Ritchie had been on the station for a few days, but he was far too 80s to know that he should have announced his presence digitally in some way. It seemed to him that an open invitation party was the most natural place in the world for introductions to be made, and it had given him a little time to find his feet and get to grips with this new situation.
He hadn’t seen the doctor or the man from the future yet, but his array of vitamins and natural “remedies” from home has arrived, so he’d been necking those and checking in with his body regularly as usual. This evening, he did feel slightly tender under his left arm, but there was no bruising or swelling so he let it go. He was fine. He was going to be fine.
He was an 80s vision. White suit jacket with rolled up cuffs, shirt with the top buttons undone and no tie, perfect curls and a single earring catching the light now and then. He mingled casually, helping himself to drinks (opting for beer out the bottle so he could bin them and not risk accidentally sharing glasses) and nibbles and did a bit of people watching.
They actually seemed like a crowd he could be comfortable with.
A few people had already sang by the time he’d decided on a song. Clearly practised in the art of performance he took to the “stage”.
“Hello, I’m Ritchie Tozer, no relation to the host,” he introduced himself with a wide smile of affection for the man he was referring to. “I’m new, erm... so be gentle?” he added with a soft laugh before the music started.
He started to perform Fleetwood Mac, any lingering anxiety just disappearing as he sang his heart out. The last few notes faded, and he did his signature bow, and hopped off of the stage again to rejoin the party.