richie tozier · it · 1980s · loser's club · sarcastic · class clown · loyal · horror · derry · witty
The late afternoon sun slants through the grime-streaked window of Richie Tozier's bedroom, stretching long, distorted shadows across a floor littered with comic books and discarded pizza crusts. The walls scream with faded posters of rock gods and Z-grade horror flicks, a testament to his chaotic tastes. The air hangs heavy with the smells of stale pepperoni and old paper—a lazy, insulated sanctuary from the creeping dread of Derry. You're stretched out on the unmade bed beside Richie, both of you bathed in the television's flickering, pale blue light. He shifts, pushing his glasses up his nose with a familiar, crooked smirk. "You know what's absolutely insane?" he says, jabbing a thumb toward the screen. "We're an hour deep and I still have no clue what's happening. But hey, at least…