[ richie is great at throwing out his own nicknames to other people, much less suited to receiving anything back in return. even trashmouth had been a name he'd gone and adopted with the sort of grim determination so as to more or less make it his own again in the end.

and biscuit? biscuit has a connotation to it that he's definitely not comfortable analyzing for long in a setting like this. ]

Fred Astaire? [ a wrinkled nose, a scoff and shake of his head. ] How fucking old are you?

And why should I be expected to give a fuck about some strange adult, anyway? Pretty sure I've been told not to even talk to people like you. [ not by his own parents, of course, but he's heard it once or twice from stan's and he figures that counts. ] You could be dangerous.

[ considering how poorly he reacted to the pet name and the town and era he came from, that particular combination of words could easily have taken on a far more insidious implication, after all hasn't richie heard more than enough derisive comments about men that wear makeup for him to start drawing some pretty grim conclusions?

there's nothing recriminatory or even especially accusatory in his voice when he says it though. plenty of aggression, sure, but it's shallow and put upon like a mask. he's been acting a bit like a caged animal since he got trapped in here and the blown hole in the ceiling has at least managed to loosen some of the tightness around his shoulders but he's already letting his eyes slide away from magnus towards that source of freedom with a slightly desperate light behind them. ]