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[sloppybitch]

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audio : sometime after arrival?

[aspirator]

Richie?

(It had taken Eddie a bit to actually figure out how this thing worked in full, but imagine his relief at being able to easily find Richie in the thing. He's not so sure if this works the same way as voicemails did, but he'd do his best.)

I hope you're okay. Are you? (Safe? Eddie knew that the being 'okay' thing wasn't really an option for either them at the moment, but as long as Richie was safe then they could start somewhere.)

I'm - definitely a dominant. I think this place really is serious about all that. Are you...I can still do the contract thing with you. Call me back soon.

(Does he sound anxious? Absolutely. He had chewed through like three of his pills already.)

audio;

[sloppybitch]

[Finding his bearings in this new environment has proven to be more difficult than he thought. He knows Eddie's here and he's been at war with himself about reaching out. On one hand, they'd already been through a lot since they arrived and on the other he wasn't sure what the news about his dominant status would do. He didn't want Eddie to be let down, not after everything at home and now here. It was all a lot process.]

Eddie? I'm... fine. I'm a dominant too. I guess they took some time to figure out what to do with me.

[Part of him is relieved to hear that Eddie is a dominant. Even if he didn't want to be, it gave him the control. It made him safer in the long run.]

How's it uh - how's everything?

truth serum | dorian pavus

[sloppybitch]

[cont'd]

it's a NEW relationship?
yikes, I'd say that's a lot more than liquid courage.

but maybe I'm just a coward.

[vintsparkler]

New for him.

He admitted to thinking about it, so obviously the idea of “us” wasn’t completely new.

Your situation seems a lot more sensitive.

text; un: bigstar

[dramamama]

🖕🖕🖕

text; un: trashmouth

[sloppybitch]

ok?

Random text

[aspirator]

N offense Richard but why the fuck are you not wifh me right now???? My hand is just empty
And you are somewhere else probably using yoir hands for fucking kotjing
If i were a sub id cry mistreatment :(

Come here richie

(Who was not Sober? EDDIE.)

[sloppybitch]

Having fun, Eds?
you know where to find both me and my hands so who's really at fault here?

handwritten letter delivery

[aspirator]

(Eddie had definitely ruined the night. And quite possibly their relationship. They had awful fights before. More than he could even count, but this one felt far more personal and more like a break up than a bad fight. He left Richie alone for a while after that. The curse broke and his head became a lot clearer, but that didn't change what he had said or what had happened. There had been some fucked up things on both ends, but Eddie felt responsible for most of it.

He wasn't so sure he could handle seeing Richie right now. And texting felt cold and impersonal, and he didn't trust his voice for a phonecall or video. So he went back to his roots. Or rather, their roots.

Back when they were kids and had disastrous fights they usually wound up touching back through hand written letters. It was easier for both of them considering Eddie was an emotional landmine even on a good day and Richie had notorious foot-in-mouthitus. Letters let them both draft and think of what they actually wanted to say. And now was no different.

Eddie writes a lot of drafts too. There's a bin full of rolled up paper balls by his desk and some scattered across his desk. Everything sounded wrong, and he didn't even know if it would work. Eventually though he gets together a letter and folds it up carefully and tucks into an envelope. Then, like tradition called, he doodle on the envelope. Eddie was definitely not the artist of the friend group, but he had always decorated his notes to Richie. Hearts, little clouds, flowers, birds, little mindless things. His doodles hadn't improved much since he was a kid.

He winds up at Richie's place and tapes the letter to his door. Richie's name was written on the front, and the funny thing was that after all of these years Eddie still dotted Richie's is with little hearts. Exactly like when he was a kid. Though his writing had grown prettier, more mature, that much had never changed.

Eddie leaves quickly so he couldn't be caught. Inside is a couple of pages and a pressed daisy because obviously Eddie had to leave behind a flower. Even now after all these years Eddie still wasn't great at spelling or grammar, bless his heart, but at least his letter was legible.)

𝑅𝒾𝒸𝒽𝒾𝑒,

The last time I wrote one of these was when I had to move from Derry. I left it in your mailbox and then that was the last time I ever really "talked" to you. I'm not sure if you ever got that. I dont really want this to be another last time.

I'm really sorry. I wasn't feeling well and my head was in a fucked up place - more than usual. I think I was cursed or something but like literally. It's not an excuse I swear I just want you to know that I was really off that night mentally.

Listen.

You don't owe me anything. At all. And I'm sorry I made it sound like you do. I shouldnt have thrown that in your face. I'm insecure as all get out but that doesn't mean I have to use that to swindle you into doing anything. I think sometimes I really am more like my mom than I ever want to be.

You're not a fuck-up either, Richie. Or if you are I am one too, and we're fuck-ups together but I don't hate that. I never could. And I'm sorry I've ever made you feel second place to anyone - especially here. You're my number one and always have been. Other guys should be jealous of YOU, you know. It's you I always compare guys to. Maybe I don't know you anymore, but I guess I know what I feel.

You were right. I just need to get my shit together and I shouldn't be dragging you with me. I'll be better, I swear. I don't want to lose you again.

Love,
E

parcel; some days after The Departure™

[buzzwords]

[ A package can be found at Richie's doorstep. It's nothing like the stuff Joe is used to sending to people here, but Joe isn't in the mood for games lately, and if he's honest, this is... a different situation entirely.

So there are no games. There's a long-ish black box, and two coupon vouchers tied to the outside of it with navy ribbon. One is for a dozen of anything at a bakery - not whichever one sponsored the booth that provided the snack they met over, but in the same plaza - and the other is for one meal order from a hole-in-the-wall café in the Down, no menu restrictions.

The box itself is plain with no logos, and contains a corked bottle of Duplicity's closest approximation to sauvignon blanc. There's no vintner's seal or label on it, but a small card is included. One side describes the wine's characteristics and history, including a small seal that vows no extraneous chemicals were added to it for 'effect'.

On the other side is a scribbled note. It's a little difficult to read, but can be worked through with a few seconds of effort per word. Penmanship isn't really Joe's strong suit, and he avoids writing by hand whenever possible. This, however, seems the right time for a sorely needed personal touch - at least as personal as he can muster. There's no animosity or ill will to it, but it's still a little awkward. He's always been better with crowds than individuals.

"Condolences.

Sorry if this is impersonal. I don't know if you're the type to need comfort food or not. Don't know what would help or harm in general, but consider this a shot in the dark. I'm truly sorry.

-Joe" ]

text;

[sloppybitch]

I got your package.
Thanks.

I haven't broken into the wine yet or used the voucher.
maybe we can split the baker's dozen

[It's comforting, at least, that someone else gets it and even though Richie knew about Joe and Eddie in his absence he felt lonelier than ever. The wound wouldn't close. It'd be easy to lash out but he doesn't have the energy for it and so he lets the bridge be repaired instead of severing ties. He needed as many friendly faces as he could get in the wake of his absence.]

ring ring.

[salbutamol]

( it's been a few days since they ran into each other. since eddie had, as gently as he could manage, begged some space to get his head around what the hell was happening here. he's not sure what he hoped to achieve, just that he knew what being overwhelmed felt like and it was very much happening. what proximity to richie had to do with all of that, he didn't know.

( he probably knows )

at any rate he's no better for the time. eddie is on just as much of a hair trigger as he had been when he arrived, and the only thing staving off a real breakdown is the illusion of productivity — and an overuse of his inhaler. people keep saying that he doesn't need it here, that asthma can be cured, but he doesn't know about all that. but it's been a few days, and he might have gone twenty seven years without even knowing richie existed, but now a handful of days seems like a lot. he...misses him.

so eddie calls. )

Hey. ( a big pause. it becomes quickly apparent that eddie has put no thought into this whatsoever. ) Um. How are you?

audio;

[sloppybitch]

[It's not Eddie's fault and he knows his reaction is childish and stupid but every time he looks at him, talks to him, he thinks about what he'd lost. Twice now. The fact that he was a no-good coward even now with the universe begging him to tell Eddie the truth.

Richie's been trying to fake it till he makes it and convince himself that he could survive here without being with Eddie. Twist the logic until it makes sense but he's miserable, drinking a lot, and being stupider than usual.]

Heeey, man. [He has caller ID and he loves the guy too much to forward a call.] Uh... Not great. People are dying? And I'm really close to being in trouble for quota-related reasons. How about you?

text » like the day after the mansion opens back up

[salbutamol]

Did you know I've been here before? Apparently.

text »

[sloppybitch]

Yeah, I knew.
Who told you?

text; un: pozzy (afternoon after CF's mansion)

[onfire]

hey this is peter obsborne
wanted to let you know jeff is at his beach house
hes not feeling well tho
think he has food poisoning but Im keeping him an eye on him
if he needs anything I will let you know?


[ This is... really awkward. ]

text; un: trashmouth

[sloppybitch]

What?
You're sure he's okay?

text; un: pozzy (before 11/14)

[onfire]

hey if youre in your apartment in the UPH
would you mind coming over to mine for a few minutes
theres something I want to ask you in regards to jeff
im in 004B

[sloppybitch]

Of course I'm here. I barely ever leave.

I can head over there in about five minutes.

[He was going to need some time to look halfway decent and like he hadn't been lying in bed all day watching bad porn.]

text | forward dated to 12/04

[salbutamol]

Hey.
Sorry.
Can I ask a favour?

[sloppybitch]

You think you have to ask?
Go ahead.

un: gwenzelle

[gwenzelle]

soooo you might want to check the high score board on the sindiana jones pinball machine, next time you're in.

[sloppybitch]

gwenyth
we had an arrangement

i stick to the mercandise and you deal with overhead
i can't believe you touched my stuff

xmas gift

[salbutamol]

( there's no name or return address on the parcel, a small, inconspicuous box that's left on richie's door step very late in the night on christmas day.

inside there's just an arcade token and the closest thing to a nightmare on elm street he could find in this place – a weird porn version, diligently scrawled over until the cover resembles something much closer to the original and containing no actual disk.

there's also a handwritten note, carefully printed like it in any way masks the identity of the person behind a highly personalised gift. )

I'm sorry.
You're my best friend.
Happy Christmas

x

parcel; backdated to xmas

[buzzwords]

[ Richie receives a flattish box and a bulky box, both of which are a little on the heavy side. Both come in generically festive wrapping.

The flattish box contains a leather jacket, sleek but expertly weathered into softness, and filled to the brim with zippers and red accent stripes. It smells like every guy's wet dream of being in a Steppenwolf song, and fits Richie like a glove.

The bulky box contains a helmet that can't decide whether it belongs with a Harley or a track Corvette, but despite its indecision, its allegiance lies in much the same colour scheme as the jacket.

There is a note, wrapped around a cheap candy bar. The penmanship is abysmal, but if Richie is dedicated enough to deciphering it, he'll find the following: "If we meet in another life, I'm yours forever."

There's no name or return info, but... honestly. ]

txt @kaspbrak

[salbutamol]

( eloquently: )

Hey Rich?

txt;

[sloppybitch]

Yes Spaghetti?

txt @kaspbrak

[salbutamol]

Hey

Is there like
Things you think I might be good at?

txt

[sloppybitch]

[..........

Oh god.]

Like

sex things?