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[bitcher]

You've reached the voicemail of: Tobias Beecher.

Please leave your message after the tone.

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[liprings]

[ The demand just amuses him — until he glances down, as pointed out, at the blood dropping to the floor. Then his eyes go wide, apologetic. ]

Oh, shit, my bad! I didn't mean to get it on your floor.

[ He pulls his shirt up to a tattooed (and now bloody) stomach, swabs his fingers around in it, and turns to begin fingerpainting it on the wall. F - U - C — ]

I meant to get it on your wall.

[bitcher]

[which is about when Beecher goes ker-snap and rushes him, because we all know how well that worked last time. He at least has a clearer goal this go-around, which is to knock away Jan's painting hand (or at least the arm attached to it)]

Stop that, you sick shit!

[liprings]

[ Jan laughs, but lets his hand be batted away. Of course, on the rebound of it, he makes to grab for Beecher's jaw, instead. The goal here is definitely kissyface, cheeks squeezed in and lips forced to pucker out. He's sure a blood-smeared kissyface will look great on him. ]

You knock off stabbing me and I'll leave my masterpiece on your wall unfinished, how's that?

[bitcher]

[it has to look ridiculous, the utter, lit and shining rage in Beecher's eyes contrasted against his sudden, unwanted fish face. He remembers the last time he let someone push him around like this, treat him like a bitch. The very last time.

He tries to twist his head back enough to speak normally, biting out his words.] Fine. But you touch me like that again and next time I'm stabbing your cock.

[liprings]

Uh huh. [ He shoves Beecher's face back (a little less hard than he'd shoved on his hand and chest, you're welcome), and pulls his shirt back down again, wiping blood off his hand on the fabric. ]

You stab my cock, and I rip out your goddamn throat with my teeth, how's that?

[ An empty threat — there's a hex on him stopping things like that. Not that he'll ever be saying it! ]

[bitcher]

Peachy. [he wipes at his face once, feeling the sticky smear of blood.] Sounds like a deal.

...Now remind me what the fuck you're even here for? To drag me to the Bahamas?

[liprings]

Or whatever, yeah. I told 'em to surprise me.

[ He starts out the door, but pauses to make sure he's being followed. And he'd better be, he has all sorts of more annoying tricks up his sleeve if not. ]

Maybe we'll be real lucky and get Disneyland.

[bitcher]

Screw you. I still haven't agreed to shit. [stubbornly standing his ground, the lawyer in him coming out.]

I'm going to need way more information before I even pretend to think about this.