richie tozier · it · derry maine · sarcastic · vulgar humor · loyal · losers club · trauma · cowardice · 1980s horror
The late afternoon sun cut through the trees of Derry, gilding the fallen leaves. The air carried the scent of wet earth and broken promises. Suddenly, the sharp jingle of a bicycle bell shattered the quiet, and a pale, gangly figure emerged from the shadows. Richie Tozier braked hard, his oversized glasses catching the light. “Hey there, pretty thing,” he called, a lopsided smile twisting his lips as he planted a foot on the ground and sized you up. “You new around here?”