Richie "Bitch Baby Tears" Tozier (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
summertimeblues) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nysalogs2018-01-13 02:32 pm
summertimeblues) wrote in nysalogs2018-01-13 02:32 pm
i said a-MONAAAAY......CHANGES EV-REEEY-THAAaaang....[Closed]
Who: Richie Tozier (summertimeblues) & Red (persistor), Boxer (desistor), Sandra the Unseeing (tutorb), and J.J. Leroy (underwhelms), possibly others
What: Mission stuff!! And a catch-all for January if need be
When: Early January
Where: Olympia, visiting Wyver for the lovely mountains and lakesand the profit they hold
Warning(s): Potty mouths, perhaps dirty humor, maybe a violence...also J.J. is a terrible embarrassment to dw rp and Canada as a whole, I'm threading with him so you don't have to. You're welcome.
Rod and Bexer - Disturbing the Dead
[Not a month ago, Richie would have outright laughed if you told him to hitch up his suspenders and drag his ass out for a tomb raid. The whole thing would have seemed ludicrous. Childish even, searching for buried treasure in taped off ruins. That's the shit you pulled when you were fourteen and bored and you hear a rumor that the old mill's light turns on by itself at the stroke of midnight.
But call him curious. Or suitably bored. Suitably irritated with how daily life in Olympia now means he's serving liquor to men and women who can't shut up about what a pack of ingrates the good folks of Wyver are. That insipid survey that'd been floating around ground his gears further. Though the two situations hardly co-relate, rising dissent versus hunkering around in caves for trinkets, some irrepressible madness was stirring in him. A need to dissent himself, the likes of which he'd abandoned in his early thirties when he cast off the picket signs and weekend marches. Get his head out of the puckered asshole Olympia was becoming and throw a middle finger to the air.
Also, his wages as a barkeep were fair, but he was used to far, far better. This had money involved.
He contacted Red on a whim for company (and for a moment doubted the choice — she was a mute, would that make it harder to navigate together? They'd have their phones but maybe she'd be stuck doing hambones and finger snaps to call his attention if there was a bat nest he might trip into) and she'd responded quick enough that there was nothing more to discuss. The pair were to meet at the mouth of the mountain and make the trip into the crypt together.
Except the pair's more like a trio.]
So I've gotta say, of all the coincidences I could have imagined, I wouldn't have sat you two down on a love seat if you paid me ten dollars to think it over. Don't I look the fool.
["Wally" is human now, the light from the flashlight catching his fleshy ridges and the leather of his jacket, but he's dragging the sword with him. The sword that he lives in, clinking over ancient stone as they pass into the dark world of the dead. The world's most solid hologram, folks, step right up and take a poke yourself! You won't believe your eyes!] I take it that you hitched wagons before all of that. Or you're a Super Freak the likes of which Rick James couldn't conceive. Congratulations Red, I'm impressed.
Sandy Crabs - A Day in the Life
[The second rebellion takes place on a deceptively more forgiving stage. There's no ghosts or trap doors, but there's pitfalls here all the same. This one is bordering on (or in fact, is) illegal. Something a sensible adult wouldn't have done, and he wouldn't have dared as a grown man in California. There was no risk worth taking it for. In Maine, maybe, but the snooping they'd had to do laid firmly outside of the realm of man and institutions. This was legitimate espionage.
Richie's only been here how long, now? Two, edging on three months? He can't decide if this sudden bout of daring is a healthy change or a stupid one.
This time, he enlists what he can only imagine is the perfect accomplice for the job. She's travel-sized, smart, a verified psychic, and easily hidden into small spaces. Hello Sandra, we're very impressed with your resume and we'd like to welcome you on board. Happy to have you on the team.
They slip through security with relative ease. Sandra's got a neat trick there: blind she may be, but unseeing is a damn lie. She confirms or denies the presence of approaching bodies, and only through her cheats does Richie slip through doors and around the right corners until they hit the office they need.]
You oughta do this full time, babe. You're a dab hand at playing dispatch for thieves. [Richie shuts the door behind them with his heel, and gently props the old gal on the sprawling desktop as he takes a quick gander around.] Maybe we can get you some wheels. Motor you around and you can zip in where man may not follow.
Jimmy Johns Leeroy - Preaching in the Material World
[After all that recklessness, he's ready for something a little more sedate. A trip to the country, so to speak. Luckily there's an option to earn some money there too, and as much as he misses swimming daily in pools or long California beaches, he can only shudder remembering that horking motherfucker that tried to bite his face off on the boat trip in. The lakes might be inland, but even so? No thanks.
He opts to get quartz from the Edrathe Ruins instead. Sets off early in the day so he has a bit of time to see the sights as well, admiring the graceful lines of ancient monuments and having a quick lunch on a snowy knoll. The weather has been downright amicable, even if there's no melt. While the sun is still high and he has plenty of hours to make it back to town, he treks into the dark.
It's some time before he comes across what he needs. He's careful to chart his way through the cave. While not labyrinthe, it's dim and deep enough that he feels caution is necessary. Richie hums, wedging the light between his shoulder and cheek as he pries the crystals off the wall.
There's a splashing sound from further ahead.
He freezes. Whips the light around with a hunchback's pirouette. His hands are still on his knapsack and the rocks so he has to tuck them away before fetching the light proper. Richie waves the light this way and that, but only sees the esophagus of bedrock stretching longer and longer down. How deep does this go?
What's splashing around in the dark down there?
For once, he opts to stay silent. He's alone out here, he's sure of it...]
((if you want to do something in our fair month of January, please feel free to shoot me a PM on this journal! Happy to throw up closed starters anytime.))
summertimeblues) & Red (persistor), Boxer (desistor), Sandra the Unseeing (tutorb), and J.J. Leroy (underwhelms), possibly othersWhat: Mission stuff!! And a catch-all for January if need be
When: Early January
Where: Olympia, visiting Wyver for the lovely mountains and lakes
Warning(s): Potty mouths, perhaps dirty humor, maybe a violence...also J.J. is a terrible embarrassment to dw rp and Canada as a whole, I'm threading with him so you don't have to. You're welcome.
Rod and Bexer - Disturbing the Dead
[Not a month ago, Richie would have outright laughed if you told him to hitch up his suspenders and drag his ass out for a tomb raid. The whole thing would have seemed ludicrous. Childish even, searching for buried treasure in taped off ruins. That's the shit you pulled when you were fourteen and bored and you hear a rumor that the old mill's light turns on by itself at the stroke of midnight.
But call him curious. Or suitably bored. Suitably irritated with how daily life in Olympia now means he's serving liquor to men and women who can't shut up about what a pack of ingrates the good folks of Wyver are. That insipid survey that'd been floating around ground his gears further. Though the two situations hardly co-relate, rising dissent versus hunkering around in caves for trinkets, some irrepressible madness was stirring in him. A need to dissent himself, the likes of which he'd abandoned in his early thirties when he cast off the picket signs and weekend marches. Get his head out of the puckered asshole Olympia was becoming and throw a middle finger to the air.
Also, his wages as a barkeep were fair, but he was used to far, far better. This had money involved.
He contacted Red on a whim for company (and for a moment doubted the choice — she was a mute, would that make it harder to navigate together? They'd have their phones but maybe she'd be stuck doing hambones and finger snaps to call his attention if there was a bat nest he might trip into) and she'd responded quick enough that there was nothing more to discuss. The pair were to meet at the mouth of the mountain and make the trip into the crypt together.
Except the pair's more like a trio.]
So I've gotta say, of all the coincidences I could have imagined, I wouldn't have sat you two down on a love seat if you paid me ten dollars to think it over. Don't I look the fool.
["Wally" is human now, the light from the flashlight catching his fleshy ridges and the leather of his jacket, but he's dragging the sword with him. The sword that he lives in, clinking over ancient stone as they pass into the dark world of the dead. The world's most solid hologram, folks, step right up and take a poke yourself! You won't believe your eyes!] I take it that you hitched wagons before all of that. Or you're a Super Freak the likes of which Rick James couldn't conceive. Congratulations Red, I'm impressed.
Sandy Crabs - A Day in the Life
[The second rebellion takes place on a deceptively more forgiving stage. There's no ghosts or trap doors, but there's pitfalls here all the same. This one is bordering on (or in fact, is) illegal. Something a sensible adult wouldn't have done, and he wouldn't have dared as a grown man in California. There was no risk worth taking it for. In Maine, maybe, but the snooping they'd had to do laid firmly outside of the realm of man and institutions. This was legitimate espionage.
Richie's only been here how long, now? Two, edging on three months? He can't decide if this sudden bout of daring is a healthy change or a stupid one.
This time, he enlists what he can only imagine is the perfect accomplice for the job. She's travel-sized, smart, a verified psychic, and easily hidden into small spaces. Hello Sandra, we're very impressed with your resume and we'd like to welcome you on board. Happy to have you on the team.
They slip through security with relative ease. Sandra's got a neat trick there: blind she may be, but unseeing is a damn lie. She confirms or denies the presence of approaching bodies, and only through her cheats does Richie slip through doors and around the right corners until they hit the office they need.]
You oughta do this full time, babe. You're a dab hand at playing dispatch for thieves. [Richie shuts the door behind them with his heel, and gently props the old gal on the sprawling desktop as he takes a quick gander around.] Maybe we can get you some wheels. Motor you around and you can zip in where man may not follow.
Jimmy Johns Leeroy - Preaching in the Material World
[After all that recklessness, he's ready for something a little more sedate. A trip to the country, so to speak. Luckily there's an option to earn some money there too, and as much as he misses swimming daily in pools or long California beaches, he can only shudder remembering that horking motherfucker that tried to bite his face off on the boat trip in. The lakes might be inland, but even so? No thanks.
He opts to get quartz from the Edrathe Ruins instead. Sets off early in the day so he has a bit of time to see the sights as well, admiring the graceful lines of ancient monuments and having a quick lunch on a snowy knoll. The weather has been downright amicable, even if there's no melt. While the sun is still high and he has plenty of hours to make it back to town, he treks into the dark.
It's some time before he comes across what he needs. He's careful to chart his way through the cave. While not labyrinthe, it's dim and deep enough that he feels caution is necessary. Richie hums, wedging the light between his shoulder and cheek as he pries the crystals off the wall.
There's a splashing sound from further ahead.
He freezes. Whips the light around with a hunchback's pirouette. His hands are still on his knapsack and the rocks so he has to tuck them away before fetching the light proper. Richie waves the light this way and that, but only sees the esophagus of bedrock stretching longer and longer down. How deep does this go?
What's splashing around in the dark down there?
For once, he opts to stay silent. He's alone out here, he's sure of it...]
((if you want to do something in our fair month of January, please feel free to shoot me a PM on this journal! Happy to throw up closed starters anytime.))
no subject
In some.
Richie isn't going to pretend to understand it all. He has the vague sense that there were different laws for different worlds. What might have allowed an anomaly like a talking raccoon in one universe would never stand in another. Sandra might have turned into a plain bag of bones after attacking her emperor, if she'd tried doing it on different soil. Or the curse would have come out different, having her haunt the locale of her death, or some other such ghastly possibility. They were all cooped up together now, zoo exhibits from across the galaxies that would've never met otherwise, and justifying the altered physics was turning into a stampeding cacophony.
Richie takes that mug. He cups it close in both hands. It looks a little like he's praying. Pressed to the heart. Do you think he's here?
Kiddo, the question isn't if. It's what you're going to do.
Impressive as that flash boom bang had been, icicles shot out from the palms of a demonic summons dressed in kimono silks, Richie can't say if that magic could cut it. The gun didn't work. Blasted a section off the werewolf's skull, but the bigger hurt came from Richie taking the piss out of Mr. Nell and screaming at it in a voice not one bit his own. Stopped It in its tracks with sneezing powder (of all fucking things). Beverly had nailed it with her slingshot and the slugs they'd made out of Ben's silver dollars — and hadn't it been a lucky thing that it had come in the shape of a werewolf again? That's the rules, silver kills the howlers, but would silver have worked on the mummy? On Mike's bird? On Stan's dead boys?
What would really work on the clown?
If he could just...remember. (Chud.) The ritual, it was a ritual, but how to initiate and win it was all still crackling static. If he could say for sure what it was he could trust in taking on more people, he could spread the word as far as it needed to go. If the magic that brought the seven of them together would make an exception, keep a new group just as strong in the face of It, then he wouldn't have to tap dance around all these eggshells. He could shake Yusuke by the shoulders and tell him what's really what.
But he can't. Assuming he'd be okay because he's something different was as good as fluffing the pillow for his coffin. The clown played a rigged game. Different world, different rules. Yusuke's icy tricks might well be as useful as that profane bullet from Zack Denbrough's gun. Close but no cigar, and now you're dead kid. Time for the next contender, come on come on, I'll take em on, I'll take em all!
He'd rather die himself. He would die himself. He doesn't want Yusuke playing hero, he wants him to stay the hell out of harm's way.]
Not on the ground. No. I would have had a visit by now. [He flashes teeth at that, grim grins. Yes tea sounds lovely thank you, even if a smoke sounds outright divine, but he'll take a sip. Steady himself.] He made his intentions pretty clear.
[No need to go into the photographs. Red smears on the wall next to chunks that used to be a whole child, Come home come home come home. The implication sits well enough on its own.]
Honestly, I've yet to meet a soul here I'd really call a danger, but if you take a walk through the pods upstairs? Just going on the numbers alone. You have to know that eventually, something bad's gonna wake up. Maybe it'll be my guy, maybe yours. Maybe the neighbor's. Who knows.
Just exercise a little caution, all right? You're no slouch when it comes to doling out the hits, I've seen it. But...you can't know what the next guy's capable of either.
[He pauses. Gravely now, and with a hand to the younger boy's shoulder. Taller boy. Nearly a man.]
But if you see something and you think it's odd, you don't fight it. You turn and you run. You run and then you tell me first thing. Got it?