"Hey, look man, I get it-" Butch DeLoria opened his mouth, wiping his too-clean of fingers across the patchy stubble of his chin. The cologne he slathered on earlier reeked a hint too strong- enough so it made Charon tilt just a fraction to the side. "-living out here, it's tough."
Here the ghoul raised a brow muscle, half-turning his head to peer down at this arrogant little smoothskin his employer instructed not to maim.
Butch flicked a pebble off the side of the railing, watching it hit the waters below. He continued in his speech…to what end, Charon did not know. Or care, really. He came topside of the sunken carrier for some peace and quiet…both which alluded him, at the moment.
Charon, I know Butch can be…a lot, sometimes. But you cannot hurt him, okay?! Just think happy thoughts! …you do have those, right?
A thick, rugged index finger began to tap against the side of his bicep. It was paired with a disgruntled exhale through cavernous nostrils, a flex of his muscular arms; Charon's go-to stance for leave me the fuck alone.
Butch plainly ignored all the signs- they were far too subtle for someone with his lack of perception.
"-so yeah, I could maybe do you up with a close shave, or-"
Now Charon's attention fully snapped to this gibbering annoyance.
"-too, too much?" Butch hesitated at the ghoul's sudden fixation on his words. He was always speaking to the ghoul casually when he happened to swing by the city; he figured he owed it to his childhood friend to at least be amicable to the only ghoul allowed on the deck. Everyone else made it verbally clear what their thoughts were of that.
"Are-" For the first time since the kid had been around the behemoth of a bodyguard, he had never heard him speak. (He assumed he didn't know how to talk, with being a ghoul, and all.) So when Charon opened his mouth, and plainly addressed him, it startled Butch enough to draw back slightly. "-you suggesting on giving me a haircut?"
Butch's mouth gaped opened and closed for a few moments; Charon's glowing eyes were still observing him critically, as though he was witnessing the most pathetic display of existence he had ever seen in his life.
"Uh, well, I mean- yeah?"
The sound of gravel being crushed belted out, and it took some seconds until DeLoria realized the ghoul was laughing at him.
Despite the fact the ghoul was nearly seven feet tall, could crush a man's skull with his bare hands (one drunken riot in The Muddy Rudder laid spectators to that gruesome scene), always carried a well-equipped array of weapons on his person, and could probably kill you with a mean glare alone, Butch felt his blood pound hotly beneath his skin at the ghoul's bold smear on his profession. Butch DeLoria was a goddamn Tunnel Snake (rule!), and no one mocked his passion for hair! Not even those with barely enough of it left!
"Hey man, you think I'm some sort of joke?!" The kid backed up a few paces, his hands curling into fists.
This only gave reason for Charon to laugh even harder, the ghoul merely waved a hand down at the smoothskin baring his teeth at him.
"I'll give you something to laugh at!" There was a flick of a switchblade, but it was nabbed before having a chance to grow warm in his palm. DeLoria forgot his earlier threat, reaching up for his prized 'Butch's Toothpick' by the tips of his toes. "H-hey man! Give it back!"
The blade was tossed over the edge of the railing, careening down to make a tiny splash below.
"Are you fucking serious right now?!" DeLoria barked, leaning over the edge. His knuckles grew white from the strain he held onto the bars with; his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and babyish incredulity. "I was only trying to help you out! You know, get a date with a lady ghoul, or whatever, you fucking punk!"
Charon bent his torso to lean over the edge and gave a shrug of his massive shoulders. "You can still recover it."
"And leave the ship?!" Butch squeaked.
"It is as you said," Charon stated flatly, his eyes swimming with amusement. "It is tough, out here."
"You know what, fuck you-!"
There was a sound of a hatch spinning open, and the Lone Wanderer striding through. He paused, hand still on the doorframe as he happened to glance up to his contracted companion holding his only tie to his childhood…by the nape of the collar, over the side of the railing.
"Charon!"
The ghoul half-turned, his face completely stoic. DeLoria was gripping the ghoul desperately by the forearm, his hand didn't even encompass around; Charon was just huge.
"G-get your fucking guy under control, man!" DeLoria wriggled, eyes wide as dinner plates and voice nervous to high hell.
The Lone held up his hands, walking forward slowly as though soothing a feral animal. "Charon, drop him."
The ghoul raised a brow muscle. "Is that an order?"
Lone licked his lips, meeting the eyes of his friend. "Y-yeah, that's an order."
Charon's grip tightened for just a split second, a twitch of a smirk at his mouth. "Very well."
The utter shriek that left Butch's mouth made all nearby bystanders turn their heads to follow his journey down. A loud splash, a whirlpool of bubbles, and an emergence of a soaked Tunnel Snake from beneath the murky surface.
"You goddamn asshole!" he cried, splashing around like a bilge rat as he paddled to the shoreline.
Charon snorted, turning to catch the disappointed stare of his employer.
"You know what I meant, man." The Wanderer shook his head, sighing loudly and setting his hands on his hips.
Charon crossed his arms, leaning against the railing to listen to the pitiful mewls wafting from below. "I was following your orders."
"Ya know what?! Good luck finding a barber taking on that head of hair! You fucking-!"
Another sigh, this one tired. "…wanna go get a beer?"