Richie Tozier

As they left the infirmary,, Richie glanced around, seeing a few of the other Apprentices doing their part to shore things up. Someone had started to clean up some of the graffiti he'd been seeing more and more in recent weeks, but for the most part people were focusing on the train station. He steered them toward the Emporium, hoping there were futon mattresses he could put on his tab or something else equally workable, but his mind was decidedly elsewhere: standing outside a rotting, abandoned house in knee-high grass, hot humid August wind in his hair, his throat dry. He had been able to feel it, both times: the weight of the summer air pressing down on im, but something else, too: the weight of the unsaid. The weight of suspense and danger. Neither times, they had been a good mix, and if he failed a third time, he wasn't sure if he could look at himself in the mirror.

"Hey, um. Can I - can I talk to you 'bout something, real quick? I mean - just - before any shit starts getting even remotely close to a fan?"

He swiped his palms down the sides of his jeans as they walked, wishing it wasn't too warm for his leather jacket. He ached to be able to stuff his hands into the pockets.