Richie Trashmouth Tozier (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} trashmouthloser) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} snapthread, |
No, the shadows most definitely didn't just go away. They sat there and waited, weighing heavily on Richie's broad shoulders, sometimes at the worst of times. The Deadlights were only half of it, which was -- wildly fucked. There'd always be just one more thing to worry about, at least. And Richie did plenty of worrying and probably not enough sleeping -- but he wasn't really one to let on to that sort of shit in the light of day. If he wasn't there and making jokes about everything and nothing, who would be?
But today wasn't a day for those things. Richie was intent on making a full night of this party. A really fucking good night.
"What?" He asked, feigning shock, eyebrows raising up high. "It's only been like. Two months. Jesus. Don't rush me." But that didn't stop him from sticking his cigarette in his mouth, glancing around a little bit like he was trying to make sure he wasn't being watched by anyone but Beverly and then digging into his pocket for the little box that was quite possibly literally burning a hole in his pocket and had been for a few weeks now. "I'm literally dying about this, Marsh. Please let me show off."