( Richie had been working hard since he dropped out of college, and for anyone that knew Richie Tozier, the words “working hard” weren’t really in his vocabulary. But, for once, he was finally trying, and he was actually really fucking good at it.
Being funny came easily when it was aimed at taking a stab at yourself. People laughed along as he joked about his terrible eyesight and the awful interactions with women that sometimes ended up in him getting slapped around the face. It was all jokes and funny and har-har at the comedian and Richie didn’t mind it. He’d spent most of his life getting laughed at for something, hadn’t he?
The funny thing was, he could barely remember his childhood. He must’ve been happy, he must have had friends, there had to be… something. Right?
So Richie is on stage, and he’s doing one of his usual routines at a new place. He’s picking on people in the crowd, asking them questions, making assumptions, and then his eyes fall onto a table, and in particular, a man who looked less than impressed. His perfect candidate. Until he eyes fucking look at him properly and something inside Richie squeezes like he knows who this man is and suddenly he can’t breathe.
Richie freezes. He stares. He stumbles over his words for a second and lets out an awkward laugh and then starts talking about how fucking hot this guy is, about how he looks great with his frowny face and how he’ll have wrinkles by the time he’s 40 if he’s not careful and didn’t your mother ever teach you that if you keep glaring at people your face will get stuck like that forever?
They go back and forth, and Richie laughs when the guy decides to leave and he carries on with his routine trying not to think about how he’s just called this guy hot in front of everyone and hopes that people thought he was really, really just joking.
He can’t stop thinking about him, not even when he’s finished his bit and he’s done for the night. Blue eyes land on him as Richie orders his drink and he smirks behind the top of his beer. He slides on over to him, entirely too much in his space and lets out a laugh at the man’s comment. )
Aw, come on, man, it was all just a joke. I’m a comedian. I get paid to be funny. You’re at a comedy club, you can’t seriously be pissed?
( He’s never had someone take offense to what he’d said before. It’s new. )
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a million years later i reply...
Date: 2023-06-16 03:01 pm (UTC)Being funny came easily when it was aimed at taking a stab at yourself. People laughed along as he joked about his terrible eyesight and the awful interactions with women that sometimes ended up in him getting slapped around the face. It was all jokes and funny and har-har at the comedian and Richie didn’t mind it. He’d spent most of his life getting laughed at for something, hadn’t he?
The funny thing was, he could barely remember his childhood. He must’ve been happy, he must have had friends, there had to be… something. Right?
So Richie is on stage, and he’s doing one of his usual routines at a new place. He’s picking on people in the crowd, asking them questions, making assumptions, and then his eyes fall onto a table, and in particular, a man who looked less than impressed. His perfect candidate. Until he eyes fucking look at him properly and something inside Richie squeezes like he knows who this man is and suddenly he can’t breathe.
Richie freezes. He stares. He stumbles over his words for a second and lets out an awkward laugh and then starts talking about how fucking hot this guy is, about how he looks great with his frowny face and how he’ll have wrinkles by the time he’s 40 if he’s not careful and didn’t your mother ever teach you that if you keep glaring at people your face will get stuck like that forever?
They go back and forth, and Richie laughs when the guy decides to leave and he carries on with his routine trying not to think about how he’s just called this guy hot in front of everyone and hopes that people thought he was really, really just joking.
He can’t stop thinking about him, not even when he’s finished his bit and he’s done for the night. Blue eyes land on him as Richie orders his drink and he smirks behind the top of his beer. He slides on over to him, entirely too much in his space and lets out a laugh at the man’s comment. )
Aw, come on, man, it was all just a joke. I’m a comedian. I get paid to be funny. You’re at a comedy club, you can’t seriously be pissed?
( He’s never had someone take offense to what he’d said before. It’s new. )
Why don’t we start again? I’m Richie.