A/N: Aloha everybody! This story is a take on the Seven Deadly Sins. I'll give each 'Sin' a corresponding castaway and his/her own chapter. JWood201 and I thought it would be funny (hopefully!) if the Sins weren't all that deadly- just normal stuff that they do anyway. Well, normal for them. :)

All characters property of the amazing Mr. Sherwood Schwartz!

Wrath

"Gilligan! Watch what you're..."

"Gilligan! Why don't you..."

"Gilligan! Will you stop making that..."

"Gilligan! Can't you be more..."

It's a normal day at the huts. Gilligan is meant to be helping Skipper repair some minor damage to the roof of the Howells' hut. A storm blew over the island in the night, whipping the trees into a frenzy and howling round the campsite like a vengeful banshee. There was always a lot of repairing to do the day after a storm. A lot of repairing, and some conspicuously absent castaways.

Gilligan climbs up and down the ladder. This is a relatively simple action that most people manage with a fair amount of ease. Gilligan turns it into an assault course. He hits the Skipper in the face with an armload of palm leaves. He turns around and does it again, only he hits the back of the Skipper's head, knocking off his captain's hat. A captain's hat is a symbol of authority, but Gilligan adds insult to injury by knocking it off onto the sand and stepping on it. The Skipper bends to retrieve it and Gilligan swings round and hits him on the butt with the end of a bamboo pole. The Skipper goes down, landing on top of his hat and crushing it completely.

All the while, Gilligan is talking. Not talking rationally, mind you. Not discussing the weather or the damage caused by the wind and rain. Not making casual, dryly amusing observations about the Howells' disappearing acts whenever the smallest amount of work was required. Not asking reasonable questions to which the Skipper might supply a reasonable answer. No, Gilligan is shooting off his mouth as though words were bullets and he was on a firing range trying to hit a target a long way away. His chatter goes off in all directions, ricocheting from one topic to another without pausing for breath. Skinny Mulligan this, Billy McGuire that. Cousin Rudolph. Herman, his pet turtle. Some kid called Fatso who was sick all over the place after going on a fairground ride after eating a foot long corndog. Some kid in his class who got a marble stuck some place "you don't even want to know," because of some game of Dare they were playing on some day in July during some summer holiday waiting for the Beach Bus to take them to some beach where some kid would get spanked by his Ma for shouting rude things at some girl in a swimsuit.

The Skipper tries hard to shut out the noise, but he can't. The Skipper is a tightly coiled spring at the best of times. His physical resemblance to a big, cuddly teddy bear belies a deep insecurity about his weight, his abilities as an able-bodied seaman (especially after the Minnow catastrophe) and his social skills in general. The Skipper is loved by all the castaways, but he'll never really believe it. And the more he tries to ignore the things that bother him, the more they bother him. Gilligan's inane chatter is one of those things.

It's not that Gilligan has an annoying voice, per se. It's just that he won't shut up. And talking nineteen to the dozen all the time means he's not concentrating on the task at hand. The Skipper likes to see things get done. It's why he made it to Captain in the first place. The Skipper's not afraid of hard work. He just wishes the work would get done. On time. And with minimal fuss.

Gilligan puts down a bucket of tar without telling the Skipper, and the Skipper steps back and puts his foot in it. His foot sinks into the thick, viscous ooze. His sock and shoe and his pants leg are ruined. The bucket clings to his foot like an unwanted admirer. He can't even kick it off. Gilligan says oops.

"'Oops?'" The Skipper can feel his temperature rising.

"Double oops?" says Gilligan.

Despite the Skipper's irritated assertion that he can remove the bucket himself, Gilligan bends down and grabs at the lower half of Skipper's leg, pulling and tugging on the bucket. The Skipper, unbalanced, hops on one foot, pushing at Gilligan's shoulders. Telling him to get off. But Gilligan persists. After all, it was his fault the bucket was there in the first place. Gilligan makes things worse when he tries to help.

After ignoring the Skipper's increasingly panicky protests, Gilligan finally yanks the tar bucket free and hurtles backwards, carried by momentum. He trips over a bamboo pole and the bucket flies up in the air and lands on the hut roof. How do you like that? He grins. That's where I wanted it in the first place.

Gilligan has all the luck. Meanwhile, The Skipper has fallen backwards and is now lying in the sand. Tar and sand is not a good combination. Like tar and feathers. The Skipper wishes he could tar and feather Gilligan.

As the Skipper struggles to his feet, Gilligan picks up the bamboo pole and swings around and hits him in the stomach. Then he swings around again and hits him in the back. There is never a moment's respite. Gilligan is a sweet kid, but a one man disaster area. It's a good thing the insurance company had never known the extent of Gilligan's clumsiness or the premiums would have gone through the roof. Even Mr. Howell would have balked at the amount the Skipper would have had to pay just for having Gilligan step aboard the Minnow while it was still safely moored in the marina.

Gilligan climbs the ladder one-handed with the bamboo pole slung over his shoulder. As he reaches the top, the end of the bamboo pole hits the tar bucket and knocks it off the roof. The Skipper, standing below the ladder, looks up just as the bucket comes down. The bucket lands on his head. Upside down, of course. Covering the Skipper's top half with tar.

"Oops," Gilligan says again, looking down.

"OOPS?" The Skipper shouts through a face full of tar.

"Double oops? Triple oops? Oops with bananas and whipped cream on top?"

The Skipper has had it up to here. Tar oozes down his neck and into his collar. Gilligan descends the ladder.

"You know, Skipper, you really shouldn't stand under a ladder. Things could fall on top of you," he says, helpfully.

"Gilligaaaannn..."

The Skipper reaches up to grab his hat, but the hat is stuck fast to his head with tar. This makes him even more mad. He splutters and grumbles, tugging at the hat. Gilligan giggles, then apologises. Then giggles again. Finally the first mate removes his own hat and hits himself over the head with it.

"There, Skipper. I did it for you." He gives the Skipper a goofy but utterly charming smile.

The Skipper's wrath is fleeting, as it always is. He blows up much like the storms that rip the palm leaves off the roofs. A lot of noise and bluster, but then it's over. He smiles through a layer of tar.

"Thanks, little buddy," he says. His tone is ironic, but of course it goes over Gilligan's head.

"No problem, Skipper," his friend replies, grinning.