maskormenacelogs | gold teeth and a curse for this town were all in my mouth.

[ This might, in fact, be a terrible idea. Andy can't be sure — what the hell does she understand about teenagers? She hasn't been a teenager in some six thousand years. The two teenagers that she sees regularly include one, her son (decidedly not normal, hence this entire thing), and two, her husband (who isn't actually a teenager, thanks to technology from a galaxy far, far away). Her frame of reference is limited. She is definitely not cool with the kids. She knows shit all.

But Archie's right. Martin needs friends his age. He needs to learn how to... Be fifteen years old. And that's what Richie is for.

She considers asking Richie to take it easy on Martin. But honestly, she's not even sure what the fuck that would actually mean. So, instead, as she lets Richie inside, all she says is: ]

Remember, he's shy. [ That hardly begins to describe all of Martin's baggage, but. Well. Andy glances back over her shoulder into the house, calling out: ] Martin! Come down here, kiddo. Got someone for you to meet.

Edited 2020-02-02 04:05 (UTC)

[after some delay, there's footsteps on the stairs, and the Martin in question appears at the landing, his hair a bit of a bedheaded mess and eyes blinking blearily. left to his own devices, he's very apt to simply napping since that harrowing journey to another world -- napping, because proper, long sleep is a trap for dreaming.

so here he is, a glorious first impression.]

Andy? Who--?

[before he really lets himself ask, he cuts short at the sight of a stranger, staying where he is.]

[Richie is not entirely a normal thirteen-year-old, either, given that just before he came here he helped kill a child-eating clown, but that's not something he's going to blab about. It's not a huge secret, but—some things he just doesn't feel like talking about. Especially not with someone who's shy and hasn't been told about the birds and the bees just yet. Probably? Maybe?

Anyway, Richie has a backpack full of comics and video games, and a portable console, and more sugary snacks than two teenagers can hope to eat by themselves. He'd thought about bringing along a nudie, but—nah, that'd be a bit much for a first meeting.]

Roger that, that's a no on the clubhouse. [There's no clubhouse just yet, although Richie's been scoping out places here and there. As soon as Martin comes into view, Richie rolls forward onto the tips of his toes and pushes his glasses up, then waves hello.] Hey!

This is my kid, Martin.

[ She gestures towards the rumpled, nervous creature that has appeared. Then, gesturing over at their guest: ]

Martin, Richie. Richie, Martin. [ A little lackluster, as far as introductions go, but hell. She's the mom here — it's not her job to be cool, right? ] Have fun. Try not to set anything on fire. If you're going to drink, go easy and don't fuck with the sketchy shit I keep under the bathroom sink. Absolutely no throwing up on the carpet. Alright?

[Martin blinks. have fun with what? set what on fire? drinking...wait, what stuff under the sink???]

Um.

[he's lost, plainly. first it was meet, now it's...not set things on fire.]

Sorry, uh. What...what do you want me to do, now?

[he's too groggy for this.]

You wound me, ma’am, I’d never set fire to anything but people’s hearts. [He says, as if his experience in that department doesn’t amount to crushing on a couple boys and being utterly in love with his best friend.] I swear there’ll be no touching the sketchy moonshine under the sink.

[For effect, he clicks his heels, and raises one hand like he’s swearing in on a Bible, before letting it drop. Then he turns to Martin with a bright grin and a poorly-disguised wink that says, I am definitely breaking into the sketchy shit under the sink.]

Wanna play Street Fighter with me? I brought a portable copy and snacks. [A pause.] Shit, I didn’t ask, you allergic to anything?

Edited 2020-02-03 04:53 (UTC)

[ Andy gives Richie a little look like she's not 100% buying that whole ma'am business — but fuck it, as long as nobody gets maimed and the house doesn't burn down, she's willing to let boys be boys.

Reaching out, she puts her hand on Martin's shoulder briefly, giving it a light squeeze before she gently nudges him in Richie's direction. ]

Go ahead. Go hang out. [ With a twinge of wryness: ] Or whatever the hell it is kids your age do these days.

[Martin is moved forward, himself looking bewildered by it, looking over his shoulder to Andy and then to Richie and back again a couple times as understanding of the instruction seeps in.]

Um...well. I, I don't think so. Allergies, I mean? Sorry. Uh...Hi. Um. Fighting...street fighting? [his eyes wince.] I, I guess, but...

[Shifting his voice to sound like a cranky old man (that he delivers newspapers to):] Kids these days with their dirty dancin’ and street-fightin’. In my day, we youngsters went a-clown-killin’. [Which is actually true, but couched in a joke like that, it just seems like another of Richie’s off-color jokes.

In his normal voice:] It’s a video game, we’re not gonna be picking fights in the street. I’m more of a lover, not a fighter, you see. [Also, glasses are expensive and Richie doesn’t have his parents around to pay for a spare pair.] And good, because if you did have allergies we woulda been fucked, I only brought junk food and a PB&J sandwich.

[A very sloppily-made sandwich.]

[Martin stares at him in continued bewilderment. this kid changes tones and gears faster than most any he's ever managed to speak to for more than a minute; he's immediately worried he's not going to be able to keep up.

Andy wants him to try, though, so...

while picking at his elbow:] Um. Uh, so...I know what video games are, but...I never tried them. Played them, I mean. I just watched once or twice. So...if I can watch, that might work best. Right?

[Richie reaches out a hand to gently clap Martin on the shoulder, unperturbed.]

All right. And then maybe you can play something easy if you ever decide you're sick of watching. [Does Richie have an easy video game in his bag? Shit. He'll burn that bridge when he gets to it.] What've you got in your room? Books, comics, movies, anything?

[he wobbles a little in-hand, getting redder in the face. with Richie taking the conversational lead, Martin doesn't have a chance to utter a "sorry" as he's prone to -- he's just got to try and keep up!]

M-my room? Um. Well, there's...books, yes. And, and my keyboard. And the yarn...

[as he lists them off, he very slowly looks over his shoulder for sign of Andy.]

[ TOO BAD MARTIN, because Andy has apparently decided this is a sink or swim situation for her adopted son and vanished to take a smoke on the back porch or something. Whatever happens now is in the hands of a higher power. GANBATTE, SON. ]

[Ganbatte indeed, considering this is Richie.]

You have a keyboard? Holy shit, that’s great. Do you play in a band or something? Girls throw themselves at guitarists more, but I know some people like a guy who plays the keyboard. [in a conspiratorial whisper:] It means they’re good with their hands.

[There probably is a higher power, because Richie doesn’t use a lewd gesture to emphasize just what he means. But it’s got a sense of humor because he winks.]

What kinda books do you have? Hope it’s not just school shit. [Pause.] You have yarn? What do you do with it?

[there's some nodding and headshaking and some nodding corrected to headshaking and it all leads to a puzzled head-tilt as he finally gets his nodding, shaking head above the water of all this.]

Um. I-I make things. Scarves. Sweaters, uh--well. Just, just the one time. It's just small things. Right now. Sorry, um. The books? [he squints.] I don't...I haven't been to a school, so I don't think they're school books. [they definitely are.]

I can show you? They're...they're upstairs.

If they're about physics or English or math, they definitely count as school books. Even if you're not in school.

[Those are some very broad definitions there. Anyway, Richie lights up at the prospect.]

Fuck yeah, show me!

[well, action is easier than conversation, so Martin won't hesitate for very long at all now that he has a task. he hurries upstairs and down the short hallway to his room, pushing the door all the way open so it stays that way for Richie and himself wanders in partway, turning around and looking at things to try and decide what's worth noting.

for a boy's room, it's hardly the worst: a couple bits of clothing not taken to the laundry room, a bed unmade (he just got up, ok!!), some stray lengths of yarn dangling off the desk...]

Uh, the books are here, so-- [he gestures to the stack on the side of the desk not occupied by heaps of yarn and wool: spelling books and very young readers' stuff. things about fish and airplanes and zoos. it's honestly about as basic and baby and not-cool-kid as one could be, but to be fair, Martin's not even tried the concept.] I, uh. I haven't been practicing as much as...as I could be. But sometimes I get new things from the library. So.

[wow, his face is red and his heart is racing from anxious embarrassment. like, more than usual! it's almost like he's worried about how lame he is reflecting poorly on him in front of someone enthusiastic and new!

this sucks!

he clears his throat.]

The, the keyboard is over there...

[on the floor along the wall by the bed, headphones still plugged in and on the nightstand. nothing terribly huge -- something he can have in his lap without too much discomfort.

it definitely has a keyboard stand that is not being used because........who knows.]

Practicing reading? [There's a surprise. Andy said he was sheltered, but Richie hadn't quite known the extent up until—well, right now.] Jesus. Where'd you live until you got here, under a fucking rock or something?

[He doesn't say this is lame, because—well, yeah, it is lame, but Martin was sheltered, apparently to such a point where he's only just learning to read, so Richie will let it slide. And then his attention is quickly distracted by the keyboard, so he puts his bag (still opened, so a veritable flood of comics and potato chip bags spill out) on the bed and goes to check it out.]

Hey, can you play something for me? [No requests, like he'd usually ask. Most of what Richie can think to request is out for this first meeting. He'll ease Martin into his favorite bands in the future.] Anything you can think of.

[freshly embarrassed, Martin's ears are bright red as he gulps, anxiously rubbing and picking at his elbow. he wishes Andy had given him some warning, because then maybe...well. he can't really say he'd have known how to prepare, but...]

N-no. Just. Uh, well. I wasn't...supposed to read. [he shrugs his shoulders up feebly, watching Richie's bag of many things spill out onto the bed.] Nobody was, really. So...

[so thankfully, talk is steering toward something else.

unthankfully, it's to the keyboard.]

Oh--um. I don't know. I just kind of... Press keys in whatever way. You, uh. [he gestures.] You put the headphones on. So it's only you who hears it. You can try.

gold teeth and a curse for this town were all in my mouth.

andy + richie + martin

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject