have you felt a little off today?

[measuringdicks]

Who: Richie Tozier and Mike Wheeler!
What: Mike's getting construction materials for a pizza shop. Richie's getting repair materials for the clinic. They meet in the same shop.
When: Sometime in February!
Where: Somewhere in, let's say, Willful Machine.
Content Warnings: Richie’s mouth needs its own warning. possible canon-typical mentions of child endangerment. mentions of major and lasting injuries to minors. blanket Stephen King warnings apply. will update when need be.

[It'd been a while since Richie got mistaken for anyone else. He was generally fairly obvious: lanky kid growing like a weed, dressed in loud clothes meant to grab people's attention, only one ear, a Mimikyu sitting on his shoulder, a hyena loping along beside him? Yeah, he stands out.

But today?]

Whaddaya mean, you reserved a bunch of planks for me? [This is turning out a very confusing interaction, with Richie growing more and more lost as the guy he's trying to trade with keeps bringing up more and more things he doesn't actually remember.] Fuck, man, I've never even been in this shop before, I didn't order all this shit. I don't need that many planks, I just need some paint and rollers. No, really, I mean it—

[He hears the windchimes, then turns. Blinks at the guy who's just come in, a mirror image to Richie himself, but dressed very differently with—is that an iguana on his head? Holy shit, it is an iguana.]

You're still fucking here?

Comments

[measuringdicks]

[It’s so annoying to Richie, that even now that he’s gotten much taller, Mike still has the edge on him, height-wise. How long has it been since he last saw the guy? Shit—it’s been a while, and he’s seen more of Byers than Mike, if he’s being honest here.]

I’m not disappointed. Least I know who to blame now if shit goes wrong and people start pointing at me. [Pitching his voice a bit high here, but he’s not quite slipped into a Voice just yet:] Oh, no, it wasn’t me, it was my doppelgänger Mike.

[He’s still as much of a chatterbox as ever, apparently. Not even responsibility has been able to change that.]

I’m not here to steal your fucking planks. Didn’t even know they were your planks. [He shoots the merchant A Look, as if to say, see, I’m not the one you should be telling about planks here.] I’m just here to pick up some shit so I could repair some of the clinic. [He shrugs.] You know how it is with old houses.

[micycle]

Uh, yeah. Totally.

[As if he's ever done a bit of repair work in his life, and he and Will aren't letting their old spooky shack crumble around them. It adds character.

It takes a bit of maneuvering, but Mike makes it over to the merchant's counter, where the bundle of recycled, mildewy two-by-fours have been put aside, and jostles them up under his free arm. They aren't enough to actually build anything, but they'll do for covering up a hole in the wall. At least, he thinks. He hasn't measured it.]

Wait, like, a people clinic? [As opposed to a vet clinic, shush.] I thought all we had was that weird magic healing place.

[measuringdicks]

[Richie just backs up, letting Mike pick up his shit. Venkman the Mimikyu leans forward, clearly a little thrown by this guy who looks just like Richie, while the hyena sniffs cautiously at Mike.]

Fuck’s sake, you guys too? [There’s a fond note of exasperation in there, and Richie goes down to pull the hyena back from Mike.] Don’t give him that much attention, you’ll make him even taller and then where would I fuckin’ be.

[Well, it’d make it easier to identify who’s who.]

Yeah, duh, a people clinic, animals can’t appreciate my jokes properly. Turtle Cove—my, my friend Eddie used to run it. [Before he left.] Now I’m in charge.

[micycle]

[The hyena's proximity isn't making Mike feel great, but he tries not to look too relieved when Richie pulls it away. Between baby demogorgons and the zombie dogs that took off Mike's finger, he's cautious about anything bigger than a beagle. He does, however, crack a sideways smile at Richie's teasing. The jab at his height feels familiar in a way he appreciates.]

Do you know Dr. Harper? Short British guy?

[measuringdicks]

[Richie pets the hyena with ease, and it proceeds to hide behind his legs after that, peeking out to watch Mike with a measure of wariness. It hasn't spoken up yet, and would really prefer not to, on account of Richie being talkative enough for all three of them and then some.

Richie grins back, perking up at the apparent positive reception to his jokes.]

What, like, [and he slips into a generic RP accent, posh and stuffy,] Pip pip, cheerio, top of the morning to you, god save the Queen, kinda British? [He shakes his head.] No. I've been studying anatomy and shit under Nehan and on my own.

[And perhaps he'll start looking into how to make his own potions, at some point in time. He wants to help, he wants to continue Eddie's legacy here in this place, keep his memory alive just a little while longer. And maybe, just maybe, keep the lights on until he gets home, if he ever does.]

Should I? 'Cause I wouldn't say no to having an actual fucking doctor on call.

[micycle]

[The iguana on Mike's head peers down, then waves one extremely slow hand at the hyena. A gesture of peace, and good intention: He's afraid, but it's not your fault. He won't hurt you.]

No, the other kind of British.

[He will, however, make fun of you to your face.]

He's the guy who fixed my leg, when I broke it. He mentioned your place when I told him it was fucked up again, but I'm pretty sure it's beyond "friendly neighborhood clinic".

[measuringdicks]

[The hyena relaxes significantly, just as Venkman very nearly falls off Richie’s shoulder, trying to get a closer look. The head droops to the side, the way a poorly made costume would. Richie huffs out a quiet chuckle, pushes the costume head back into place, and continues on:]

What? Dude, you have got to stop breaking your leg. [But Mike has a point, healing it is far beyond Richie’s ability.]

Definitely not me, unless you need someone to reset your leg, [please don’t ask him to reset your leg] but—there’s a lot of other healers around, and a few got in contact with me when I asked for their help. I can ask them to take a look at your leg. How long’s it been since you broke it?

[micycle]

[With a long-suffering sigh, ] I only broke it once. It just- didn't heal right, or something.

[That tends to happen when someone puts pins in your leg right as the world is falling apart.]

And it happened last May, but then we went home to Indiana for awhile, and my leg was fine there, but when we came back- [Boom. Crooked.] Took my fingers again, too. Total bullshit.

[measuringdicks]

[Hm.]

So if you go back home, it's like you reset, but when you come back the injuries you got here come back too. [That's actually pretty interesting, Richie's thinking now about his own sojourns from one world to another—all his injuries carried over. But when you go back home...

He shivers at the idea.]

Yeah, it's fucked up. So your leg's been fucked like this for, [and he starts counting from May, and whistles quietly,] shit, nine months, counting when you went back home? I don't know what anyone can do for this, short of re-breaking and re-aligning it, and that's...not gonna be painless. And it's definitely way out of my wheelhouse.

[A sigh.] I can still get you in contact with a few people, but—if it's been that long, dunno how much they can help too.

[micycle]

Eighteen, since I broke it. We were home for- awhile.

[He looks down at the offending body part. Through his too-short pants it almost looks okay, but it's easy to see how his ankle tilts a tad to one side, compensating for the crooked legs.]

Thanks, though. How's your, uh- [Mike hunches one shoulder, gesturing it towards his ear. These two are a whole ass mess.]

tw discussion of ear trauma

[measuringdicks]

Oh. [Yeah, definitely beyond helping. Richie winces.] Bad news, it’s fucked. [Unless Mike’s willing to undergo major surgery, which, yeah, no, Richie doesn’t know any Sleeper surgeons.] Maybe add a couple inches to the heel, I guess?

[Least he tried? But now attention’s been drawn to his own injury, and he self-consciously brushes his hair to better hide the hole that used to be his ear.]

‘S’fine. Got fucked up by a lightsaber which was so much less cooler than I thought it would be. [He sighs.] Just…y’know, can’t hear too well on this side now. It’s why I’ve got these guys, they’ve got better ears than me.

[micycle]

[Yeah, so, all the times he and his friends pretended to stab each other with those things as kids really hit different after being in this place - or the old place, he guesses - for awhile. So do any of their games involving swords and blasters and fighting. Why couldn't they have spent their childhood pretending to pet rabbits or bake cookies or something?]

I guess Bastian's got better legs than me- [The iguana, hello there.] -but he hasn't figured out how to help. Too small to ride around on.

[Is that a joke? Is Richie's grouchy, intense doppelgänger joking?]

[measuringdicks]

Holy fuck, you made a joke! [Richie grins at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling up with delight.] I was starting to think you didn’t even know what a joke was.

[He tips an imaginary hat to Bastian.]

Don’t worry, bud, you’re doing your best. [He does pause a second, then decides: he ought to broach the topic.] Don’t you guys have a horse?

[micycle]

[Mike's cheeks go a touch pink, but his frown is absent of any real anger.]

Okay, first of all? Marshmallow's a kelpie, so get your facts straight. [Even if Will likes to pretend that he's keeping a perfectly normal, non-nightmarish horse in the yard.] And second, I know jokes. You're just the only one around here who's ever in a good enough mood to tell one.

[Yes, Mike's cognizant enough of mental health to know that humor's definitely a coping mechanism for Richie, but part of him still feels weirdly jealous sometimes.]