought her here. A whoosh of breath escaped his lungs and he fixed on the stupidest fucking smile he’d ever worn. “That’s not a good look,” he said, ever complimentary.

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mollyringwald
2019-11-28 06:57 pm UTC (link)

A town that was basically What the Absolute Fuck, well, great. Beverly was suspicious, because she was too hardened and cynical to just accept the fact that things were free, so she was cautious about simply picking what she needed - if she did pick something, she decided she'd come back in later and see about paying the store back somehow. There had to be a way.

Richie was definitely hovering, but she appreciated it - it was sweet, though she patted his cheek with her hand and assured him, "I'm right here, just going to find something not soaking wet, honey," before going to peruse the racks. Jeans, a shirt and a cardigan, and a jacket - the sweater dress she'd give back, and she didn't bother to find a dressing room; by now she knew her size and measurements, so she was adept at swiping what she knew would fit.

So she just started pulling clothes off - slurrrrrp, that was a great sound, peeling away a tank top stuck to skin. Even her bra was soaked so it too was coming off. "And now you can at least tell me how long you've been here? What's the town even like?"

As of now, it just seemed empty. Quaint, desolate - but Derry had been quaint too, and historical, with evil simmering and bubbling beneath the surface for lifetimes and lifetimes.

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trashmouthloser
2019-11-28 07:12 pm UTC (link)

Richie'd worried a bit about that when he'd shown up, too. Nothing in this world was free -- but this wasn't the world, whatever the fuck that meant. And he'd been too withdrawn to do anything beyond wander around, insult people's mothers until they hit him, and then have people take pity on the idiot just sitting around bleeding and covered in someone else's blood. He'd spent the first nights in someone's guest room, too afraid to sleep and too exhausted to do anything but lay there anyway.

"I know," he said, like duh. Of course she was right there. Richie pointedly did not think about the last time she'd called him honey. "I'm just here for the free show." But even as he said it, he was pointedly, politely, turning away a little as Beverly stripped to the least sexy noises of wet clothing against skin. "Two months, about," he admitted, and it felt weird because he hadn't quantified it before. "Yeah, just about. It's -- fucking weird, Bev. Weird, and kind of great, most of the time. Everyone's mostly friendly, give or take. And it's small as shit. Like, there's nothing here, but kind of everything, too, so it's --" He paused, cutting himself off as he realized he was going too fucking fast and not offering enough substance. What else was new?

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mollyringwald
2019-11-28 07:23 pm UTC (link)

She was listening, letting that delightfully adorable motormouth chatter on and on - all the while Beverly also found socks, warm ones, and shoved her feet into boots that were her size as well. They'd be good in the snow, she was sure - Portland had cold winters, somewhat, but it was mostly fat raindrops and mist, a general dampness. The rain was a staple, as much as the forest greenery and grunge music.

To her, Richie's ramblings made sense, at least. Maybe she just knew him well. "Everything encompasses a lot," she pointed out, now fully clothed and attempting to fluff out her hair. Good to know, at any rate - she'd have to do some exploring. "But we can't - we can't leave?"

Obviously she hadn't tried yet, and she didn't know where she would go. Especially if this pocket dimension was cut off from all other dimensions - god, Ben would understand this and be able to explain it better than any of them. He'd always been the smartest.

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trashmouthloser
2019-11-28 07:51 pm UTC (link)

Ben was the smartest, although Richie suspected that in the right situations, Mike would give him a run for his money. All the Losers had a good quality about them, for the most part -- Richie excluded, because they were Losers, and so they couldn't all be winners. But Ben wasn't here, so for now Beverly would have to make do with Richie's ranting idiocy.

She looked warmer already, and he was glad about that -- but he didn't really think about leaving the shop until Beverly had all the color back in her face, until maybe her hair was a little more dry. Maybe he was stalling because what he really had to say was going to be Too Much in a way he couldn't quantify, and she was going to have questions and demands and probably knowing sorts of looks. He was excited about it, but he was nervous too, the telltale signs of acid already sort of burning it's way up the back of his throat.

"Everything is everything," he said, like that made sense. He'd get to it. He was getting to it. "We can't leave. Not really. There's these--fucking. Doors? There's a house. It's got doors to places. Millions of places. But it's not really leaving so much as visiting. It's a mind fuck." He patted down his pockets -- avoided the little box there that was weighing him down and lifting him up all at the same time -- and instead pulled out a crinkled pack of cigarettes. He'd quit years ago, but that didn't stop him from sneaking one every once in a while -- although usually only in social situations. Still, this called for it, and Beverly would be the last one to protest.

They couldn't smoke in here though, not around all the clothes. Richie was an asshole but that didn't mean he wasn't occasionally contentious. "There's a coffee shop a few doors up," he said after a beat, but he didn't know if they'd ever get there. The smoking was going to be the build up to the real main attraction.

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mollyringwald
2019-11-28 08:09 pm UTC (link)

"That actually sounds sort of exciting," Beverly allowed - adventure through a door? Just visiting, no commitment to stay? Could be interesting. Could be a deathtrap. She guessed it was a tossup. Once upon a time, she appreciated taking risks and gambles and boldly facing danger - maybe that part of her was still a little smothered, but she'd wake up the sleeping bear if necessary.

Coffee shop, then. With presumably free drinks of the dark brew - well, alright. "But, right, yes. I think something hot would be good," she agreed. And she really needed a cigarette - needed the feel of that first puff, needed more than one, lungs raw and open, soaked in the tobacco. The burn in her chest and heat radiating in her throat - sure, it was a bad habit, but she had a lot of those. Just ask anyone.

She headed for the door, glancing back at Richie with a speculative squint of bluebird eyes. "You're still hiding a lot anyway. I can tell." Oh yes, Trashmouth - if sitting down over a cup of joe pulled forth the word vomit, then fine. Bev was patient. Where the fuck would she go? She had all the time in the world right now.

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trashmouthloser
2019-11-28 08:23 pm UTC (link)

"It's fucking something," Richie agreed -- but then, he'd never been quite as adventurous as Bev. He'd wanted to spend his summers doing normal things with his friends; hiding out in the arcade and punching at the buttons until his fingertips were bruised. He'd wanted to read comics and sit in back alleys with Bev, sneaking cigarettes in the dark, and crammed into a theater next to Eddie, Bill and Stan watching whatever the fuck was playing. He'd never wanted killer space clowns and everything that came after.

The doors made him uncomfortable after a few run ins with Bad Shit, but he still went through them if he found he needed something enough.

"Fuck you, I'm getting there," he said, almost cheerfully as he passed her a cigarette and they stepped out the door of the shop, Richie's fingers already flicking at his lighter and offering Beverly the first of the fire before he moved on to lighting his own. "Don't tell Eddie," he warned of the smoking after he'd taken his first drag -- it somehow helped with the acid in the back of his throat even though he knew it shouldn't have. "He'd fucking kill me just to prove a point." Well. That was one way of spilling the beans. Doing it all civilly over a cup of coffee had never really been in the cards.

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mollyringwald
2019-11-28 08:35 pm UTC (link)

Beverly took the cigarette, pinning it between her lips and leaning in to light up. She'd just barely gotten through the first inhale, something about it a little electric, when Richie said the magic word, Eddie, and also talked about him in the present. Now, she hadn't coughed while smoking since she was a teenager - she was pretty sure her first time smoking had actually been around Richie, and they'd scissored their lungs together on breaks from high school classes and reading Tess of the d'Urbervilles because fuck that, at football games, in alleyways.

But she definitely coughed now, the sound punched out of her.

"What?" was all she could say, stopping in her tracks and looking at him with big blue eyes that already started misting over; in this weather, tears may freeze on lashes too so she needed to be careful. "Eddie's - where is Eddie?"

Was he here? How? That...didn't make any sense.

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trashmouthloser
2019-11-28 08:51 pm UTC (link)

They'd gotten into a lot together back in the day. Teenaged rebellion in quiet settings, because for how brave any of them could be when necessary, they'd still sort of been scared, too. They way only kids could be when there was nothing to be done about the situations they'd been forced into with no way out of it because they were children. Those days still felt nostalgic and fresh in his mind. That was what happened when you were forced to forget, and it all came back strong and new and familiar all at once.

Richie gave Bev a second to find her lungs again, taking another steady drag from his own cigarette to distract from the noise of the blood rushing in his ears. "Eddie's here," he said softly, glancing down to the ground, his bright chuck taylor's against the white of the snow. An idiotic choice of footwear in wet places, like Richie couldn't help himself from being self destructive even in the smallest ways. "He's from before. Before the--" He closed his mouth, chewed at the inside of his lip. "Before," he settled on. And he'd never really been able to tell Eddie about it. Just implied it heavily with his own grief and then left Eddie to figure it out all on his own, like an asshole.

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mollyringwald
2019-11-28 09:01 pm UTC (link)

"Before - oh. Oh, Richie, I'm - " The cigarette dangled limply in Beverly's grip, smoke drifting toward the sky, grey streamers unfurling. "He doesn't know he died?" It wasn't much of a question, since she had a feeling she already the answer.

If Eddie didn't know, then she wouldn't tell him. Or not the details, anyway - mostly she just wanted to make sure he was fine, that he was whole and in one piece and there was life in his eyes and a distinct lack of a claw wound in his chest.

Her lower lip wibbled and she tried not to cry, but it wasn't working too well. Beverly sniffled, wiping at her lashes with her opposite hand, tears hot and burning on her pink, windburned cheeks (she'd always had sensitive skin, literally. Figuratively, she was tough as nails - but sometimes, sometimes she didn't want to be).

Like right now.

"I wanted to tell you that I'm so sorry. I wish I had known - but the Deadlights, it doesn't work like that." As soon as they all reunited in Derry, they changed the future - it veered off course from what she had seen, and because of that she felt like she failed Eddie and Richie too, along with Stan.

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trashmouthloser
2019-11-28 09:14 pm UTC (link)

It wasn't a good question. It wasn't like it wasn't fair, though -- Beverly should definitely have asked it. But based on Richie not being able to bring it up now and going a little hollow even as he tried -- there wasn't a goddamned way Eddie didn't know about it. "He's a weirdo, but he's not stupid," Richie said, smiling without humor. "He knows. We just haven't-- you know. Talked about it."

Richie had spent a very long time, most of his life, talking constantly but never really saying anything. This wasn't new. Even if he was trying to fix that, had been working toward a better version of himself, that didn't mean there weren't still things he couldn't say.

"No," he said, and it came out a little too sharply, a little too knowing, even as Bev started up. "No - don't. Bev. Please." And it came out too much. Too fast. He backtracked. "It isn't your fault. You can't apologize. It's--" God, the shit he still saw. Nightmare stuff. "Fuck."

Beverly was crying, and Richie pulled himself together enough to realize that he was too, and oh weren't the two of them probably a sight? He sniffed, looked away for a moment and then gestured vaguely to a cluster of houses. "Over there. We've got a place. Me n' Eds. You should stay with us." Because they were together again and the idea of ever being apart again hurt. Richie knew what it felt like, to lose. And he was so tired of it. Maybe just tired in general, sometimes. "And Stan. He's there too. Surprise."

Look, there was no easy way to tell her that Richie was living with his two dead best friends. Any way he would have said it would have been a shock to the system.

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mollyringwald
2019-11-28 09:28 pm UTC (link)

Mentioning Stan made her actually hiccup, the shock of it all rattling her bones. Beverly didn't understand this world but if it meant she had Eddie, and she had Stan, then maybe it was okay. Now she knew what Richie meant, when he said it had nothing but also everything.

Her nose was running - freezing cold snot, and her eyes were rimmed with red and bloodshot; surely she'd looked better in her life but it wasn't like she cared right now. She still had Richie's ugly sweater and she used the sleeve to dab at her eyes before sucking back the rest of that cigarette - stress, stress, more stress. The embers were flicked to the winds, and they drifted.

"Yeah," she decided. "I want to. I want to see Stan, tell him I'm sorry." Actually finding a place to stay had been a thought in the back of her mind, but she was glad that it was settled now - one less thing in this cacophony of weirdness and changes and feelings of acrobats in her stomach to deal with. "I want to talk to you too," she added, reaching out, squeezing Richie's arm. "When I get used to this and...everything. After all that happened, I'm worried about you."

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trashmouthloser
2019-11-28 09:50 pm UTC (link)

That wasn't true. Beverly was beautiful. She always was, and even in this moment, full up on emotions and teary eyed, a little snotty, she was lovely as ever. Of all the women Richie'd ever met in his entire life, he thought maybe Beverly was the only one he'd ever truly be in love with. Maybe not the same way he loved Eddie, or the same way Ben loved her. But it was still love, true and pure. She'd never looked better. Because she was here, and he'd selfishly wished for that so many times.

He wiped under his glasses with his free hand and then finished off his own smoke, flicking the butt away from them into the snow.

"I don't know if he'll want to talk about it," he admitted. Because Stan knew. He'd already done the deed before he'd gotten here. It was confusing, and overwhelming and weird. They didn't quite talk about it, either, even if Stan knew he knew because Richie hadn't been subtle about removing all the razors from the bathroom. "But god. They'll be happy as fuck to see you, Ms. Marsh. Maybe happy enough to not yell at me for running out to get you without a warning." His smile was lopsided over that. Practically cheerful, like Richie couldn't think of anything he loved more than being yelled at by Stan and Eddie.

"I'm fine," he said, "There's nothing to worry about." But they'd probably talk anyway, eventually. Because he wasn't always sure if it was true, and because Beverly was stubborn. "You still want that coffee?" He asked, even though he sort of knew the answer. "Or to go home?"

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mollyringwald
2019-11-28 10:07 pm UTC (link)

"It's okay, he doesn't have to talk about it. I just want to see him. See if - he still has that curly hair," Beverly let out a soft, quavery laugh, wiping at her face again. She was stubborn though, and she wasn't about to let Richie get away with never acknowledging what she knew was there - the darkness, and conversely the light, the night terrors and the fear. It was possible he hadn't talked about it with Eddie or Stan, so she was going to fill in that slot. Come hell or high water. And sure, working through the muck and mire would be a tough job, but she had the combat boots for it. Not to worry.

Coffee sounded good but she didn't know if she could keep anything down right now. Maybe later. When everything didn't feel like a washer load off balance inside of her. "Let's go home," she decided, taking Richie's hand again - with most people, Beverly recoiled from touch. But the Losers weren't most people. Not even on the same wavelength.

She loved them. They were all in love with each other, with everything about it. Innocence, the blind faith that children had in each other, in what they believed in - that was what had defeated IT the first time, after all.

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trashmouthloser
2019-11-29 02:31 am UTC (link)

"Oh boy, does he ever," Richie said, clearly pleased to be off the subject of himself, and on to more normal things. "The curly hair. The button nose. He got the Loser's Club Glow Up, Bev. It's not even right." Stan, like so many of the other Losers, had grown up almost inexplicably hot. Richie wasn't ashamed to say he'd looked -- obviously, for all the ribbing he'd given to Ben back at the Jade.

"Home it is." He was glad, glad she'd agreed to live with them, glad she used the word Home without argument, even if Richie full well fucking knew that this place was fucked and weird and showing up with no warning wasn't a homey sort of feeling. But they'd always been pretty good at making the most out of what they had and this didn't seem much different.

"They're gonna lose their shit," Richie said, grief and nerves getting lost in the pure chaotic glee that he was clearly getting from the concept of Eddie losing his goddamned mind.

It was the little things, sometimes.

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