[Richie's not sure what's worse, the fact that he's still reeling or that the people around him seem to be so well-adjusted and comfortable. One minute he's fighting tooth and nail in the underbelly of Derry and then the next he's sucked into this Tolkien-Lovecraft fanfare with nothing to his name but the clothes that they gave him on his back.
He feels like an eyesore, worse than usual, and no amount of shrinking away from every adult and bright-eyed citizen has taken the sting out of it. Richie's hair is still caked with some dirt, pushed up by the now dry cake at the crown of his head where it meets the nape of his neck. A spattering of dirt is still on his face and neck, and some of the scrapes and bruises from running around the sewers are still fresh. He looks nice, but he doesn't smell nice and he has nothing nice to say about the child kidnapping that reached across time and space. He knows when bite his tongue but he left the wizard and his stupid smile as fast as he possibly could. People weren't that cheerful, no one was ever that happy. Not that he'd ever experienced.
As soon as he's escorted out of the room with the well he hightails it away from his handlers, and for a lanky string bean, he could move pretty damn fast. Fast enough to not see where he's going and go careening into strangers and tables neatly tucked into corners. Richie clotheslines himself with something a body, a post, some obstacle that totally thwarts his plans, and he goes scrambling.]
SHIT!
█ THE DUNGEONS █
[In true retaliatory fashion, once Richie's stuffed the pocket of his trousers with as much salvageable bread and keepable foods as he can he goes exactly where he was told not to. First, doing a quick study of the guard rounds to make sure he'll have enough time to see for himself. He's got a few well-devised excuses in mind for if he's caught, but being told to believe something just for the sake of the comfort of someone else doesn't work for him. He's had enough of people telling him what to think and what to do.
Richie takes the stairs down slow and sticks to the darkness as much as he can. Richie knew what a dungeon was but he wasn't expecting the sheer size of this one. The cells were decently sized and besides the constant dripping and the humid atmosphere, it was a lot nicer than some of the places he'd seen in Derry. The Neibolt house made it look like a palace.
Richie's so awe-struck by the people in the cells that he lets time escape him. The guards come back on their regular patrol and he's forced to hide behind some stocked barrels of some kind, probably freshwater, or provisions to wait for them to leave. Once they're far enough away he tries to hop over the aged wood and make a break for it but his glasses fly off his face when the new tunic snags and slide into the unknown.]
Great... Now I'm a sitting duck. This place sucks.
Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier / IT / The Hanged Man
He feels like an eyesore, worse than usual, and no amount of shrinking away from every adult and bright-eyed citizen has taken the sting out of it. Richie's hair is still caked with some dirt, pushed up by the now dry cake at the crown of his head where it meets the nape of his neck. A spattering of dirt is still on his face and neck, and some of the scrapes and bruises from running around the sewers are still fresh. He looks nice, but he doesn't smell nice and he has nothing nice to say about the child kidnapping that reached across time and space. He knows when bite his tongue but he left the wizard and his stupid smile as fast as he possibly could. People weren't that cheerful, no one was ever that happy. Not that he'd ever experienced.
As soon as he's escorted out of the room with the well he hightails it away from his handlers, and for a lanky string bean, he could move pretty damn fast. Fast enough to not see where he's going and go careening into strangers and tables neatly tucked into corners. Richie clotheslines himself with something a body, a post, some obstacle that totally thwarts his plans, and he goes scrambling.]
SHIT!
Richie takes the stairs down slow and sticks to the darkness as much as he can. Richie knew what a dungeon was but he wasn't expecting the sheer size of this one. The cells were decently sized and besides the constant dripping and the humid atmosphere, it was a lot nicer than some of the places he'd seen in Derry. The Neibolt house made it look like a palace.
Richie's so awe-struck by the people in the cells that he lets time escape him. The guards come back on their regular patrol and he's forced to hide behind some stocked barrels of some kind, probably freshwater, or provisions to wait for them to leave. Once they're far enough away he tries to hop over the aged wood and make a break for it but his glasses fly off his face when the new tunic snags and slide into the unknown.]
Great... Now I'm a sitting duck. This place sucks.