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Title: YOU'RE BRINGING IT ON
Description: [ KRISTIE/SULLIVAN FINCH ]


ARIEL BROWN - January 17, 2012 08:58 PM (GMT)
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They hadn’t hung out a lot, but that was about to be amended. Ariel hadn’t gotten a clear impression of Sullivan yet. Was he to borrow from everybody else, he’d land on asshole as a defining quality. That seemed to be the go-to adjective when describing the tall entrepreneur. It was also decidedly unspecific and rather stereotypical. Very unimaginative. There had to be another way of detailing a fellow human being. Cross? Gragarious? Domineering? Really, the English language was a language with countless variations for a reason. It was there to provide you with the tools to properly flesh out opinions and assertions, and the Salty Dogs he had casually chatted with seemed poorly equipped synonym-wise. Asshole? Well, so was he. Apparently he was just infinitely better at shrouding it with bullshit.
<p>
The liberating side of Sully was how Ariel didn’t have to tip-toe around his own personality and amend his thoughts to project what wanted to be heard. The filter could be put aside and that was welcome. It was changed so rarely it must be looking absolutely horrible by now, dirty and full of shit. Tonight would be a cleansing affair. For more than one reason. Other than the lack of pretense required, which was the best one, he had booze to look forward to. Apparently the yacht he was aiming for was plenty stocked, if he recalled correctly from his brief earlier visits, but he wasn’t taking any risks and his right hand was heavily burdened by a red backpack in which there was enough alcohol to get the entire Senate shit-faced. It was an unfashionable backpack, one he had picked up at the gas station where he’d also picked up Prudence. He was still friends with the backpack. He wasn’t Prue’s number one hero. She hadn’t taken kindly to him bursting her hymen and then reverting back to truthful assholery prior to getting the hell out of there.
<p>
Her fucking loss.
<p>
And his gain. He now had Echo, which was an entirely different story. Also part of the reason he was approaching this yacht for the… was it the fifth time? He wasn’t keeping track. They’d met and hit off pretty decently, and tonight was a night to hit it off even better. Aided by brews, of course. They were real men, after all. “You’re definitely over-compensating,” he greeted, waving at the boat and winking to the host. “In a non-homoerotic way, may I enter?
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Sullivan Finch - January 17, 2012 11:16 PM (GMT)
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It was true… Sully and Ariel hadn't really had many instances to talk before, not when those other times, they were too busy holding glasses to their faces and getting decidedly shit-faced, but in this instance, having started off entirely sober, Sully knew that there might be some real discussion going on. Amazing, really…. two men talking. Who knew?
<p>
Not that he wanted it… he had a feeling that there was going to be some truths batted around that he wasn't prepared for, or there were going to be discussions that might end in some interesting moments. So… he set out food, mostly because he'd found that when there were more than one person in a room, that was a good way to make sure that one person was usually too busy to say much, if their faces were full of something tasty. Sure, the food on display was Spam cut into chunks and speared with toothpicks, but this wasn't the fucking Ritz. Why should they get fancy? There were beers, there were chips… and yes, lots of fancy beers.
<p>
Manly men don't need fancy food… right? RIGHT.
<p>
Instead of pretending to be waiting there, watching, he was off in the corner with a glass of water, just watching the ocean sway at the end of the boat, the never-ending dip and swell of the boat as it lay in dock making him smile unconsciously. He liked it, it was comforting, like being rocked by one's mum… and of course he knew that if he was caught acting like this over his boat, that his pal would tend up taking the piss out of him. He didn't care. Let it be known that Sullivan Finch was happy to let the others that they could talk shit about him, his kid or even his wife… but his boat?
<p>
Killing offence.
<p>
But turning his head for the sound of footsteps, he glanced back over his shoulder and took in the sight of his fellow jackass, one Ariel. Smirking again for the name, he pushed himself up onto his feet, set his glass down and came wandering over as casually as he could. "No, that's where you're wrong: it's just clever advertising," he said and then jerked his head towards the inner sanctum of the boat. "Permission to board. Cmon," he said and took a step back to motion to where he was just sitting, where two deck chairs were set up facing one another, a table in the middle. "So.. let's get drunk, unless you wanna pussy out and talk about our feelings..."

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ARIEL BROWN - January 18, 2012 09:36 PM (GMT)
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There seemed to also be an agreement around the port that Sullivan Finch was an intimidating character. Not only due his height, but because he had a grin like a shark in tepid waters. It was this grin that greeted Ariel over the railing, and he boarded with a self-satisfied expression, not bothering to glance around and take it all in. This wasn’t a first impression after all. He hadn’t taken the details in the first time around either, for that he wasn’t worried enough about his surroundings. As long as there were no undead present, it was all stellar. And for all his flaws, Sully didn’t seem the person to keep a pet zombie stored away for terrorizing. Then again, if he had, then they’d make even better friends. Crazy begets crazy.
<p>
Well up, Ariel walked further in to set the backpack down on a table off to the side. Taking a spin around for show, most notably peering down into the water, he soon sat course for comfort and booze. “Our feelings?” he repeated, pausing his confident saunter to give Sully a funny look. “Feelings? Really? I just boarded and you’re already bringing feelings into the picture?” Raising his eyebrows, he exhaled a bout of air he’d filled in his cheeks and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. It had a red mark around the neck. “Now I’ve got another reason to drink. I guess I should thank you.” With a quick point to the person in question, he chose a seat that looked agreeable and plumped down.
<p>
Didn’t peg you for the touchy-feely type, Sully.” Lazily unscrewing the flask and taking the first sip, Ariel smirked. “Still… I’ve been wrong before. Not often. But it has happened.” Oh, rarely. Rarely happened. It wasn’t that he went about checking the facts of whatever flew from his mouth prior to uttering. He did have better control than most regarding mouth-thought coordination however. No, it was more the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, simply… superior.
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Sullivan Finch - January 19, 2012 12:35 AM (GMT)
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Oddly enough, most of the time, Sullivan wasn't really trying to be intimidating and in fact, those few times that Ariel'd been around, he was more… his businesslike self. The gregarious man who often hosted parties on his ship, the outgoing sort to offer a drink to a stranger… and over those few short visits, he'd determined that, yeah, Ariel was alright. Tempted to call him a mermaid, of course and it must be said that his friend's baby-face didn't really help matters. But all in all, he made sure that most of the time he was relatively civil… after all, if there's no need to throw a punch or to cast someone over the side… then, it's a good day. Still, it didn't mean that with enough alcohol in their systems that a fight wouldn't happen.
<p>
Yes, Sully's being openminded. He's sure that Benji's watching and taking notes.
<p>
Watching Ariel board, Sully's smile lessened and then disappeared but his easygoing ways didn't, even as he continued to lean against the nearest wall, just lazily keeping his eye on his pal. The rattle of bottles was something he warmly noted and pushing away from the bit of boat he was holding up, he strolled lazily over and peeked inside the bag. There, all the good ones. Jose, Johnnie… even some Morgan. All his fellows. Got to like a man who knows that variety truly IS the spice of life.
<p>
Yet turning to give Ariel a look, he just snorted once, lazily, through his nose before moving to the open seat and dropped back, long body folding into the chair as only practice can help. "It was a joke, Princess. Don't get your panties in a twist," he taunted him right back and then reached out to pick up his glass of water, tossed it over onto the deck and held it out for Ariel to fill. Yep, it was time to drink.
<p>
Still, he couldn't help but laugh at the other man and then leaned his head back onto the headrest of the chair he was in, his eyes closing somewhat for the brightness of the sun. It felt good. Reminding Ariel that he wasn't a big pansy? Not so good. "Not the touchy-feely type, Ariel, so don't worry, you're not wrong this time. Cmon… I was warning you that I wasn't going to allow any of that girly shit on this boat. Bad enough that Dora's always watching me. I don't need anything else…" He peeked one eye open and cast a curious eye over at his friend. "So… what's new with you? I'd say you looked like shit but I'd be lying."

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ARIEL BROWN - January 20, 2012 04:57 PM (GMT)
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Since he was the guest and he had brought plenty alcohol, it didn’t surprise him a hand was held out. “Oh, don’t give me that,” he disapproved, eying the glass with a venomosity that ought be reserved for hobos and politicians. If they couldn’t drink straight from the bottle, what kind of apocalypse was this? In the life past it might have been considered an alcoholic’s prerogative, but given Ariel had always been too fond of his drink – that is if you were to ask Raphael, the man himself saw it as his privilege to dilute his senses to the best of his ability – he had also always found glasses superfluous. But by all means, he could conform. That was his main skill after all: pretending. Didn’t mean he was going to ask for one of his own. He was just going to indulge on this one. Stretching out for the backpack, he found a prime example of American traditions in a bottle of McCarthy’s Oregon Single Malt Whiskey. “Who says alcoholics can’t have decent taste?” Seconds later, Sully’s glass was half full. Or half empty, depending how you saw it.
<p>
Settling in, both of them now happily served, Ariel leaned back and took another sip. More like a gulp. There was no reason to be modest. Was he to drink heavily, so would his companion. That was often how it worked. Mirroring the other person. Reaching the estimated same level of blood/alcohol-ratio. Which was why arriving late at the scene always resulted in complete and utter crash within hours, mind set on catching up. A small miscalculation of the other people’s dedication and boy, would fun arise. And Sully had a reason to drink. Namely his boy and that.. girl. Whatever her role was in all of this. “How’s that working out for you?” he asked, to the mention of Dora. “With your kid and his girlfriend. Must be fucking annoying. Raphael gets on my nerves every second of every day and he’s just my brother. I don’t envy you a teenager.” The thought alone made him shudder.
<p>
But there was another prominent person in his life now, resurfacing every so often at random time during the day and specifically was he to be asked ‘what is new’. Though not as troublesome as a brother or cumbersome as a son, Echo had proven a pickle for him anyway. Namely because Ariel didn’t fancy having his mind and body occupied in such a manner. It was all very... disconcerting. Nor was he about to tell Sully. They might be mates, to the extent they could be from their short time together, but the other fellow and his... well, let’s say female interest weren’t on the best of terms. For reasons evident to all three of them, really. “Nothing much is new,” he lied, completely comfortable doing so. It was an everyday - even every-hour, every-second – occurrence and fell him as natural as blinking. “I haven’t seen Prue around lately. You know the red-headed virgin I told you about last time?” Snorting, he drank some more and continued with a smirk, “Well, not so much a virgin anymore.
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Sullivan Finch - January 20, 2012 08:40 PM (GMT)
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Arching a brow at Ariel's…ahem… definite interest in slugging straight from the bottle as well as the sight of the first bottle pulled from the bag, Sully merely continued to hold his glass out and smirked. "Hey, as long as we're on the Pride, we'll keep our manners. So that means glasses. At least until we're completely smashed," he reminds his friend with a twist of the lips and a wiggle of the glass in that age-old 'fill it up' gesture that drunks the world over know. Later, perhaps, they'll be rolling around the decks with their bottle of choice in a paper bag, but as long as Sullivan's halfway sober, he's going to try to keep his boat from turning into the Salty Dog's version of a Frat House. For now. He noticed his glass was full about that time and it was all he could do to thump Ariel on the back in a brotherly kind of gregarious movement. He does like SOME people… "Ah, I haven't tried this stuff before. Let's hope it doesn't sear the skin off our esophaguses… esophagi? WHATEVER, it better be good." And knowing Ariel? It very likely is.
<p>
He took a heavy sip of his drink, his back leaning in to the strips of wood at his spine, his head tilted back to enjoy the sun beating down on him. Perhaps he should have worried about how much sun he was getting, but when the rest of the world was getting their jollies by running away from monsters from bad horror movies, he felt that… okay, it was likely the last thing he should care about. Instead, he savoured the burn of alcohol as it seared its way down his throat, the woody flavour lingering on his tongue even as he enjoyed the moment. Yes and his friend were going to get completely smashed in no time at all… There was a reason there were more than a few bottles in that bag. They're going to make their way around the world, one bottle of whiskey at a time. Oh, and he hopes there's Rum.
<p>
He arched a brow, though, at Ariel when he mentioned Conor and Dora, and though they weren't exactly what he would have asked to have aboard, he knew he could have it SO much worse. That's why he found himself leaning forward, and as he reached down to pour himself another measure, he made a face. "It's working out shitty, thanks for asking. The kids are a pain in my ass…" he muttered and just shook his head as he took another sip of his refreshed glass. "Sometimes I would rather have another adult on board, just so I could push them off onto them. I'm sure I'd have that other person hating me inside a day, but fuck it. Haven't I suffered enough?" he asked his friend with a twist of the lips. "Then again, Conor goes over to Benji's a few times a week. Dora stays. Could be worse… she's eye candy." He admits it: he looked. WHY NOT? He has eyes.
<p>
But of course, Sullivan didn't have any reason to think that his friend, Ariel, his buddy… LIED to him. If he'd known, he might have understood, but since there wasn't a way in hell he would have the slightest clue, he just nodded along and shook his head. "Nothing new is a good thing. Believe me." He was about to go on about women who steal onto your boat in the middle of the night to come onto a guy… when the mention of Prue and her changed, ahem, STATUS made his eyes widen. "I ran into her a few days ago… I mean, I didn't notice anything different…" he says and then slowly grinned that sharklike smile again. "Well, maybe she'll be less of a bitch now that she's gotten laid. I didn't know you had it in you… we need to talk a little bit about something I like to call... taste," he added, the alcohol going to his head and he began to chuckle. "Yep, this shit's good…" he added, holding up his drink.

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ARIEL BROWN - January 22, 2012 02:12 PM (GMT)
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How was he to know Sully was all prim and proper and required them both to drink out of glasses? It wasn’t his boat, true, but Ariel wouldn’t have objected should others waltz onboard the Brown ship demanding to be given something in which to pour their golden liquid. Though he could deny them the comfort, why would he? He didn’t care with what measure they transported the alcohol from the container into their mouth, as long as they did transport the alcohol from the container into their mouth – and preferably lots of it. But he wasn’t picking this one. Choose your battles, as they said. Though giving the prude an arched eyebrow conveying are-you-fucking-kidding-me, the former PI untangled himself from his position and went over to the cupboard to grab a whiskey tumbler. Had he felt equally as sophisticated as his buddy, he would have asked for a nosing glass. But he wasn’t. Turning around and pointedly filling his, he raised it. “To manners, even in this bloody mess of a world we live in.” Clinking their respective glasses together, he sat back down.
<p>
It’ll soothe your oesophagus, not sear it. It can come off as slightly bitter but let it aerate for a bit… Notice the touch of citrus-like sweetness? Damn fine whiskey.” Aware he was getting technical, he huffed at himself and added, “But screw that, just fucking drink it.” It was true that the finer brands and types ought get their time to linger, slow and smaller sips enhancing the taste and the experience of the drink. But the time for reviewing whiskey was over. It was time to enjoy it like never before, and relish in the fact that with fewer conscious people on the face of the earth, as long as you knew where to look, the supply would last for a while. God, if they ever ran out… Now that would be a real nightmare. It wasn’t that he had to drink his troubles away. He didn’t have any troubles. He just fucking enjoyed being wasted. Always had. Always would, most likely. An unholy amount of bad hangovers hadn’t managed to turn him from his alcoholic path before, and any new ones certainly wouldn’t at this point.
<p>
Sully did have a fair reason to drink. Sully had a fair reason to jump off his boat and drown really. Ariel would’ve chosen that approach if he’d been stuck with a teenager and his girlfriend. Actually, Ariel wouldn’t have let his life come to the point of marriage and kids in the first place. Calling that a possibility was like calling an aircraft carrier a bad roommate; true, but missing the titanic scale of errors required for that insanity to happen. “Tough luck man. Why did you bring him to the boat anyway? Couldn’t you have just…” He paused, not entirely sure what he was getting at, and waved as if batting a fly. “Just let him stand on his own two feet and be fucking done with it? Then you’d have this piece of brilliant craftsmanship to yourself and the post-apocalyptic equivalent of a glorious decade ahead of you.” Seemed Sully got sporadic breaks in the form of Conor disappearing to other’s boats though. So one day he could just set sail for the horizon and never look back. As for Dora being eye-candy… Well, hello. “Is she? Ariel’s interest peaked and he leaned forward, a malicious grin on his face. “Oh, wouldn’t that be the ultimate insult?” he mused, chuckling. “If you come on to her strong, that’ll get your little copycat out of your hair in an instant.” Winking, he leaned back. “Just a thought.
<p>
Dora was perhaps too young, if such a thing existed. He wasn’t entirely sure if it did. Perhaps it had, morally, before laws became useless, but now, who the fuck would take notice? It was in any younger girl’s own interest to acquire an older, more experienced mate to take care of her anyway. Prue had been younger than Ariel, and he hadn’t had any qualms whatsoever. The look of surprise on Sully’s face as he mentioned the robbing of virginity amused him, and he finished his first glass with a smile. “She didn’t walk funny?” he joked. That was not a kind one to pull. But neither of them were kind men. “Oh, you doubt my sex-appeal? She thought I was the sweetest guy she ever met. I pulled on the façade for the sake of wooing her and it worked so damn easily. She didn’t suspect a thing, until we were done and I broke character. You should have seen her face, Sully. Priceless. I’ll recall that with glee until the day I die.
<p>
Thinking about this had him thinking about Echo and his smile stayed on his face as he filled his glass once more. Ah, that was fucking unnecessary.
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Sullivan Finch - January 22, 2012 10:39 PM (GMT)
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Ohh if only Sully knew what Ariel was thinking, he'd remind him that he was anything but a prude… just picky and yes, he had his reasons. Whiskey out of a bottle was something that his father did, and there was no fucking way that he was going to be like that old asshole… even if he hadn't realized he was more like him than he thought. Sullivan Finch, Senior, was an alcoholic, the type of which there wasn't often seen on this side of the Atlantic. Of course, he was also a miserable man, and one who took that misery out on his wife and son whenever the mood struck. Did Sullivan want to see himself that way? Fuck no. He'd do it if he had to, drink it all straight but he knew that he wouldn't enjoy it, not when that reminder was staring him in the face. That's why he just chuckled low under his breath for the nearly-pissy way that his pal got up and toddled off to the cabinetry to get himself a glass. Instead of commenting and possibly having to endure a long-winded speech over his faults, he raised his glass back at Ariel and smirked as he clinked his glass against Ariel's. "Here here," he remarked and took a sip, the taste lingering on his tongue.
<p>
Leaning back into his seat, though, he arched a brow and snickered under his breath. The way that Ariel described the whiskey, he didn't want to drink it… he wanted to instead just turn and stare at his friend a moment in consternation because he was suddenly sure that he was hallucination. Funny, he hadn't had a drop to drink… mostly. One glass was pretty much considered nothing. It was only when Ariel must have realized just how silly he sounded did he arch a brow, raise his glass again and chuckled. "Well, in that case, let me drink down your excellent swill some more and give you my unbiased opinion," he remarked. Bringing his glass to his lips, he slowly inhaled over it, making a show of smiling in the smarmiest way possible… and then took a sip, his eyes lighting up a bit. "Okay," he added once he swallowed. "I'll allow it."
<p>
But within a moment, his glass was half-empty and the cause of it could be laid at the feet of the youngest Finch. Of course, many things, in Sully's mind, could be laid at Conor's feet, but this time, it was really the boy's fault that he was on the boat. And why he didn't toss his ass off. There may have been little love lost between father and son, but he didn't want to kill him. THEN. Now? He's seriously reconsidering. "I didn't bring him on. He got on by himself. I found him here when things turned shitty and by the time we pulled out of port, I was pretty much stuck with him." He made a face and stared down into his glass. "Fucking hate that the kid is here but it's not like I could just drop his ass off on some dry land with a gun and a compass. Not anymore. So I'm pretty much stuck with him and he's stuck with me. Don't worry though… I'm making it nice and horrible for the little jackass." And that he is, too. And not subtle at all, either. "Who knows, though? Someday I might get tired of his shit to the point where I just toss his ass. I'm almost there." And yes, oh yes does a vacation alone sound good.
<p>
But what sounded even better? Ariel's idea of snagging a nice piece of Dora. He might just have to do that… and be very vocal about it too. Then again, she may be his son's age, but were laws even important anymore? They definitely couldn't be enforced… and he's sure the girl's ogled him just as much has he's done her. A bit perfect, really. "Might be an idea. And if she doesn't freak out at it? I could get some excellent payback against Conor by nailing his little girlfriend. I'm not above underhanded shit to get my way."
<p>
And he really wasn't.
<p>
But he didn't reallyu smile his true, wide smile until they started talking about that Prue girl, and he had to admit, if he had a conscience, it would have been bugging the shit out of him. Instead, nope, he got rid of that long ago… the perils of being in business and just not giving a shit. He chuckled along with Ariel and leaned back lazily. "Well, that's a point to you," he murmured with his glass raised towards his pal and then chuckled again. He'd feel sorry, except… he met the girl. He's pretty sure she deserved what she got… especially with falling for Ariel's act. That, on its own, just made that smile stick to Sul's face. "No doubting here… just stating a fact. But I can't believe the naïveté of the girl. I mean, really. Who would believe that kind of stuff coming from you?" he asked and then laughed low and cruelly under his breath. "I think that would have been a reason for her to listen to gossip. She seemed to be smart enough… but I guess she really fell for it all, didn't she? The whole 'Prince Charming' act? Too bad I was a complete asshole to her…" he added and then shrugged one shoulder as he took a sip of his drink. Not that he wanted a piece… he was good for now. Bachelorhood was much more fulfilling in the long run… at least so far.
<p>
But it was that stupid smile on Ariel's face that had the tall Irishman leaning in a bit to nudge him on the shoulder. "What's with that smile? You couldn't have enjoyed it that much. Virgins aren't that memorable."


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ARIEL BROWN - January 25, 2012 03:09 PM (GMT)
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Now that he thought about it, it wasn’t the oldest Finch who should jump off the boat. It was the youngling who didn’t deserve to stay there. In all likelihood it was Sully who’d bought that boat for his family, not the kid. Well, ok, he probably hadn’t bought it with the intention to have it for tea-parties, but rather drinking and enjoying life. Too bad it took an apocalypse for him to get the time. The apocalypse had sorted out many a family crisis however, by simply erasing the ‘family’ though admittedly leaving in the ‘crisis’. Ariel didn’t envy Sully, who was stuck with both. “That makes more sense,” he said to the news that Conor had found his way there on his own accord. “I guess it could be counted as severe assholery if you ordered him off at that point.” Craning his neck to look at his companion, he added, “Then again, there’s no reason pretending to be a saint. Something tells me you’d never win the Father-of-the-Year award, so why do you bother?” His eyes narrowed theatrically. “Are you trying to convince me you have a heart? Gimme a break. You’d have an easier time convincing a child to eat his vegetables.
<p>
It would also be infinitely easier if they didn’t transition into discussing whether or not Sully should make a pass on his son’s girlfriend. They were definitely not the epitome of morale, these two men. “I'm surprised you haven’t already.” Though Ariel couldn’t place himself in such a position, even struggling with imagine a scenario where he’d be the father, he wasn’t sure he’d do it himself. Taking an offspring’s sloppy seconds? But they weren’t genuinely contemplating it... Just... voicing some ideas. Yeah. That was what they were doing. “Are they a true couple’s couple?” he asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the mere thought. “Do they hang together at all times and give each other meaningful looks and have the same opinions regarding the world?” He loathed such duos. Like the true hypocrite he undeniably was, he loathed them until he was part of them, whence he became a doting man with plenty of time to indulge his worse half. “I don’t think I’ve seen them together more than once. How long’ve they been together?
<p>
Though he had never by principle been opposed to commitment, with Prudence it had never been an option. He doubted she’d accept his wily ways was he to open up and be completely authentic with her. Though he hadn’t known her for long, he had comprehended rather quickly she didn’t favour the assholes. Which is why he’d been everything but. Until ten minutes after sex. “Oh, you haven’t talked to the others here?” He fixed Sully with a genuinely surprised look. “I’m a well-liked socialite, mister. I behave, I help, I jest and joke and play. I’m borderline goody two-shoes.” Not at Tenny’s party though. He had punched Austin in the face and in a brief flash showcased his immense anger-issues. But he’d saved that too. Salvaging was something he was used to. For a person so dependent on pretense yet also so uncontrollable, there had more than one time his façade had cracked and he had had to improvise a good reason for suddenly going ape-shit. It was almost surprising how easily people were coaxed. Pointing at Sully, he warned, “Do not blow my cover. I’m quite happy.
<p>
Raising his glass, he glanced at it briefly before downing, his cheeks expanding at first to accommodate the liquid before slimming down as it travelled further down his throat. “I wouldn’t say it’s bad you didn’t attempt the same approach. It’s not like the event made me want a revisit,” he said after swallowing, busy pouring another glass now. “She didn’t participate much. It felt like a solo show from my side, but that can be partially blamed on her being a virgin. She had no idea what to do, I guess. Still think she overreacted when I came clean afterwards – I was nice to her, gave her a fucking yacht and an orgasm. I even offered her alcohol, Sully. Alcohol!” Sighing, he shrugged. “Women can’t ever be happy.” Of course they could, if the person in question wasn’t being the ultimate douchebag. Ariel could take blame, but naturally didn’t.
<p>
It didn’t come as a surprise to him that Sully noticed the stupidity of his smile shortly after, when he thought of Echo. Well, shit. He wasn’t about to tell him, not yet. Too early. The sun was still up, albeit hovering over the horizon. They had only gotten to their third glass. He had gotten to his third glass, at any rate. Which one was Sully on now? “I’m smiling at my own brilliance, of course.” That was partially true. He had, after all, managed to interest her. Leaning back, he closed his eyes. “You’ll figure it out.
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Sullivan Finch - January 25, 2012 10:05 PM (GMT)
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"Yeah, it should makes sense. Why? It's the truth," he muttered even as he sat there, swirling the whiskey in his glass, both to keep from taking his annoyance about the boy on his friend here… and to keep from knocking it all back and then acting like a drunken buffoon. Well, even MORE of a drunken buffoon. He and Ariel have equal tendencies towards blunt truths and there's no way he's going to get hammered just yet. Nope. Which was why he just let his glass rest on the arm of the chair he was resting in. "Yeah, but it doesn't mean I haven't considered grabbing him by the ass of his jeans and tossing him right over. I think I'd laugh my ass off, but I'd warn you before I did it so you can watch and critique. I'm going for a distance record," he murmured but then cut his eyes to Ariel and smirked. "Do you really think that I have a heart after what I just said? Cmon… use that brain of yours. And fuck being father of the year. I'd much rather have the kid shitting himself than be his best friend. He wants a hug? Let him go find his mum. I'm sure she'd love a piece of him." And yes, he's sure the old ball and chain is a zombie. He could be so lucky.
<p>
Still, there was that idea that he could and would allow his son's little girlfriend to throw herself at him. He'd seen the looks… he'd been on the receiving end of a few of her ogling sessions when he was working on the boat shirtless. So it stands to reason that he'd have a chance. Then again, he'll let HER come to him. That way he can point to Dora and tell Conor that it was all her. He'd do it too. "Yeah, me too. I think I was trying to keep shit from turning awkward on the boat, but I think that kind of already came to pass. Oh well, she's going to likely enjoy herself. I did always like helping the younger generation out. Hey, I can consider this volunteer service, right?" he added with a smirk at the other guy and then just raised his glass. "Fuck if I know, but they fight enough to be a real couple. I don't pay that much attention. Remember, I'm not their babysitter, Ariel. I try to ignore them as much as I can. You would too, if you stayed on this boat more than five minutes at a time." Seriously, who would? It feels like a madhouse… a madhouse, with lots of drinking and tension.
<p>
Then again, maybe that's the lure.
<p>
But really, he knew he wasn't the only asshole in the Salty Dogs. One was sitting right beside him and yes, he was very aware of Ariel's reputation. It was all he could do not to snort at his pal and then just look at him with hooded eyes as he leaned back, fingers curling around his glass. "I'm sure some would consider you all that, but let's face it, Ariel: like knows like. I could spot you from a mile away, with that cocky shit-eating grin and the rest." He paused to give the other man a smirk that would likely have most people throwing holy water at him and chanting in Latin. "Well, I'm not going to blow your cover, but I'm pretty sure that Prudence will if given the chance. Women gossip," he muttered and then made a face. Like that's not what THEY were doing right then. Really. "I'd find some way to shut that girl's mouth or you might end up in careening down Shit Creek… and I won't throw you a paddle." He chuckled. "You've been warned."
<p>
He snorted. "Tell me about it. The girl didn't give me much reason to want to get closer than maybe this distance," he said, waggling his hand between himself and Ariel. "The way she looked at me, I'm amazed I didn't turn to stone or something. Fuck, if looks could kill, I'd be slowly decomposing." He arched a brow though, as Ariel poured himself another and instead of doing the same, Sully just sipped at his drink, fingertips tapping along the outside of the glass as he pulled it away from his lips. "Well, she was a virgin, like you said. Alcohol was probably less than she thought she deserved," he tossed back with a shrug. "You gave her a fucking boat? Why? An inner-tube would have been enough. Tug her along behind your boat.. fuck, that was a dumb decision on your part. Now she's going to have this idea that every time some guy fucks her, she's getting presents. Wow," he snorted and shook his head, just snickering to himself. He loves taking the piss out of people. "You really screwed up for the next guy to tap that."
<p>
Yet… did he believe that Ariel was smiling at his own deeds? Sully didn't know… and honestly? Didn't care. That was the look of a man who had other shit on his mind than just a past half-assed lay… and he knew it. Did he wanna know what made his friend smile? Not really. Sullivan Finch has always been a rather selfish asshole. "I think I've figured it out already but I'm kinda in the 'don't give a shit' phase of my life. Spill it or not, I could care less. Unless you'd rather I tell you about how I nearly killed Echo two days ago?"
<p>
Yep, Pride. He's got it.


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ARIEL BROWN - January 31, 2012 08:06 PM (GMT)
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Why Sully hadn’t already tossed Conor overboard eluded him. “‘Going for a distance record’?” He repeated the endings of that sentence with a snort. Why the hell was that desirable? No, deep down inside it was more likely the man had some sort of fatherly string that had struck in an untimely fashion. The untimely fashion here happened to be a zombie apocalypse. Most weren’t that unlucky. But a zombie apocalypse also enabled him to fuck protocol and save his own ass. Save his own ass from the doom that was fatherhood in the first place and kick his offspring into some slobbering mouth. There were plenty waiting, like a good old game of Let’s Go Fishin’, the pole in this analogy being Conor and the fishes zombies. Ariel wondered if he should voice this amusing quip to the father-of-the-hour, but decided against it and rather took a sip. There’d be more denial involved. He’d had enough of that for now. Unless he was the one in denial. The rules bent a little that way.
<p>
If that counts as volunteer service, somebody should give me a fucking medal for all the work I’ve been doing in my life.” He hadn’t poured soup to homeless people or washed an old woman’s bum, but he had introduced several girls to the life of a grown-up. “Fighting is an essential part of any healthy relationship,” he agreed, gazing at his glass and for a brief moment letting his face light up with the smile of remembrance, recalling one of his few steady girlfriends of the past. It wasn’t often he’d get nostalgic about these things. “Besides – and this is something you shouldn’t be thinking about too much, given it’s your boat and all – they’re probably having plenty makeup fucks.” Throwing a playful wink at Sully, he added, “You’re welcome.” before launching back into his glass. He was emptying these left and right. Too bad he had chosen a partner without an equal interest in getting wasted.
<p>
As for them being on the same boat both in a physical and mental sense, he nodded in agreement. He was judging more from hearsay than anything. Like previously mentioned, he had not been at the receiving end of Sully’s assholery. He couldn’t wait for day they were going toe-to-toe. Ariel had always had a macabre approach to inferiority. With Sully, he was inferior physically and in his achievements in life. Then again, he’d avoided the trap of family and therefore held the sensible high-ground. Sparring sober would be fatal. What he hadn’t thought about and that Sully cleverly pointed out, was how Prue might spill her story to whoever wanted to listen. And in the zombie apocalypse, there was a ridiculous amount of sharing tales. “Oh fuck,” he sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “I seriously didn’t think about that at all.” Frowning, he continued, “Then again she’s a fresh face and the Dogs won’t believe what comes out if it’s bad-mouthing their friendly neighbourhood Brown.
<p>
Something about aid not being extended was said, but Ariel was too busy going through scenarios in his head to retort anything equally poisonous. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. This was a plausible outcome. “Whatever,” he eventually said, leaning against the headrest. “I’ll take that shit in stride.” He had every confidence in himself when it came to bullshitting his way out of a tight corner. If push came to shove, he was prepared to do whatever. He had managed to downplay flat-out punching Austin in the face during Tenny’s birthday, in front of everyone. He could play the victim in the Prudence-storyline better than she could herself. “There’re plenty empty boats here, in case you haven’t noticed. But you’re right, it wasn’t my best idea. At least she’s easily avoided. Not that I’m trying. I think it’s her avoiding me.” And rightfully so. Was he to find out she’d ratted him out, she’d be seeing a far worse side of him than she already had.
<p>
The idea he had ruined her for everybody else made him laugh. “Yeah, like I was trying to tie her up with a bow and turn her into a present for the next guy. You want my sloppy seconds Sully, go ahead. You don’t have to hint so fiercely – don’t you know with me you can be honest?
<p>
Still there he sat, honesty not on his mind with regards to his adventures with Echo. And Sully had the good grace to not give a fuck. Hallelujah, somebody had this ‘talking’ thing figured out. What the red-haired man ended up sharing, however, again challenged Ariel’s acting chops. Luckily, he had enough of them to prevent any visible shudder. Letting a smirk spread across his features, left to right, he lazily opened one eye and glanced at his ‘buddy’. “Really?” His tone was one hinting of impressed, mixed with surprise. “How did that go down? She strikes me as a person who’d fight back.
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Sullivan Finch - February 1, 2012 07:09 AM (GMT)
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"Hey, don't give me that look. We all have to have our hobbies. That's mine," he said and yes, he meant it. Chucking people overboard was what he enjoyed most and there were very few people, unfortunately, who'd flown Air Sullivan. He'll have to make sure there were a few who earned some frequent flier miles… like Echo. Not that he didn't think she shouldn't come back on board his ship, but the girl had a mouth on her that made him want to see it muzzled. The fact that she couldn't swim was inconsequential. He figured if he threw her over enough times, she'd eventually be like that guy in the X-Men First Class movie and she'd grow fins. Yes, Darwinism at its finest.
<p>
"Yeah, well, I doubt anyone else would see it the way we do. Volunteer service used to mean stuffy people in church-clothes going about all smug. I prefer the whole 'I'm naked, cmere, lemme make you a woman' Church of Sullivan and Ariel. We should be treated like fuckin' prophets." Then again, knowing his luck, someone would try to crucify him, literally, and that would be the end of that. But if that wasn't blasphemous enough, he made the sign of the cross… and then chuckled. "Yep, fighting helps all sorts of things along. Like hate-sex. Or make-up sex. Mostly the sex," he muttered with a grin over at Ariel. Is it obvious that he'd just gotten laid the night before? It should be. Yet the reminder that his son was likely boning Dora? He didn't' much like it. He cocked a brow at Ariel, snorted and then shook his head. "I hate you sometimes." Now he just wants to truly get drunk just to take the mental pictures of THOSE two fucking out of his head.
<p>
But it must be said that he felt good about pointing out the flaw in Ariel's lovely little plan when it came to deflowering Prudence. He knows girls. He's lived with a woman for years, and though he would love to say he missed out on all the gossiping, he was often around, too often, for his wife's bitching and moaning about other people. Gossip, he's sure, is now the mainstay of Apocalyptic living. Lucky for Sully, he doesn't have to worry about it because anything there is to say, he'll own up to it. Likely Ariel can't say the same. "Bullshit. They'll laugh in her face if she tries to start something… and, don't worry, if you need me to, I'll remind her you're a grade-A douche-nozzle, my friend. Then again, what 're friends for? Really." And honestly? He just wanted to see Prue cry. Would make his month, actually.
<p>
"You do that. Take it in stride. I'll be on my boat laughing my ass off in the distance. You need a hand, grab a couple of flags and use the code," he said with a grin that was entirely too amused. Yeah, he's allowed to laugh at Ariel's pain. He's sure it would he the other way 'round in a heartbeat. That's what having guy friends is all about. He sipped at his drink, though and just surveyed the other man with a snicker. "Well, here's to her avoiding you a little longer. I kind of like having you around to drink with, and she looks the type of woman to shoot a man in the face for talking shit. Neither one of us would get away, and you know it."
<p>
He snorted dismissively at the offer of Prue and just shook his head. "Rather stick my dick in the propeller… but thanks. I'll keep it in mind if my son pisses me off again. I'll find her, get her drunk and see if he wants a late birthday present." That, he was sure, would be the best revenge on that redhead. Finches are hard to forget.
<p>
But leaning his head back against his headrest, he just simply smirked to himself once he'd shared the lovely little adventure he'd shared with Echo. Yes, she hadn't known what was coming… and her look of surprise as he let go of her over the water, it was going to stick in his head forever. It was that good. "Oh she did. I think it's why I enjoyed watching her nearly drown. Did you know she can't swim?"


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ARIEL BROWN - February 1, 2012 07:53 PM (GMT)
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In a way he should be happy he had Sully to hang out with. Raphael had been absent lately, both in body and mind, and it annoyed Ariel to not have anybody to annoy on an hourly basis. He had no intention of bestowing that role onto the tall man by his side, but he saw the early warning signs that was exactly what he was doing. He would have to halt himself. Of course Sully chose that moment to make it easier for him by mocking Christianity. That wasn’t his prerogative; that was Ariel’s. “Cool it with the blasphemy,” he said sharply, looking over at the former businessman. His expression was hard and unforgiving. Few had experienced his faith up close, because he had learnt rather early that such extreme belief and equal hypocrisy didn’t sit well with most people. In America, it was OK to be Christian as long as it was never preached and they went to church every once in a blue moon.
<p>
No sooner had he voiced his disapproval did he avert his stern gaze again and reached for his bottle. If he kept this up, he’d have to pee over the railing pretty soon. That was a bonus of living on a boat. A proper toilet was never far away. Though he doubted Sully would allow him to relieve himself all over the side of his Pride. The man treated the yacht like the daughter he never had, the daughter he would’ve preferred over that excuse for a son. Ariel just had a fucking awesome vessel. He hadn’t given it a name. ‘The Pride’. Whilst filling his glass, the PI snorted. He had pride, but he didn’t need a huge item to emphasize that. It was pretty damn obvious.
<p>
He had too much pride to have gone wasted it on Prue. Let’s say it was a… flexible pride, the one he held. “I doubt she needs reminding. I delivered a pretty hefty farewell.” He recalled it with a smirk. Hadn’t he said something about her having no reason to be sulky? Oh he had, hadn’t he? “I’m used to taking shit in stride. It’s what I always do after fucking up badly.” He wasn’t oblivious to the fact he had fucked this one up. He wasn’t an idiot. “Punched Austin Strange in the face during Tenny’s party, but managed to downplay that.” Well.. to the extent you could downplay an unprovoked punch to the face. “‘Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned’. I’ve played this game before. I never get tired of it.
<p>
But maybe, for now, he could leave it alone. Now, he had Echo. And with her, there were no games. He wasn’t playing a role. He was poking fun at her and pushing all her buttons, sure, but that was entirely intentional. She was giving him the same treatment, when he didn’t catch her off-guard and found himself on the inside of her wall, able to notice just how awkward she could be. It was charming, is was it was. So hearing how Sully had somehow gotten her into the water disturbed him. It disturbed him deeply. Yet it couldn’t be seen on his face. This was taking some effort. “She can’t swim? You’re kidding!” Forcing a laugh, making it sound natural, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, holding the glass in both hands. “She lives on a boat but can’t swim? Jesus fucking Christ, that’s a fail right there.
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Sullivan Finch - February 1, 2012 10:02 PM (GMT)
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"Christ, Ariel… don't get your panties in a knot. You know, if there was any kind of deity, this shit wouldn't have happened," he added with a wave of his hand at dry land where there were a few shuffling undead rumbling about. And of course, Ariel should take a picture because this was likely the last time that he would talk religion with anyone. Not only because he thought it was a pile of bullshit, but because most religious people bored the shit out of him. He wasn't sure if Ariel was one of those 'special' kinds of religious people or not, but he just leaned back and shook his head with a look of bemusement. "Blasphemy over. You can unclench," he added with a smirk as he raised his glass to his lips, savouring the sip of amber liquid as it coated his tongue. Let Ariel have his religion… Sully had his whiskey. Out of the two, he thinks he's doing relatively okay in that deal, if a little sauced.
<p>
Still, there was something about the way that Ariel spoke about Prudence that made Sully glad that he was the guy's friend and not his enemy. The two of them would have been like five year olds, never letting the other have a moment's peace if they were anything but allies… but that had its merits too. The fact that they could see eye to eye when it came to bashing redheaded ex-virgins for being stupid? Priceless. There's nothing like bonding over the shame of another person.
<p>
"Yeah, I'm sure you did. Not that I need details about that. I'm not into the girl… never will be. She needs to de-stick herself, because that thing's lodged up there pretty fucking tight," he said and then shook his head. He'd never wanted to punch a woman in the face (besides Emma, but he's sure everyone would understand that), but when it came to Prue, he almost did. You don't bash his boat. Then again, taking things in stride wasn't really Sully's forte. If it was Ariel's, then… more power to him. "Good for you. Helps to shake off that niggling voice in the back of your head. Well, good luck with it this time," he said and before he could raise his glass, he blinked. "You punched Austin in the face? What the fuck for? That guy kills me!" he says with a grin and just shook his head. "I'd commend you, but I think he might come at you in the middle of the night for that kinda shit. He doesn't really seem to be the kind of guy to let things go." Though he could be… Sullivan sometimes misses those things. "Nice quote. If you know what you're doing, then carry on. If you need a hand? You know I'll back you up. But… if they touch my boat, I will fucking kill all of them."
<p>
And he meant it. You don't touch the Pride.
<p>
If only he'd noticed, though, that that smile of Ariel's was a little forced… same with his laugh. If he'd known then that he was openly mocking Ariel's lover, he would have shut up… and just gloated privately. But he didn't, and Sullivan just kept going. "Nope, can't swim. Of all the fucking boneheaded moves, she gets on a boat… and isn't prepared in case something goes awry. Like…. you know, me tossing her off. She nearly drowned." He said it so matter of factly and then set his glass aside, hand raised to point to the spot where he tossed her over. "Just there. But… I went in after her. So… she owes me. I guess it works out that way…" he added, then glanced down to pour himself more whiskey. "Yeah… she owes me."


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ARIEL BROWN - February 2, 2012 06:20 AM (GMT)
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So Sully wasn’t one of those pretentious supposed Christians who defended their faith by praising the Lord should they achieve anything in life. But after that first sentence, Ariel prepared for a discussion with a dedicated atheist, noticing he was running through possible arguments in his head already. “It never occurred to you this might be the work of a higher being?” he replied, following the gesture and observing the undead as they ambled around without any greater goal than launching on whatever or whoever they would get their hands on next. This was a cleansing. Him and Sully were still alive, and it wasn’t purely accidental. Sure, they had acted quickly and smartly, but that went to show their superior intellect and reflexes in a dire situation. If anything, this entire apocalypse was designed as a Spring clean. Whoever emerged on the other side still breathing and with their brain whole within their skull, they would repopulate the earth.
<p>
Those were facts.
<p>
But they were in the midst of their drinking and this wasn’t a subject to raise in a befuddled state. Far from it. It turned amicable again as Sully praised him for his acting skills, which enabled a tentative grin. He would’ve said something, some bullshit about feeling ‘flattered’ and ‘honoured’, when the conversation halted on mr Strange. “That fuckbag?” What could have been a pleasant grin turned into a sour grimace. He really couldn’t stand Austin. There were multiple reasons for this. At first, it had been because of the obvious drug-problem and the moron’s penchant for being loud and obnoxious and just fucking insane. Then Echo had gotten drunk on Austin’s boat after refusing to have more than one beer with Ariel the day before, and that had brewed bad blood. “If he comes sneaking up with no audience I’ll have the good grace to finish him off and save us all the trouble. And him, from that excuse of a life.” A bullet to the head? Some strong fingers around the throat? Getting thrown into the ocean?
<p>
No wait, Sully had tried that with Echo.
<p>
He had tossed her off. Tossed her overboard. Ariel found himself glancing where the deed had taken place, his every thought going into keeping his face neutral... more so, amused at the whole ordeal. It wasn’t fucking easy. “You did it just for shits and giggles?” he inquired, genuinely interested. He was wondering... He had been wondering. “At least there’s not a lot of fat on her body. Even you could lift her.” Given Sully probably had twice his muscle mass despite looking borderline anorectic at times, Ariel wasn’t one to talk. He wasn’t going to stick to talking all night long though. The sun was soon dipping below the horizon. He was preparing. “Cheers to that.” He lifted his glass for a clink, eyes taking in the level of drunkenness of his companion. Not impressive. Soon it wouldn’t matter.
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Sullivan Finch - February 2, 2012 06:47 AM (GMT)
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Oh yeah, he had a feeling that either Ariel was one of those Special-Events type Christians, or he was just pushing Sully into talking about things that he didn't really want to, especially when it came to religion. Part of the reason that Sullivan Finch wasn't a real part of Team God was the fact that his Church forced him to stay married to a woman he despised even after they both admitted it straight to each other's faces. What God would want that, to make a man suffer the way Sully suffered with Emma? He could have remarried, he could have had more kids, a life, been happy. Instead, he suffered and forced himself to work his ass off… all because it was better than going home. And Conor paid for it. Yeah, maybe Sully's feeling SOME guilt for that… but not a lot. "No. Don't believe it is. This is likely a man-made disease and knowing our rotten luck, we're just biding our time until we catch it too. Yay for having a good immune system," he muttered at his friend while raising his glass, but didn't sip any. Nope, that was for celebrating.
<p>
Right then, he just wanted to brood. He wasn't a brooder, so thank FUCK that Ariel was there to keep him from going that direction.
<p>
He'd have to thank him later.
<p>
But that grin of Ariel's was good for Sullivan, made him realize that yes, his friend, his pal… was a consummate actor. He could learn a lot from the guy, mostly because with Sully, what you see is what you get. He didn't hide behind flattery or bullshit… he liked the truth. Give it to him straight, and he was your friend. Lie? He'd toss your ass overboard. It was simple and easy. But when the mention of Austin came up, and in such pleasant terms as 'fuckbag', Sullivan couldn't stop himself from laughing like an idiot. "Yeah, him," he said though near-giggles at his friend, his mouth in that smile so wide that he looked like the Cheshire Cat. It was his pal's comment about the other guy that forced Sully to hold up a hand, essentially, silently saying 'oh fuck no', his face doing the same, going suddenly stoic and cold. "You do that, I'll have to retaliate, pal, and believe me, that's something I'd rather not do. Why? He entertains the fuck outta me," he says and then grinned. "You wanna wear a Jester's hat? Sure, go ahead and shoot Austin in the face. Just be prepared to take his place."
<p>
And he meant THAT too.
<p>
He just nodded to himself, pleased at the memory of how Echo'd looked as she went flailing over the side of the boat. It was something that NEVER got old, no matter how many times he thought of it. "No, not for shits and giggles. She hit me first with a fucking bucket. So… I paid her back," he said with a simple shrug of the shoulders and leaned forward. It was the lifting comment that had him smirking. "Oh cmon, even you and your wimpy muscles could pick that girl up. She's tiny. Like a bird," he said and then grinned. "She certainly was airborne for a few minutes, anyway."
<p>
He was about to go on but Ariel was toasting YET again and instead of turning him down, Sully grabbed up his glass, raised it and tapped the other man's. "Cheers," he said and then took a long gulp. Not drunk, but pleasantly buzzed. That's Sullivan.
<p>
If only he knew what was coming, he would have wished to be more smashed.


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ARIEL BROWN - February 2, 2012 05:56 PM (GMT)
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Apparently Sully liked Austin. The thought alone made Ariel want to cringe, want to get up and leave, almost disgusted at being chummy with a man who apparently was chummy with Austin. Maybe the Strangeness was rubbing onto Sully and from Sully it would go to Ariel and then he’d be royally fucked. Naturally it didn’t infect like that, but it was a horrifying idea. That such idiocy could be duplicated. “You’re defending that doofus?” His tone was coated in disbelief, and he gave his companion a critical once-over. “I believe you’ve been allowing yourself to make fun of my choice in sex-partners long enough to disable you from admitting you’d defend Austin Strange.” Entertaining? A dolphin was entertaining. And a dolphin had infinitely more charm. Albeit perhaps not as much… personality. “I’ll feed him to your family, the sharks, and nobody will know. That includes you and your eerie lankiness.” Was he to do such a thing, it would be a low-key event. Maybe he’d invite some relatives from his side, so he had somebody to toast with later. Sully was a ripe candidate for this, had he not just defended the future murder-victim.
<p>
Also, had he not tossed Echo overboard that one time, remember that? Fucking hilarious.
<p>
He was gloating about it, and in a way, Ariel understood. It wasn’t something he’d admit, but he understood. Had he tossed some random girl overboard and later found out she couldn’t swim, he’d be telling that story left and right like there was no tomorrow. He’d even re-enact it with a chair for added extravaganza and dazzle-factor, as the showman he was. He’d be far less classy about it, the way Sully managed to snigger it away whilst hovering over his glass of alcohol, Ariel wouldn’t be able to match that Bond-esque suaveness in his tale. But he’d make it infinitely more entertaining as a result. “A bucket?” Well done Echo. So she wasn’t innocent in all this. He’d figured as much fairly early. It was Echo after all. She had probably spit some venom first to make her presence known, bit off more than she could chew. But all in all she’d gotten the worse deal. She hadn’t told him she was afraid of water – he would have to give her plenty shit for that, it was too ripe – nor that she couldn’t swim, but despite planting a bucket to the side of a face, she didn’t deserve getting tossed in the goddamn ocean.
<p>
Well, most females did. Just not Echo.
<p>
And Ariel was getting to a point where he couldn’t pretend anymore. He had come onto this yacht to sit down and have a chat with Sully, sure, that wasn’t a lie. He had brought brew in the hopes he’d get the man to borderline loose consciousness and make a worse opponent. He had failed at that goal. He hadn’t failed at lulling him into a false sense of security though. And Ariel himself, he wasn’t befuddled in the slightest. His red-marked bottle held no whiskey. Ok, it held a hint. But diluted. To give a slight aroma yet not enough alcohol to affect him significantly. This hadn’t been planned for long. It wasn’t a well-hatched plan, evident by just looking at the person he was about to challenge. But something had to be said and something had to be done and fuck if it wasn’t going to come from his mouth and his fist and maybe even his gun.
<p>
You know what Sully?” he started, tilting his head slightly to the side, a friendly smile hinged on his lips. After a brief pause, he set down his glass, got up and looked down on the deck for a moment, inhaling. “That last bit of info right there? About Echo?” Sauntering up the owner of the boat, sitting on his throne, Ariel leaned down to his ear, and whispered, “I already knew.” before slamming his hand into Sully’s throat and toppling the chair and its occupant backwards.
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Sullivan Finch - February 2, 2012 07:45 PM (GMT)
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"Yeah, I'm defending that doofus," Sully said to the other man, Ariel's apparent dislike for Austin enough to push him just past this side of annoyed. This caused Sullivan's eyes to narrow just a little in his slightly florid face… and his voice to go a little deeper, gravelly, his stare turning just as hard and unbending as Ariel's did at the mention of religion. Oh yes, you fuck with one of Sully's pals, he'll fuck that person up right back, though yes, this is Ariel and he'll pull his punches a little. Why? Because who else would get him the way that this guy does? And besides, yeah, there are times where he's seriously wondered what the hell was wrong with Austin himself.
<p>
"Fuck that. As long as you bang redheaded prudes, I should be allowed to make fun of your sexual choices, Ariel. Nice try, though, with trying to veer away from your own bad choices," he added with that wide grin, unable to stop himself from gloating a little. He'd slept with girls just as bad, in the past, but he's not about to admit it in front of Ariel. Besides, the discussion is about saving Austin from a horrible death… which was why Sullivan just stopped, narrowing a look on the man beside him with such un-amusement that it probably went all the way back around to amusing, at least for Ariel. "You know, I really think I should dump you over the side sometime. How's your breast-stroke?" Then again, being who he is… that term just made him slowly grin at his friend, resembling that very aquatic animal Ariel just brought up. "Stop being jealous."
<p>
But yeah, the idea of tossing Ariel overboard did remind him of the glory that came from throwing Echo over, and he has to admit, it, he replays the way she flailed as she went over, OVER and fucking over again in his head. It was pretty much better than any other image he could come up with, except maybe Lucy naked, but that is something he didn't want to think about when there's another guy on his boat.
<p>
Damned right he'd gloat about it. There's something about taking care of himself, defending his boat against a threat, especially when he had only told her to wash it. The thing that really made it just… perfect, to his mind, was the fact that he knew that the girl wasn't expecting to land in the water. She'd landed with that splash and of course, he knew that it meant she hadn't taken in enough air… but in the end, he did save her life. He MAY have put her in that position, but he didn't have to go in after her, especially when she'd smacked him upside the head with that fucking bucket. The mark on his face is still there, a little cut just above his left eyebrow, and his hand went to it even as he took a quick sip of his drink. "Yes, a bucket. She seemed to have a problem with my idea to make her wash the Pride. It's not like I asked her to debase herself." Then again, he did make her think it was something worse at first. It's his way.
<p>
He should have been paying better attention to Ariel, he realized that almost the second that his pal got to his feet. Arching a brow, he blinked up at the other man, his eyes looking more curious than drunk. You can't think that a man with a drinking problem as bad as his would get sauced off two… he needs at least half a bottle to make a dent. And the fact that he was talking? Who has time for major drinking? So that was why he smirked, watching his friend approach… and then blinked at once for the knowledge that HE KNEW? "How the fuck did-." he began to say just before his friend rushed him and falling back, legs flailing, he was fast to put a bone-crushing hand around Ariel's wrist at his throat, his eyes staring daggers up at Ariel. "You'd better hope she's worth it, because I'm about to straight up murder your ass for this shit," he began… and then pulled back a fist…. and slammed it straight into Ariel's face.
<p>
Yeah, it's a good day for a fight. Too bad his whiskey spilled. "You're licking that up with your fucking tongue, you asshole…" he says as he shook his hand to rid it of the burn, leaning his neck back to take in a breath. "Take your hand off me… or I'll break all your fucking fingers," he said cooly, eyes narrowed and voice calm, if gravelly.


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ARIEL BROWN - February 5, 2012 12:49 PM (GMT)
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It made sense that if Sully asked Echo to wash his boat, she’d do all in her power to flip the situation around. Ariel was certain she hadn’t meant to flip it so thoroughly she flipped over the side of the boat, but something told him she hadn’t thought about the consequences prior to choosing her weapon and launching it on her adversary. He, on the other hand, had had a little time to contemplate what he had just done. He had longed to see the look of surprise on Sully’s face as he went for the first hit, and that initial shock was a satisfactory expression to behold. His ploy had worked excellently. There had been no signs telling his conversation-partner what was about to happen, since he had made a good job of hiding it. They had talked bullshit, talked about Prudence and Conor and sex – luckily not all three together, what a horrid image! – and in general just acted like two good pals.
<p>
They were two good pals. As good a pal as Ariel was capable of, at any rate. He genuinely enjoyed hanging out with Sully. There was something very natural about their interaction, even now when he hadn’t been acting entirely natural. But should he so wish, he could be himself sans any bullshit – outside of the bullshit that was him – and he had been this evening too, just leaving the underlying, main reason for being there unspoken until now. And by doing this, Ariel was not afraid he’d jeopardize whatever sorry excuse of a friendship they had cultivated. Had he taken the slyer approach, conducting actions behind the scenes for a show-down that would take place without his presence, in the true art of manipulation, it would have been to set a lasting impression and wreck their affinity forever. For this, he had chosen the physical route. Something had to be done. He might as well turn a tad suicidal.
<p>
The sound the chair and Sully made as they hit the deck was satisfyingly loud, and it looked satisfyingly painful. Having smashed his hand into the windpipe, Ariel felt a wheeze of air and had a content grin smear over his face. A face that seconds later felt the force of a fist snapping it backwards. It would’ve been easy to loose his grip in the midst of this forceful push, but he held on, even squeezing for extra effect. “‘Murder my ass’? What are you channelling, a rap song?” The words came out as sneers rather than easily understood sentences, and Ariel was disturbingly aware he was mixing the gravity of the situation – his main reason for engaging in this – with the joy he derived from feeling so alive. Austin hadn’t been man enough to punch him back. All he’d managed was a shove. Sully wasn’t going to hold back.
<p>
Licking the whiskey up? Please, Ariel wasn’t a dog. It was a shame to waste good liquor like this, true, but it emphasized how he’d prioritize a fight over alcohol. Not always, mind, but now, right now… A fight is what he wanted. “Make me,” he whispered, giving Sully’s throat a last crunch before letting go, immediately planting the other hand in his stomach before getting up and taking a quick step back. He would have no sweeping of the feet. Cheap trick.
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Sullivan Finch - February 5, 2012 07:22 PM (GMT)
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Did Sullivan expect this turn of events? Of course not. It's not everyday that one's pal reaches out and tips your ass over and is suddenly at your throat, making threats or, in this case, making the situation go from nice and relaxed… and into some kind of deathwish. Did he think that Ariel could take him? Fuck that, he was likely going to put his dear friend into traction before the dust cleared… but that, in and of itself… was actually something he wanted now.
<p>
Why? Because he's feeling like he was set up. And when Sullivan Finch feels set up? There's pain. Lots of pain.
<p>
And fists.
<p>
The thump of his back hitting the deck combined with the hard wooden slats pressing into his spine were all he could register for a split second… because everything else was covered in that red haze that comes from being very very pissed off. Did he want to kick Ariel's ass so thoroughly that the guy wouldn't be able to sit down for a month? Hell yes. But more than that, he wanted to make a point. Yes, that point: you don't fuck around with Sullivan Finch. Or try to trick him.
<p>
OR JUMP HIM.
<p>
That grin of Ariel's just made Sully grow even more furious, and though he would love to pull his punches with his pal here, there's no way in hell that his ego will allow it. Not anymore. Sneering back up into that face that he was only moments ago sharing laughs with, he reached out and grabbed his shirt and gave it a vicious yank. "Right now, just be fucking glad I don't have a gun to 'pop a cap in your ass'," he reminded Ariel with a dirty grin, even as he yanked his neck upwards to allow some air into his lungs. This was about to get very bad… very fast. And yes, he actually was glad he wasn't armed because that would end this fight a little too fast. Ariel deserves some real punishment for such a scheme.
<p>
"Make you?" he said in a deadly soft voice, and reaching up with one hand, simply grinned that demonic smile… and then, as Ariel's hand let go of his throat, got to his feet, slowly and methodically staring down the other man. "You shouldn't have said that. You're not going to enjoy this… but I am." He reached out a hand and slipped it around Ariel's throat in turn, but then behind… so he was gripping his good friend by the back of the neck like a dog. "You're going to fucking lick that up… and then apologize for that low blow by the time we're done here," he muttered… and then sent a clear shot, right to Ariel's left kidney, his arm tightening, muscles bunching as he held him in place. "So… you and Echo, huh? That's adorable. Playing white knight. Should have guessed you'd go soft someday."


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ARIEL BROWN - February 5, 2012 07:53 PM (GMT)
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Ariel wasn’t delusional or conceited. Ok, he was. But that was beside the point. The point was that not at any point in time did he think he’d win this battle. All that took was a look at Sully and a quick physical comparison. In the red corner: Ariel Brown, five foot eleven, normal muscles like everybody else, no training in combat arts at all. In the blue corner: Sullivan Finch, six feet, no fat and only muscles, slender like a cat, probably limber like one too. There was no telling whether or not Sully had any skills in hand-to-hand. He had been a businessman after all, they didn’t really brawl a whole lot. Ariel, on the other hand, had always had a thing for messing with others, regardless of his odds. The first case was at fifteen, when he had beat up a boy four years his senior for pronouncing his name wrong. Though he was past the point where saying ‘Air-iel’ would have him throw a bitch-fit, he had never gotten over urges to plant his fists in deserving people’s faces.
<p>
Sully had such a deserving face. Ariel wanted to have him loose some teeth, so that that ridiculously toothy grin lost its intimidating factor.
<p>
It didn’t help that his adversary kept speaking like he was a teenager from the Bronx toughening up for his peers. ‘Pop a cap’, ok. “Oh please, I could shoot you out of the water before you had time to blink.” Though he hadn’t seen how adept Sully was with a gun, he doubted it’d surpass his skill-set with the weapon. His pride and joy, all those awards garnered in the glory days at the range. It was how he and Echo had met actually. And bonded. Not necessarily how most parents described their first meeting to their offspring, but hell-of-a-lot funnier. But ending this with a shot would be a cheap exit. It’s why he hadn’t already done it. Instead of launching on Sully with a hand to the throat, he could’ve just whipped out the Glock and finished it with a hit to the shoulder. Head was out of the question. Though he wanted him to pay, he didn’t want him dead.
<p>
They were having a stare-off now. Sully’s expression was deadly, but Ariel couldn’t help keeping the grin on his face. He had taken the role Austin had with him. Laughing and grinning, spurring the anger on for the other party. It was a satisfying reaction. Though he tried to block the hand that reached out for his neck, he was unsuccessful in stopping Sully from grabbing and reversing their roles. “You’re getting old, aren’t you?” he managed, squirming a bit under the force. “I think my grip was stronge –” Queue a punch to the lower regions, causing him to topple over. The only thing keeping him from hitting the deck was Sully’s hand. “Thanks, that was close!” Getting his feet back underneath him, he looked up to the best of his ability and launched his hand upwards to gauge at Sully’s eyes. Albeit a flaying motion rather than a well-aimed one, given his angle didn’t give him the best view, he managed to scratch.
<p>
Yeah, this is me being heads over heels. Literally. You’re holding it in place.” Too bad his wink was lost to the deck.
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Sullivan Finch - February 5, 2012 11:39 PM (GMT)
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Yes, Sully will admit it: most businessmen don't really know how to take or throw a punch… not properly. But when you've been raised as he has, with an abusive father, you learned quickly how to defend and throw a good, hard punch of your own, and so often, when he was expected at home, he worked out at the local gym, just keeping in shape. It was a point of pride that he didn't have much fat on him, even before the world went to shit… and in fact, he was relatively sure that it was what helped to keep him alive when there were days he didn't eat so the kids could. YEAH, let them think he's a complete miserable prick… that's okay.
<p>
HE IS. And he's about to prove it to Ariel too.
<p>
He wanted to slap that fucking annoying grin off his friend's face, just so he didn't have to look at it anymore… that, and because it was gradually pissing him off to the point where he knew he would be a proper asshole if he wasn't stopped. Perhaps he was doing the entire fleet a service in kicking Ariel's ass? Yes, he rather thought so. Who else to keep the bastard in line but another bastard?
<p>
He snickered at Ariel's little pronouncement and just rolled his eyes. No way was he going to allow Ariel to have the upper hand… and with a gun, that would be almost a given. "You shoot at me or my boat… it would be the last thing you'd fucking do. I don't need a gun to kill you," he said calmly, just staring Ariel down, not really moving just yet. That hand may be around his throat, but Sullivan wasn't intimidated. No, not while there was the chance to thoroughly kick this man's ass. That would really help his ego… and yes, he was going to be sure to tell Echo that her man came through for her. He's sure that'll go over well.
<p>
Oh that grin… he was going to make Ariel swallow those teeth… and he knew that it would be fun making him try. Suddenly, they were on their feet and then just snorting out a laugh, Sully simply drove a fist into the other man's stomach, enjoying the forced exhalation of air… and the slight green tinge to Ariel's skin. Yep, that'll be in his memories, right beside a flailing Echo. "Nice try. You know that you're a step away from pissing yourself. You do that, you're cleaning it up with your tongue," he said and then let the other man's head drop to the deck with a little smirk. Maybe he shouldn't have been laughing, or playing around, because that hand of Ariel's came from fucking nowhere and scratched down his face… making him haul off and completely bitch-slap Ariel, once with his palm and then once with the back of his hand.
<p>
"Yeah, Echo can fucking thank me for keeping you in one piece by letting me teach her to swim again. Wanna be there next time?" he said right into the other man's face and then cocked his head to the side, looking just this side of smug. He dropped Ariel completely to the deck… and leaning back a foot, made as if to kick him in the side, a bullshit move, but he thinks the entire thing STARTED with a bullshit move, so it's fair.


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ARIEL BROWN - February 6, 2012 12:13 PM (GMT)
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This really was not a comfortable way to be held. By the neck? Humans were not designed for that. Dogs and cats had a lot of spare skin to get a hold of. Sully was gripping him in the muscles back there, and they didn’t stretch comfortably. But Ariel hadn’t jumped on this guy’s throat to have a comfortable time. He didn’t expect them to sit down now, put the kettle on and enjoy Earl Grey whilst conversing about the last theatre-play they went to. No, for that Ariel was too much of a masochist. He knew what he’d gotten himself into. No matter how proficient Sully was with his fists, when fuelled by the anger clearly displayed in those hateful eyes, even a bum in a wheelchair got some extra spunk his attacks.
<p>
And that hit to the softer parts of his abdomen? Fucking hurt. “You’re disturbingly fixated on my tongue for a man claiming to be straight, Sullister.” He wasn’t going to lick anything. Not the whiskey, certainly not his own vomit. Which would be reeking slightly of whiskey, no matter how little he had been drinking. Damn it to hell that Sully hadn’t been harder on the liquor this evening. If his movements could just be a little more tainted by the effect of alcohol, Ariel might be looking at a less painful tomorrow. Because there was going to be a tomorrow. Though the ending to this skirmish could potentially be one of them bobbing face-down in the water, it wasn’t to be so. Of that he was confident.
<p>
When he was finally let go, after two more hits, he noticed just how hard that punch to the stomach had been, and he fell on his knees and hands. He’d managed to deliver a good scratch, but that wasn’t halfly enough of a retort. “There’s not gonna be a next time, you smug son-of-a-bitch.” Though he had been busy catching his breath again, Ariel turned around just in time to see a foot being loaded towards his side. With reflexes he did not know he had, he rolled slightly to the side, grabbed the oncoming body part and jerked it hard to the left, hoping to catch its owner off-balance before scrambling back on his feet and attempting the same kick.
<p>
I commend you for giving me the idea. I mean, kicking me while I’m down? I’ve heard that ‘all is fair in love and war’, but this… This is low.
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Sullivan Finch - February 6, 2012 08:26 PM (GMT)
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The more he's around Ariel, the more he's starting to see just why they're such good friends… because they really do have more in common than two friends should. Yes, stubborn, of course, and there's that masochistic streak that's probably so wide there's hardly any room for anything else… Alright. Maybe the good friends-thing was pushing it when he was holding Ariel like a cat around the back of the neck, but who could blame Sullivan?
<p>
No one, he's sure. If someone else was jumped, he doubts they'd do anything else, because fair's-fair. And Sullivan may not have liked playing fair, because it always came back to bite him in the ass, but in this case… he would. He's repaying the other guy in kind for his little opening volley.
<p>
Seriously, though. Ariel's comments were starting to really piss him off, and that wasn't' going to end well if he didn't control his mouth. He was going to close it permanently if he didn't really watch. He had a feeling a fat lip would definitely help in that direction. Though… yeah, he wouldn't be kissing Echo anytime soon, which made him realize he could revenge himself on the both of them at once. Good plan. "Stop trying to convince me I'm not straight. I'm not going to be with you, Ari-elle. This isn't a love story and I have a feeling Echo won't like to share," he shot back and just grinned that devilish grin even as he pulled back a fist and drove that undercut down into his friend's soft belly.
<p>
That felt good.
<p>
So he wasn't as smashed as he should have been… partly the way that Ariel'd been plying him with liquor was starting to come clear in Sully's mind. Was he trying to get Sullivan drunk so he could have an easier time of it? Well, he thought with that smile growing wider over his face, it didn't work. Still, standing over his friend, Ariel on his knees, he didn't much feel like taking it easy on him anymore. No, before, he might have… now? He's less willing.
<p>
"Not going to be a next time? Shame. I was really looking forward to that," he muttered, blood running down in a little rivulet from where Ariel's nails caught at the side of his face. Nice, he's going to scar, which ended up being enough reason to try to boot his pal in the side, though instead, he was flipped to his back and thrown to the deck with a crash of body, chair and flailing limbs. He landed hard enough to force the air from his lungs and he just began to laugh breathlessly, his smile wide and his head shaking left and right in amazement.
<p>
But what Ariel said? It had him reaching out to grab Ariel's foot between his arms, and to hold him still.
<p>
"No, low was sleeping with a girl and taking her virginity while being a pompous ass," he said low and then grinned. Prue may be many things, including a girl with such lustrous, long and glorious red hair, but did she deserve that? Probably not…. he wasn't really going to go that far. Then again, he was trying to be nice. "Why don't you come down here and say that to my face, Ariel, ol' buddy ol' pal?" he asked… and then jerked hard on Ariel's leg, pulling the other man towards him.
<p>
Oh yes, this will be fun.


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ARIEL BROWN - February 6, 2012 11:26 PM (GMT)
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Ariel didn’t have high hopes his kick would go any better than Sully’s had. Especially since he had now essentially given him the way out of such an attack. Kicking somebody when they were down was low. The lowest of the low, really. But the former PI wasn’t opposed to cheap tricks like that. He could sort things out mano a mano just as easily as the next person, facing whoever had wronged him and going at it like a glorious boxing match from the olden days. Or, he could heighten the stakes by being a dipship and pulling dipshit moves. Since Sully had initiated this one, he really wasn’t the instigator. The catalyst, maybe. But, alas, his foot did not plant into the sinewy side of Sullivan Finch. He too got grabbed. “Damnit Finch!” he blurted, genuinely frustrated. And what the hell, was he defending Prue? “Are you seriously choosing now to stand up for her? Or lie down for her, depending how literal you want to be.” Glaring at his opponent, he allowed a slight pause.
<p>
Fuck you, you fucking fuck.” Adjective, noun, verb. Glorious.
<p>
And delivered just in time too, as he was about to join the douchbag on the deck. His head hit the railing on the way down. Even the punch to his kidneys seemed the kiss of a lover compared to that one. Typical that however hard Sully tried, it was Ariel who would afflict the most pain on himself. Had he not attempted to stabilize before falling over, he wouldn’t have gotten so close to the metal and therefore avoided the extreme pang of pain that instantly shot from the point of impact and through the rest of his body. He felt like Mufasa, having hundreds of wildebeest stampeding over him. Feeling like Mufasa in any other situation would be good. That would mean feeling like a king. In a way he did, for orchestrating the surprise attack on Sully. On the other hand, he was not currently standing on a cliff, adored by his underlings. He was clutching his temple and cursing Mary and Joseph.
<p>
When he finally removed his hand, there was blood. It was warm and trickled down his forehead, curving around his brow and attempting to obscure his sight. Wiping the first gush away, Ariel had the excellent idea to smear the dark liquid on Sully’s face, a maniacal grin accompanying his movement. “Careful you don’t get infected with excellence,” he said before aiming for the nose.
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Sullivan Finch - February 7, 2012 02:43 AM (GMT)
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It was almost too funny how they both were a little too evenly matched with just how their blows weren't landing. The slight inebriation of Sullivan's was allowing Ariel's little manoeuvres to make a dent that there shouldn't be… and though he honestly wanted to do that one move where he flipped the fuck out of his pal and sent him right over the rail and into the water. it didn't quite happen. Instead, that strange moment he had where he actually defended Prue made him glare up at Ariel. "No, call it temporary insanity. I've reconsidered," he threw back at his pal and then grinned, smile slightly manic even as he grinned for Ariel's rather clever use of the word 'fuck'.
<p>
This is why they're friends. "No thanks. But the offer was nicely put."
<p>
Yet… it had to be said, he hadn't expected Ariel to take that rail to the face and as his friend toppled, he winced, knowing that it must have hurt like a motherfucker. It was only the sound of his pal cursing Jesus' mother and father that had him chuckling low in his throat. "Hey, that's blasphemous… tsk," even as he kept grinning, knowing as he did that THAT would piss him off worse than anything else. The sensation that he was winning helped him feel somewhat magnanimous.
<p>
That… and all that blood, too, running down Ariel's face. Maybe he should feel guilty about that?
<p>
Yet… that handful of sticky blood on his face? Sully made a disgusted noise from deep in his throat and idly pushed on Ariel's chest. "After you've been with Prue? More like cooties," he muttered back at Ariel even as he leaned his feet into the floor, just for leverage… and then used his upper body to send his forehead smashing into Ariel's at the same time as his friend drove towards himself, blood dripping onto them both as well as the deck and their clothing as they crashed together. Yeah, this was going to be one mess that he wishes Conor was there to see.
<p>
Why? Because his son would be forced to clean it up. That was enough to make Sully grin that same Cheshire Cat grin before leaning his head back onto the deck and groaned. Yeah, he's not getting up. The world was spinning way too much.
<p>
He's pretty sure he's got a concussion.
<p>
"Fuck, what's your head made out of… cement?" he asked and then winced, feeling along his face for any soft spots… but then grinned, his teeth faintly stained red from the blood pouring from his nose. Yeah, he's sure to be bruised as fuck tomorrow… and right then, he's sure that the only way he'll feel halfway human is going to be to get really smashed.

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ARIEL BROWN - February 7, 2012 08:40 PM (GMT)
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Fucking shit, this wasn’t just a little rift. Not by the way it was bleeding. Maybe he should be more preoccupied holding a hand steady to the wound than flaying at his opponent, but Ariel felt like he had no choice. The battle could rage on. He hadn’t passed out yet and that was a fairly good sign things weren’t absolute shit up there. Had this happened in any other circumstance he’d ask the other person present to check how deep it was. Being as he didn’t want Sully to poke his finger in there and tear the skin off his skull, Ariel refrained from inquiring such a gentle task now. Besides, stopping because of blood, when had that ever been a valid excuse after a physical skirmish? Or ‘physical misunderstanding’ or however you wanted to put it.
<p>
The point: He wasn’t a pussy. He loved himself to the end of the world and beyond – evidently, having passed the end – but he was a stubborn son-of-a-bitch. If he had to limp off that boat with his forehead hanging down to his chin, as long as he’d fought until he passed out, he wouldn’t care.
<p>
There’s a difference between me taking the Lord’s name in vain and you attempting the same,” he moaned, perhaps for only the tenth time in his life admitting openly he was a hypocrite. He wouldn’t use that word, and he wouldn’t answer yes if asked. But there was a huge gap dividing what the Brown brothers were allowed to do, and the rest of the world. This hurt. This hurt like a motherfucker and God knew that just as much as he did. There’d be no doubt Sully too comprehended the pain, but he was sure to gloat about it rather than pity him. Especially after Ariel smeared blood all over his face. The reaction had the perpetrator grinning, but that grin fell off the instant their heads collided. “Shit-ridden nun-fucker!” What started of as a yell subsided towards the end, as Ariel’s eyes rolled backwards and he once again hit the deck with a thud. This time, he wasn’t around to behold the shift of position.
<p>
He blacked the fuck out.
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Sullivan Finch - February 8, 2012 04:14 AM (GMT)
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This fight wasn't going well… for either of the two men. Of course, it wouldn't, not when they're both fighting for their own reasons, and some very good ones. Ariel, of course, was likely fighting for Echo's honour or some such bullshit, but Sully? He was defending himself. Okay, that wasn't all. He was defending his OWN honour because, let's face it: any man who heard about such a fight and even how it began would have tried to take him on in the aftermath. That he was taken so unawares by a friend of his was a blow to the ego that had to be assuaged with violence…. and it was. This… this was the kind of moment that made him glad he took part in all those kickboxing classes… and Karate. And got the shit beaten out of him at home. Yeah, who knew that Dear Old Dad would be good for something?
<p>
He'd have to tell this one to Conor… so the kid knew who the fuck he was dealing with. Then again, it's always nice to surprise someone with a smack to the mouth, and the sorrowful look on Conor's was always hilarious.
<p>
"No there isn't. Nice try though, you fucking hypocrite," he shot back as he laid there on the deck, trying not to roll onto his face like a toddler in need of a soother and his blankie. He seriously wanted to curl up and die. He's pretty sure his nose is broken… Not that Ariel seemed to care, what with wiping blood down his face. Still, he wasn't done and that lovely headbutt seemed to be the perfect way to grant himself some peace. Sure, there was that momentary yell of Ariel's… but then came a thud and though Sully was laughing about the choice of words, at first he didn't realize his friend was out.
<p>
The silence stretching on, though, he turned his head with some difficulty and then frowned. With the way that Ariel'd hit his head, there was a chance HE was concussed as well and his pal dying from THAT wasn't going to happen. He wasn't going to lose him in such a bullshit way, even if the fight started over… whatever it started over. He couldn't remember, though he's sure it didn't matter.
<p>
Reaching over, he poked Ariel on the sternum, finger digging in a moment or two, just deep enough to get a reaction. "Ariel… HEY Fucknuts, wake up," he said low and then started to repeatedly poke his friend with some force, knowing it works because he'd used it on Conor when he wouldn't wake up for school.
<p>
Father of the year, right here.


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ARIEL BROWN - February 10, 2012 03:26 PM (GMT)
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Ariel was passed out. It might be from the pain or it might be from the wound or maybe both. There was a high likelihood of it being both. He wasn’t in a condition to speculate why; he was passed out. Normally when Ariel was passed out it was because of alcohol. Or because he was exhausted after a long day. Like everybody else, he associated passing out with trivial, controllable actions that unfortunately lead to exhaustion and therefore required rest. He had passed out from trauma to the head before, but it wasn’t something he had gotten used to. It wasn’t something you could get used to. Hopefully. Or else he’d need multiple fights in his immediate future to harden himself. And he wasn’t eager to jump into any more battles at the moment.
<p>
Being as he was passed out.
<p>
It truly was odd that in the midst of that throbbing head and lying on the increasingly cold deck – outside of the parts warmed by his blood – whilst roaming around in oblivion, he still felt a jab against his chest. It was a fucking ridiculously effective jab, and perhaps he would at some point have to thank Sully for resisting the temptation to spread salt in his cut or pour whiskey down the opening. This jab got enough attention, but rather than bolting upright as he probably would have in normal form, Ariel’s eyes still took a moment or two to flutter open. The right was a tough one, the blood having oozed down and attempted to seal it shut. A slow wipe of the fingers removed that hindrance, and he soon blinked at the red-headed man above him.
<p>
With slow movements, almost like a drunk wanting effectivity but failing, he lifted a hand and slowly waved it around to stop more pokes. “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” he managed, almost a whisper. Coughing, he tried again. “Hey, hey.” He should maybe add something to that. Now he just sounded like an attention-craving whore. “I know you’re having a hard time keeping your hands off me but.. Seriously, stop.” At the end of a sentence that could end with humour, he gave up and landed on simply requesting an end. There was no pleading but a sincerity indicating he wanted no further fighting.
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Sullivan Finch - February 11, 2012 08:39 AM (GMT)
[dohtml]<center><div style="text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt; line-height: 1.2em; width: 400px; face=optima;">This wasn’t good. Sullivan wasn’t a doctor, but he’d had enough head injuries from fights as a younger man, many enough to know that Ariel being unconscious wasn’t a good thing. Of course Sullivan wasn’t going to give up the chance to preen, but if he killed his closest pal through some twist of fate, no one would consider it a win and would instead consider him some kind of killer-asshole. Not that he wouldn’t work that shit to the ends of the earth and revel in the intimidation factor, but when it came right down to it… he didn’t want Ariel to die. If he did, the only person he’d have to hang out with who didn’t make him want to shoot himself in the face would be Lucy and yeah… that wasn’t a good sign.
<p>
Instead of lying there, enjoying the spoils of battle, as it were… he actually decided to do his duty and worked at waking the other man up. Yes, the raising his voice thing, that didn’t work, but he was sure a bit more physical violence wouldn’t go amiss. He was always a fan of poking and prodding at people until they bashed him in the face right back, but in the end, he didn’t want that. No, this was a mercy missing… and perhaps slightly pity-produced. Not that he wanted the other guy to know that he felt sorry for him in that moment… though he did. Ariel looked like shit with blood running down the side of his face, and pooling beneath his head. The blood from Sullivan’s nose was starting to clot, though he was sure he’d have a bitch of a headache the next day. He could SWEAR that Ariel’s head’s made from concrete.
<p>
So… cue finger-pokes and prodding. He wasn’t going to let the guy take a dirt-nap. Or water-nap, as the case may be.
<p>
“Hey yourself…” he muttered back the second that he noticed Ariel’s once more in the land of the living. He leaned up onto one shoulder and then edged over his friend to look at him, keeping himself raised up by an elbow and his hip, just balancing himself far better than he thought he would. It’s that, or falling atop him and he didn’t think they would ever be able to live that down. “Stop trying to sexually harass me and sit up before you pass out again,” he said low and just moved to sit up with a groan of his own, voice sounding gruffer than normal. Yeah, he thinks his ass-bone is bruised for how Ariel pushed him over. “Truce. So… maybe I should bring you home for the little woman to patch up. Or would you rather chance having me as a nurse?” he asked and then smirked.
<p>
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ARIEL BROWN - February 17, 2012 02:01 PM (GMT)
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He wasn’t giving up. He wasn’t saying Sully won. He wasn’t admitting to any of that. What he was doing, was being a fucking upstanding member of the human society by realizing he was grievously hurt and therefore in no further need of a beating. Albeit an egoistical move from the toes to the top of the head, it was the only logical one. Though he had just woken from what felt like a deep, interrupted sleep and couldn’t say he was entirely sure which way was up and whether he was supposed to lie longer or jump to action, Ariel had a feeling – mostly because his head fucking hurt – that he was making a good decision here. Groggily glancing around yielded more reasons to his conclusion. “Is that my blood?” he asked with a frown, and slapped a hand into it, splashing it to the side. He would’ve wanted to go down gentler for just a prod, but he wasn’t coordinating greatly at the moment.
<p>
Sully seemed to be coordinating well, even managing to balance himself in some odd half-laid sit and spew words of comfort. Namely that sitting up was a good idea. “I can’t,” Ariel responded plainly and honestly. No fucking way, with this headache, that was ever going to work. But there was a good point in there somewhere. Getting his bloodied hand underneath his shoulder, he attempted to push. A grunt escaped his lips as he slid and hit the deck again, though this time avoiding to allow his forehead a smash. “Wow.” Pausing for some deep breaths, he eventually managed to clumsily claw his torso to an upright position and leaned back against the railing. “Why didn’t you just throw me over the ship right at the start?” he moaned. That would’ve prevented him from opening his own head. He would’ve cursed and gotten cold and wet and grumpy, but he wouldn’t have had blood streaming down his forehead. Well, it was subsiding now. It wasn’t pulsating. There probably wasn’t enough blood in him to allow more vigorous pumping.
<p>
You couldn’t even nurse a completely healthy dog after a long sleep. It would probably jump ship to take its chances with the sharks.” He wasn’t in the mood for more bickering. He couldn’t stop himself either. It was a curse. “Shut up and hand me a bottle.” It was a demand, emphasized by an outstretched hand, opened to allow the comfortable fit of whiskey. “And screw the fucking glasses this time.
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Sullivan Finch - February 17, 2012 09:52 PM (GMT)
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Thank fuck that Ariel suddenly decided he didn't want to fight any longer because, the longer that Sully's opponent stayed down, the lower his interest level dropped in actually beating him into a bloody pulp. There wasn't anything fun about actually beating down a man who was already half out of it, and because Sullivan wanted the challenge that Ariel offered before he became a human-shaped lump on his deck, he went with it. Now? Not so much. And add to the fact that the other guy was bleeding worse than he ever saw anyone bleed from the forehead and, maybe he was kind of feeling sorry for the guy. After all, he did hit his head pretty hard.
<p>
"Yeah, that's your blood. Stop playing with it. Damn, you're like some fucking child," he muttered and slapped Ariel's hand away from the blood, only to notice that his friend's blood had pooled just around his own side. Talk about blood brothers, he didn't think that was going to help him keep that tenuous link on his control.
<p>
But he did it. He wasn't going to slap Ariel. Not again.
<p>
But knowing Ariel was tottering there on his back, unable to sit up just made Sully glance over and then slowly grin, unable to stop himself for the first chuckle that curled out of him. Yes, he may have done this to the guy, but he wasn't going to watch him spiral down into a coma. No, which was why he slowly slipped a hand underneath Ariel's back and helped push him up a little once the other guy started to move. "If I'd thrown you over at the start, you wouldn't have had the chance to give me that great punch to the kidneys. I'm sure I'll be pissing blood for a week. Thanks pal," he offered with a smirk before leaning back against the rail as well, his hand curling around the bottle he'd been clinging to for the last few minutes. Yes, he wasn't about to admit that he was using it instead of a teddy bear… nope.
<p>
"Fuck you. You're just jealous that I didn't pass out," he said and then just offered the bottle to Ariel, his lips turning up at the corners. This was what friendship was about: able to beat the everlasting shit out of one another and still end the day as friends. After all, who else would take a punch like Ariel and still live to tell the tale? Settlign the bottle into his hand, Sully merely smirked. "Drink it slow and no fucking backwash. That's the okay stuff, the really good Johnnie Walker's for later if you stay awake."


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ARIEL BROWN - February 22, 2012 06:03 PM (GMT)
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He vaguely recalled hearing or reading somewhere that consuming alcohol after a head injury – or merely a blow to the head, really, it apparently didn’t have to open like his – was a really bad idea. Right now he couldn’t remember why. Maybe it would impair his judgement. A judgement that was already permanently impaired depending who was asked. There was no reason why his judgement being impaired would be detrimental to his health at present. His health was already in the drain and well beyond. His head was bleeding. There really wasn’t many other wounds that screamed ‘danger’ as much as that one. But he was talking. He was sitting up, with the aid of Sully. And he was requesting some goddamn alcohol. “It’s probably just the skin peeling off,” he commented, more to himself.
<p>
‘Probably just the skin peeling off’. When that sentence was an attempt at reassurance, something was wrong.
<p>
But the owner of the boat he was befuddling with his bodily liquid was not objecting to granting him his wish. His demand, more like it. Feeling the weight of the bottle in his hand, Ariel exhaled in relief and unscrewed the cork, putting it to his lips and gulping down greedily. It was bitter and horrible and he coughed as he removed it but so needed. Perhaps now he could avoid feeling the rest of his body hurting. He had received other hits, had he not? “You hit –” Another sip. “ – hard. Yeah.” Passing the whiskey back, he heaved a deep sigh and closed his eyes. “You’ve got Walker’s? Fucking shit. Remember to kick me again if I pass out.” A joke. It was a joke. “Don’t though.
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Sullivan Finch - February 23, 2012 04:11 AM (GMT)
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Really, Sully wished that he felt worse about what he just put Ariel through… but he didn't. Couldn't. That part was easily discernible as he sat there, propped up against the wall and had that shit-eating grin on his face, just proud as FUCK that he beat the living hell out of Ariel. Sure, they were covered in blood and sweat and probably a little pee, but in the end, weren't all the best fights like that? He figured that someday, they'd laugh about this.
<p>
Well, for Sully, that time is now. "Yeah, could be your face coming off your skull. Drink that," he ordered as he pointed towards the bottle that was in Ariel's hand, his eyes following the movement of his friend's hand just until he lifted it to his mouth and leaning his head back against the pure-white side of the boat, his eyes closing a little as he slowly began to chuckle. Yeah, surviving things, there's all sorts of reactions. That's Sully's.
<p>
"Yeah, I hit hard," he said as he slowly began to calm down, but then turned his head to look at the other man beside him, then took up the bottle with a smartassed twist of the lips. "I had to. You weren't gonna stop hitting me otherwise. That thing you did, rushing me backwards out of the chair? That was fucking inspired," he said almost under his breath. He was about to go on when the advice to hit him…. and then the urge to actually NOT hit him hit home… and he just chuckled again, this time in very real amusement. "Not going to even try because I think you'd die on me. Fucking stay awake," he ground out after a moment, forcing himself not to laugh. "I don't want to be the one to tell Echo that you died defending her honour, or some shit. She'd blame me."
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ARIEL BROWN - February 24, 2012 09:05 AM (GMT)
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The notion that Sully would poke him if he was to fall asleep now or go back into blackness was enough to prevent it from happening. At least not immediately. Ariel didn’t have the need to once more heat a larger portion of the deck with his splayed body, but if he had, that need would be discarded in an instant at the threat of a physical response. He couldn’t take any more. A small prod even might nudge him over the edge. Not the edge of death, but he could definitely empty himself all over this boat. He felt queasy and horrible. He felt bloodied and disgusting. And he didn’t fucking care, as long as he got to dull his various pains with the only anaesthetic needed in these dark times: alcohol.
<p>
He vaguely noticed his companion was talking about their fight. Once Ariel regained some sense and brain and recollection, he’d join. “What can I say, I’m an inspirational fellow.” Maybe also a fellow now regretting inspiring himself for that fall in the first place. “You didn’t do this though,” he suddenly realized, pointing to his head. “I did that. Your slippery fucking deck did that.” A deck more slippery now, with the added coating of blood. Rather than focusing on it, Ariel couldn’t help a smile grazing his face as Sully mentioned Echo. “I don’t think she needs another reason to blame you for the horrors of the world.” That grin was ridiculous.
<p>
And short-lived, as he eyed the price. “Don’t get greedy,” he muttered, grabbing for his salvation and putting it to his lips as if it was fresh water and he had just spent months parched in the desert. This whiskey was definitely not the same watered down substance he had devoured earlier, and it reminded him why he never watered down drinks. Not even with ice-cubes, unless those ice-cubes were made out of whiskey. “We should make ice-cubes out of whiskey.” He glared at the bottle in his hand at this revelation. “That’d be great. We’d be rich Sully.” Wait. “Nah, never mind. Hard to find investors now.” Not to forget money was completely unnecessary. Still… the idea…
<p>
Hey. Can we rob a bank? Please?
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Sullivan Finch - February 25, 2012 01:32 AM (GMT)
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Thankfully it seemed that Sullivan wasn't going to have to use force to keep his pal awake, thank God… because the longer he sat beside Ariel, the more he'd come to understand that thought they did beat the everlasting shit out of one another, he wasn't actually holding onto any of that anger that fuelled each of those hits. And that was something that actually surprised him, because he wasn't the kind of guy to calm down that fast. This must mean something, he thought, and then just shook his head to clear it. When his head hit the deck, it probably rattled something loose…
<p>
Yeah, that'll be fun to explain to people. That he had his ass handed to him by Ariel, but in the end, if two guys fought the way they had, who wouldn't think that they were just two guys, playing around, especially with how they were sharing one of his better bottles of whiskey? That was all he needed to bring a smile to his face, though he did wince at the way his pal's forehead was turning slowly purple. "Yeah, inspiring. That and kind of good at pissing people off…" he said, though his eyes followed Ariel's hand to his forehead with a wince. "You're gonna need to ice that shit, pal. It looks like someone came at you with a potato-peeler." And it did, too… but he wasn't going to think of the state of his boat, because if he did, he was going to have to get up and clean it, but he didn't really want to. Not with his head aching like a bitch. Speaking of… he had to snicker for the mention of Echo. "Yeah, probably not. Stop grinning like a madman or someone will think you're in love or something like that shit… damn."
<p>
Though, let's face it: it was kind of cute.
<p>
He rolled his eyes, though, at the other man, even as he leaned his head back to enjoy the aftermath of the fight, his muscles burning both in a good and in a very bad way. He had to admit, for such a smooth fucker, Ariel really did pack a wallop. The back of his head was still throbbing and because of the knowledge that he would likely have a very bad time waking up tomorrow, felt the urge to drink the rest of the night away. Perhaps it was these thoughts that allowed him to tune out Ariel's voice, though he did catch the question about robbing a bank. Turning his head to look at him, he stopped and then let his face split into an indulgent grin. "Sure, we can rob a bank… though I don't think the cops will come looking for us. Kinda takes the fun out of it…"


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ARIEL BROWN - February 26, 2012 03:03 PM (GMT)
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He hadn’t had the opportunity to survey the damage. So Sully telling him he looked as if a potato peeler had been scrubbed against his forehead naturally made him want a peek. “Are you kidding?” he moaned, eyes rolling upwards to attempt a glimpse. At least there was no huge flab of skin hanging over his eyes. It was the blood that made it hard to see. As well as the angle. “Do you have a mirror?” Long live vanity. If this was really bad, there wouldn’t be any plastic surgeon nearby he trusted enough to patch him up. It wasn’t even as much about trust as it was about the lack of sterilized equipment. “Not a mirror requiring I get up. I just managed to sit up. I’ll need a little longer before I engage my body in any other activity than drinking this.” Maybe he didn’t need stitches. Maybe he just needed to clean it. Maybe he didn’t even need to clean it. He’d hit metal after all, not the tongue of a dog in heat.
<p>
This all halted him from reacting too harshly to Sully hinting he was in love. In love? Surely not? Maybe? No. Well, yes. It was a possibility. He wasn’t ruling it out. Ariel was not opposed to love, and when it had occurred in his past he had embraced it, as was only right. Echo made him comfortable. It could be pointed out he navigated the world with a perpetual feeling of comfort, but this was a heightened form. And as evident by her behaviour around him, she felt the complete opposite of comfortable. And perhaps that was how it should be. A clear indication. “Oh shut it Sully,” he eventually replied, grin still on.
<p>
Partially because his idea was brilliant. Him and Sully, gun-toting, fierce bank robbers! Had the banks already been robbed? Probably. Maybe not lately, after everybody understood the gravity of the situation, but the chances of them being emptied prior to that were high. Even in a functional society humans had urges to rob whatever wasn’t bolted to the floor. Now with havoc having ensued, what had been bolted to the floor was no longer bolted to the floor. “The fuck needs cops? There’re dead guys... dead guys shuffling around.” He lifted his arms up in the classical zombie-impression and crossed his eyes, tongue lolling out as part of a grimace. A grimace that soon turned to one of pain as he strained too many muscles in his aching face. “Not to sound like the pussy I undoubtedly am... But this fucking hurts like hell.
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Sullivan Finch - February 27, 2012 01:49 AM (GMT)
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"Nope, wish I was kidding. You look like hell on a Tuesday," he said with a grin and then made a little face as his eyes slid from Ariel's to the other man's forehead, his lips twisting in some disgust as he noted the crust of blood just starting to form a scab over one of the other man's eyes. He'd seen wounds of many kinds, both self-inflicted and not, and this one was a doozy. "There's a mirror in the bathroom downstairs, but I really think you're right about the moving thing. Let's just.. you know, enjoy the whole not-falling-over thing we've got going right now." And honestly, if he had to watch Ariel get up and walk, he might be sick over the side of the boat. Not a pretty mental picture. "Besides, it's scabbing up. Just give it a couple hours… or something."
<p>
But let's face it: if there was anything that could get his attention away from the battered state of Ariel's forehead, it was the topic of love. This time, it wasn't Sully who was being pressed… it was the other half of the team known, from this moment on, as Sullivan's punching bag. The guy lived, he could carry the title. He was sure he would have been slapped or snarled at…. or some sarcasm, fine and rich, tossed his way, but that didn't happen. What did come his way, it made him laugh, the sound low and amused. "Only when you admit it… though I think you just kinda did with that stupid fucking smile." And isn't it cute, they're five years old again.
<p>
He thought the idea, though, was going to end with them fighting in the vault of some bank and get accidentally locked in. That would be Sullivan's fucking luck, and with the way things were going, he didn't think Ariel's luck was much to sneeze at either. "Yeah, yeah… shut the fuck up. I'd much rather have those dead guys than a cop or three," he began to say, and he would have gone on, too, but the way that Ariel pretty much looked like he was going to cry had him slapping his pal on the back. "Suck it up… because you know? It can always be worse. You could have a bucket hit you in the fucking head…" And everything comes back to Echo. "Or I could douse your forehead in Jack. Either or."
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ARIEL BROWN - March 12, 2012 12:53 PM (GMT)
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I feel like hell too,” he muttered in response to Sully’s comment. It was subsiding now, but that was likely the result of the amount of strong beverage he had inhaled since sitting upright. If he wasn’t careful, he’d empty a few bottles all on his own, and acquire a completely different problem. Alcoholic poisoning was not something he was aiming for. It never was really, still he had fallen victim to it six times in his life. Not yet post-apocalypse, which wasn’t a scenario he was eager to visit. “I’m not gonna get up to go to some mirror. Too much effort.” If he kept drinking like this, however, he would soon have to get up to relieve himself. Ariel doubted the owner of the boat would take kindly to him mixing both blood and urine on the deck. Best avoid that. Another hit to the head would be... oh, it would be bad.
<p>
Taking a glance in a mirror be bad too. And not help. It would probably spur on a mild panic. Actually, at this point in his blood/alcohol-ratio, panic was hard to instil. Panic was just a dull thought at the back of his aching forehead. A thought he should definitely pay more attention to. It would be healthy to fear what had happened here and therefore do something about it. But what was there to do? There was no doctor around he could run to. No, like Sully said, he would let it scab up and heal the good-old-fashioned way. Echo might be helpful if there were any dirt accumulated there, but contemplating letting anybody near the mess to touch and tend to it almost made him hurl. Even if that person was her, who with him had a tender touch. “You’re just jealous, Sullikins.” Winking and wincing, he added, “Have you got your eyes on anybody except the memory of your lovely wife and your son’s girlfriend? Both of those make you sound unhealthy, by the way.
<p>
Robbing banks could too be considered unhealthy, albeit in a much more satisfactory way. It would be easier without cops, and they’d still get the kick of shooting somebody, what with the dead walking and all. But not even the prospect of bank-robbery could remove the heightened throbbing occurring as he received a sympathetic but overly manly pat on the back. It felt like Sully had slapped his head, the way his brain seemed to roam around on the inside. Lifting a finger at the mention of the bucket-incident, he squinted. “You’ve had a bucket to the head coming for a while. Don’t shoot the messenger.” And don’t pour whiskey on him. “I prefer my alcohol in my mouth and down my throat, thank you. I could probably absorb it through the wound straight into my bloodstream though.
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Sullivan Finch - March 12, 2012 08:32 PM (GMT)
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"Well, you would. The way I see it, you'll feel like hell tomorrow too… and the rest of next week," Sully told Ariel honestly, knowing from personal experience than an injury like the one that Ariel had on his head, that was going to be a sidelining thing, at least until he felt somewhat human again. Then again, Sully was the type to keep going even when he knew he should have stopped, and so he wasn't exactly the best person to ask… even as he lay there, leaning back against the wall of the wheelhouse. "Fuck the mirror then… take it from me, it might be a good thing that you can't see it," he said and let his eyes slide upwards towards Ariel's scalp. Yep, it's not pretty. "It's gonna leave a mark, but chicks dig scars, right? Right." And with that, he tilted the bottle back and took a healthy swig, enjoying the burn as it went down his throat.
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Honestly, Sullivan wouldn't steer Ariel wrong… not when the guy took the pounding that he gave and still had his sense of humour intact. That was enough to make Sullivan actually respect him a little, because he hated sore losers. Then again, Sullivan wasn't sure either of them really won… it was more a quick sort of rumble and then they were hashing out plans. TIT wasn't like Sully couldn't hold a grudge, but when the guy was the smooth motherfucker beside him, he just couldn't' do it. Then again, he did have to mention being jealous, which caused a roll of the eyes that made him wince. "Am not, Arielle…" he said, lisping the name a little before grinning that maniacal grin. "Yeah, you can leave my wife and Dora out of this… that was temporary insanity." He paused, narrowed his eyes on his pal and then shrugged. What would it hurt? "Yeah, met this woman named Lucy… Not sure what'll happen there, but… I think I could enjoy that for a while." Ohh men, how they can talk such shit. "Besides, it's not unhealthy to hate one's wife… it's the way of the world."
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Still, there was something about robbing a bank that had Sullivan pondering more than just land-robbery. "What about piracy?" he said suddenly, knowing that there was something almost freeing about the idea. No one else was doing a goddamned thing about all those boats, and he was sure there were riches aplenty… alcohol-wise, to raid. They'd have to deal with that later. First, he had to shoot a rather evil glare at his friend. "I didn't deserve a fucking bucket to the head, no matter what you say. That shit hurt," he said and then frowned. Yeah, he wouldn't shoot the messenger. "But fine, no pouring whiskey on you… knowing you, you'd like it too much, that burn."
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