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silence is golden


The sarcasm was not missed, and instead taken with a certain amount of amusement. Chance glanced down at his drawing again, analyzing it absentmindedly while he listened to Ripley.

The tip of his pencil broke; he'd pressed down too hard unintentionally, trying extremely hard to conceal the snort of laughter that had threatened to overtake him because Ripley's suggestions were both blunt and terribly amusing, considering what had happened between Chance and Finn already. As it was, Chance let out a soft hum of laughter, shaking his head, as inside of his thoughts Asher was letting out peals of shameless giggles.

"Damn, you're desperate, aren't you?" he said, turning his head to grin at Ripley, but the bluntness hadn't fazed him before and it didn't now. "Well, I'm not sure where I'd get drugs, but I'm sure someone here has something, ******** him could be an option, though it wouldn't last eight hours, unless he has a ridiculous amount of stamina, and going off island could be pretty fun, depending on where we would go."

A pause, and then Chance added, just in case it wasn't clear he was being serious, "But yes, if you seriously want me to try and get Finn off of your back for eight hours, I will do my best."

silence is golden


He had a point. Chance glanced around the infirmary with a mildly curious gaze, as though trying to figure out if it was even possible to sneak some medicinal drugs out without being seen (and without getting in a whole heap of trouble in the process). "Okay, but you need yours, though," he said pointedly, giving Ripley a look. "I can't take yours, taking yours would result in more pain."

He ran his fingers through his hair, contemplating. "I do, however, owe you," said Chance, "So yeah, I'll do what I can and I'll keep him occupied. Maybe I'll drug him, take him off island, and screw him," he added in a deadpan voice. "That's a three for one deal, right? I'll even through in a free drinking session."

Chance flashed Ripley a grin, clearly teasing, but his attention was drawn downward to the notebook in his hand. "Oh, yeah," he said lightly, tilting the page up so that the other man could see it better. "You've got the most interesting hair, and you're pretty good looking, both of which make for a good subject matter. I hope it doesn't bother you; if it does, I can draw something else."

Every Ten Minutes

Finn took a seat in the nearby chair, quite clearly unwilling to go anywhere until Ripley ate every last bite of his jello, and drank every last drop of his chicken broth, and...apple juice? It kind of looked like piss, actually, but Finn was going to go ahead and assume that It was apple juice.

It took time, but eventually the other man succeeded, and Finn wasn't sure if he was happy or not, because now, of course, he would have to uphold his end of the bargain and leave, and not come back for another hour.

"Somewhat." He admitted, rising from his seat and glancing towards the nearby monitors, which remained at steady and healthy readings. Face stoic, he gathered up the tray of food. "Enjoy your nap."

He turned to leave, but he would be back, just as promised.

Every Two Minutes

He didn't even say bye. The answer had been satisfying enough, so he just settled back down for an hour's rest, and hoped that Finn would continue to be true to his word.



++++

silence is golden

"...Thanks." He said quietly to the brief compliment on words, resisting the urge to flinch at the touch. It was reassuring, really, but it just hurt. Though the subject of his looks made him somewhat uncomfortable - yet still never reached his expression - he continued to watch Chance, especially as he went to scrutinize his sketch.

"Self-taught? Interesting." He looked away finally, this time towards the punny sketch of himself and Finn, scrutinizing it himself, though he had no technical skill of his own. "I can't even draw a stick figure." He admitted, setting the paper back on his lap with a great deal of care. Chance gave him the option for suggestions, and he pondered his options for a moment, which stretched between No, and whatever makes you happy.

"Do you know who Oliver Keeley is?"

silence is golden

"If you could go back, would you make the same choice?" Switch the pencil for more fighting experience? He could see where the art route was the more rational choice then, but now, under the circumstances, whether or not it was the right choice was still a question. Plus, he was mildly curious; talking about it wouldn't change the past, but it was still an interesting what if to discuss. When Chance admitted to having met Oliver, Ripley gave a small smile.

"Draw him in a dinosaur costume. He'd love it." The kid was always wearing dinosaur-themed t-shirts, so it didn't seem like much of a stretch to him. "Either that or Finn with a snickers." Ah, that lovely old inside joke was the best. He watched the other man sketch in silence, preferring to listen to nothing but the steady beep of monitors and the constant scratch of pencil to paper.

"You know, you're pretty good looking, yourself." He said quietly - and certainly belatedly - to the other man. It didn't seem right to not compliment him back, especially since it was the truth.

silence is golden

"I see." Ripley mused, finding the choice interesting. Somehow it wasn't surprising, but it was still very interesting as a whole. Someone who lived without many regrets, and who would make the same choices, knowing how it would turn out? That seemed rare to him, but rather delightful.

He glanced down at the finished picture of himself, feeling somewhat odd to see his own likeness back at him. Especially since he wasn't a fan of pictures, which only made it feel worse. It was great work, just strange for him, that was all. He was glad to see someone else as the subject though, and he went right back to watching the sketching process, amused at how seemingly random lines turned into something substantial and rather detailed.

"You're thinking of dying it?" His head tilted a little bit, gaze moving along the curls as if imagining it.

silence is golden

"It'd look good on you." It would match his eyes, anyway. At least a little bit. But the excluded colours made him smile a bit, however momentarily sad it might have been.

"Before..." He trailed off, almost uncomfortably, before he rerouted his train of thought. "...I was recruited, we had a fund raiser. The deal was, if we raised a thousand dollars for this sick kid's charity, I'd dye my hair. At two thousand, they could vote for the colour." The thought was as ridiculous now as it was then, and at the time it was a grudging sense of duty that allowed such a childish thing, but now? He'd give almost anything to go back and make good on his promise.

But, alas, to them he was dead, buried, and likely long forgotten.

"They raised three. They chose pink. It was almost unanimous." Guess the community really wanted to see him in pink hair. The memory was a nice one, though it was still quite sad to him. "Never got around to it, though." The fire happened. His dark spiral happened. Deus happened.