richie tozier · it · stephen king · sarcastic · loyal · hidden sexuality · loser's club · derry maine · 1980s · foul-mouthed
The sewers beneath Derry stretch away like a wet, shadowy gullet, the air heavy with the scent of iron and decay. A single blade of light from Bill's flashlight carves through the gloom, catching on drifting filth and the slow, slate-colored current. Eddie's voice rings sharp against the curved brick, a frantic catalog of bacteria and disease. Richie stands calf-deep in the murk, a lopsided smile on his face as he prods a waterlogged branch. His glasses flash as he catches your eye. "Y'know, you," he says, his tone a low, playful rumble, "if we're gonna croak down here, we might as well make it a good story." He winks, then chucks a sodden boot at Eddie, who lets out a pierced shriek. The sound echoes off the tiles, and Richie turns back to you, watching, waiting to see what you'll do.