goodguygrifter (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
goodguygrifter) wrote2016-08-10 06:13 pm
goodguygrifter) wrote2016-08-10 06:13 pm
Entry tags:
stanbill drama for sixfingerednerd
So this little bastard's in front of him, okay, a kraken or some shit, and she's having a little tantrum, tentacles waving everywhere, that's fine. That would all be fine, if she wasn't waving them at his ship. His ship. One of those tentacles slaps between him and Ford and he hits the deck, rolls and looks over at Ford, wide-eyed. And that's it, alright? No one would disagree, right, there's nothin' wrong with trying to take a little control back, not for his brother, on his ship. His wide eyes narrow, and he gets to his feet.
"Aww, did we wake the widdle baby from her nap?" He stands there, feet set wide, arms on his hips, and his voice carries somehow, all the way from his mouth to that big slimy face, all high up. "Look, how old are you, not even a thousand? I know that first millenium's rough, kid, but life's gonna' go a whole lot easier for you if you learn to recognize the big leagues when you see 'em."
The kraken shrieks and flails, trying to smash the boat again. This time, the tentacle heads for exactly the place he last saw Ford.
She's not just trying to break his boat, he realizes. She's trying to break Ford, and Stanley feels something shift in him, his face is a scowl and he reaches out and his fist, closed over nothing, tightens. The kraken shrieks again and this time she ain't angry, and Stan's scowl turns into something with too many teeth in it.
"Warned you, didn't I," he asks, cheerful now that things are kinda' going his way. "Look, I'll make you a deal! Come back in another thousand years, try that again, maybe I'll even give you a free swing! But for now it's time to stop that little tantrum, okay?"
"Hey, Stanford!" He calls it over his shoulder, not turning his head to look. "You wanted to give this kid a little interview, right? Do a little of that research you like so much? Well, go ahead and ask all the questions you want, 'cause I think we got ourselves our first captive audience!"
"Aww, did we wake the widdle baby from her nap?" He stands there, feet set wide, arms on his hips, and his voice carries somehow, all the way from his mouth to that big slimy face, all high up. "Look, how old are you, not even a thousand? I know that first millenium's rough, kid, but life's gonna' go a whole lot easier for you if you learn to recognize the big leagues when you see 'em."
The kraken shrieks and flails, trying to smash the boat again. This time, the tentacle heads for exactly the place he last saw Ford.
She's not just trying to break his boat, he realizes. She's trying to break Ford, and Stanley feels something shift in him, his face is a scowl and he reaches out and his fist, closed over nothing, tightens. The kraken shrieks again and this time she ain't angry, and Stan's scowl turns into something with too many teeth in it.
"Warned you, didn't I," he asks, cheerful now that things are kinda' going his way. "Look, I'll make you a deal! Come back in another thousand years, try that again, maybe I'll even give you a free swing! But for now it's time to stop that little tantrum, okay?"
"Hey, Stanford!" He calls it over his shoulder, not turning his head to look. "You wanted to give this kid a little interview, right? Do a little of that research you like so much? Well, go ahead and ask all the questions you want, 'cause I think we got ourselves our first captive audience!"
no subject
Had it been any other time, Ford would have meant that as a compliment. He would have spoken those words with fondness and amusement instead of snapping like an intimidated dog masking its fear with aggression. He might have sounded a little proud, even, proud of his morally-dubious yet undeniably talented brother who could probably break into Fort Knox with nothing but a pair of bolt cutters and a mouthful of liquid courage.
God, what Ford wouldn't give for a drink himself right about now.
Shaking his head, Ford roughs a hand through his hair and tries to banish that thought from his mind before it can take root. He's not a young thirty-something anymore; he can't afford to keep putting his liver through the wringer, and if he falls off the wagon again God only knows when he'll be able to climb back on it.
"...I'm going to check the charter." He says belatedly, his hand resting heavy on the handle of the cabin door. "If we don't get back on course, we won't make it to the next port until midnight."
It's a horrible excuse. The scrape with the Kraken didn't last long enough to cause any significant delay, and Stan knows it. Ford knows he knows it, but maybe if he gets real damn lucky his brother will take the obvious hint for what it is and just let it go.
Yeah. Ford doesn't need to be a genius to know the probability of that happening is abysmal.
no subject
But with Stan, surprise don't stick around too long. It usually moves out pretty quick to make room for something else.
"Oh come on," he says, not thinking about the blue hand-shaped rope of force he stretches out in front of him toward the handle under Ford's hand, wanting to flick the lock closed. "You're gonna' feed me a story like that? Look, I did everything right with that kraken thing, better than right, so you can't be that ticked off with me."