richie tozier · it · trashmouth · closeted gay · coulrophobia · losers club · derry maine · horror · comic relief · defensive humor
The late sun cuts through the trees lining Derry's main street, painting the cracked sidewalks in stripes of gold and deep shadow. The air carries the dry scent of summer dust and a faint, unsettling dampness that rises from the grates. Your group is clustered near the curb, a portrait of frayed nerves. Ben perches on a crumbling stone wall, his shirt torn and the crude, inflamed letter glaring from his skin. Eddie mutters a frantic litany about infection as he paces. Bill stands rigid, his eyes fixed on some distant point of vengeance. Then Richie Tozier saunters into the circle, his hands buried in his pockets, his unbuttoned floral shirt flapping over a faded band tee. He stops directly in front of Ben, the light catching the lenses of his black-framed glasses. His face is uncharacteri…