Richie's Not Group Therapy Session

[mrsklover]

WHO: Richie and his band of depressed Losers(OTA)
WHERE: Cayde's Bar
WHAT: NOT therapy. Not therapy and not an AA meeting. Just hanging out.
WHEN: Few days after the Town Hall
WARNINGS: Probably some substance abuse/addiction talk.

Richie sent off a message to the whole network just a few hours ago:

It was for his Not Therapy session that he had proposed at the town hall meeting. Just a way for people to get together and to talk about shit happening here. Maybe get a support network that will keep some people sane. Richie knew how effective that was; his own Loser's Club had stopped him from being stupid after Eddie's death more times than they even knew about. It was important and, after learning that things around here could be just as randomly cruel, necessary, he thought. His mind kept returning to Tony at the bar with his sealed bottle of liquor. The talk of loss and all of that... 

Yeah. People around here seemed like they could use a social get-together that allowed them to talk about lost friends or loves. People came here and people left without warning. It was a hard way to live, being that powerless. But really, was it any different from where they came from? Really? 

Richie sighs as he gets to the bar early and grabs himself a drink of something strong and foul-tasting. He wants to make sure he sips it instead of slugging the whole thing down in one go. No chance of that with this. He sits down at a chair and drums his fingers on the table. Part of his brain is telling him this is stupid and pointless and that he looks stupid for even trying. He buries the thought under another sip and an off-tune humming rendition of 'I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts'.

If no one shows up he's still got his drink. That'll be just fine.
 

Comments

[in_extremis]

Grateful that they weren't lingering on it and to have his hand back before they did, Tony gave his own sharp nod in return, worrying his lip as he abruptly but very fussily drew the guitar up out of his lap and stretched up onto his feet from the amp. "Same principle," he promised, sweeping behind Billy to assemble him with the guitar instead, where he could incidentally bow over Billy's shoulder and tip his head briefly against Billy's temple in the time it took him to arrange the kid's hands to strum something harmonious. He didn't quite stand up straight after that, keeping one hand close to Billy's on the neck to show him where to hold, and leaned on the other arm on the back of the chair with his hand dangling over Billy's chest where it could continued to gesture emphatically as Tony walked him through an easy tune. That had a pattern, and a reliable outcome, and Tony already knew what would make Billy anxious or laugh and make it much harder to think about Teddy or Cap until his fingers started to feel raw.