Notes: it's times like these i'm grateful i grew up in small-town tennessee. if you are not giving everyone here tennessean/kentucky accents you're reading it wrong. ps i stole some lines from the movie/the short story (plus a couple from the IT book) soz the rest of it is all me tho 💯
The heat is nothing short of sweltering the day Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak meet. Richie's AC in his old truck is on its last damn legs, complaining loudly and getting half the job done, and occasionally he has to shake each hand in the air, in the shade, to relieve his skin of the fever brewing outside. He almost jerks his hand back when he puts the thing in park, the gear shift hot even to the touch of his already warm hands, and the seatbelt buckle is even hotter. This southern heat isn't uncommon, and he manages without much trouble to exit the truck and slam the door shut, leaving a half-degree burn where his fingers gripped it. With his free hand he plonks his hat down onto his head.
Looking up across the way Richie spots another man, already waiting, leaning against the trailer behind him in the shade of its awning. The man is short, stocky, but on the skinnier side of thick, muscles gripping shyly around the biceps and the calves. His stomach, though hard to see under his button-up, is a flat-ish swoop, a bit of fat gathered at the bottom. His face is thinnest, cheekbones visible, double-shadow cast across his eyes courtesy of his stetson. His hair is rigidly parted, cut short, that's all that can be made out.
Richie himself is a beanpole, stringy and without much muscle but in the arms, built up through years of cheap and harsh manual labor. His cheekbones, too, are visible, more so than the other man's, carved out higher up on his face; in contrast, his jaw is sturdy, almost square. Richie's hair is a black mop atop his head, naturally curly- used to cause his hat to spring right back off- but through poor care it's been reduced to weak waves.
The other man is Eddie Kaspbrak, brought up on a ranch just like Richie was, down on his luck looking for easy work just like Richie is. Richie holds his gaze for a second too long, a glare catching on his thick spectacles, and Eddie shifts, crosses his arms, looks away. Richie accepts the silence without hassle, mimicking Eddie's stance by crossing his own arms and leaning back on his truck. The hot metal sears through his shirt and he stands back up straight.
A white stationwagon pulls into the lot then, tires crackling over gravel, whole vehicle protesting as it slows to a stop. Joe Aguirre steps out, slams the door, carries his hat out with him. He walks up with a confident stride to the trailer door, doesn't sidestep Eddie, who has to stumble back to compensate, and heads in. The door swings shut.
Richie and Eddie share an uncertain glance, neither one wanting to be the first to speak up or go inside. They wait a few seconds, then Richie takes a breath and swings his arms down in preparation to walk forward; but at that moment Aguirre re-emerges.
"If you boys're lookin for work, I suggest you get your scrawny asses in here pronto."
He returns into the trailer. The two addressed glance at each other again; Eddie steps inside first, then Richie, jogging to catch the door. It rattles shut behind them.
"Now," Joe Aguirre- sitting in his cramped office space with a cigarette in his fingers, a weak desk fan whirring away and diffusing the smoke- gets straight to the point, hardly even sparing time for the boys to remove their hats. "Forest Service got designated camp spots out there. Damn things settled out two miles away from where we pasture the sheep. No way that dog'll hunt. No one watchin over the sheep at night, predators come sniffin em out. What I want, camp tender over where Forest Service says-" he points at Eddie, "But the herder-" then at Richie, "Pitch a pup tent on the Q.T., down with the sheep. Eat and shit and whatever you please in the main camp, but you sleep down with the sheep. No fire down there, no sign, 'case Forest Service comes snoopin. Pack that tent up every mornin. Got the dogs, your .30-30, you're good to go if the creek don't rise. You-" points back at Eddie again, "Fridays noon be down at the bridge with your mules and your grocery list. Somebody'll come down in a pickup with supplies." Aguirre rummages through a drawer, pulls out a watch, winds it, sets it, tosses it to Eddie. "Tomorrow mornin we'll truck you up to the jump-off," he shoots a pointed look at Richie. "And we don't want no repeat of last year. Got that?"
