confidenceman | okay, who's the head honcho here?

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okay, who's the head honcho here?

"Stupid— piece of crap—"

Not a morning person on the best of days, when Sawyer woke up to some unknown weight blocking his door, he again began to consider the potential merits of packing it all up and moving into the Compound. However depressing the building was, it at least offered reliable air conditioning, and the bolts of the doors weren't the type to expand in the rain or creak from too much rust. His door jammed, and frequently, the hut initially chosen because Sawyer was too damn impatient to wait for the Building Crew to give him a new place all his own, and later on, too damn lazy to pack up his stuff to move from one spot to another. But there was something different about the resistance the door put up today. Shoving his shoulder against the wood almost made it... bounce.

Strange.

Briefly considering rounding the hut to climb out the window, Sawyer gave his door one last, lengthy shove, until he felt something skidding against dirt, slipping through the cracked opening, only to stumble, his hands grabbing onto something that felt distinctly familiar. Almost like heavy-duty shrink wrap. The sound of ruffling papers fluttered in the distance, and pages upon pages spilled out over the dirt in any number of brilliant colors, with cars, trucks, and SUVs on each cover.

But, aside from a moment's confusion as to why it looked like every issue of Car and Driver magazine had appeared on his doorstop, what drew Sawyer's attention the most was a heavy pallet of toilet paper blocking entrance to his home. Toilet paper.

Charmin's, looked like.

"The hell?"

[ Yes, that's right. All of Car and Driver magazine has turned up on Sawyer's doorstep. As well as a year's supply of Charmin's best toilet paper. This post is dated January 25th, but will be linked to the main comm in February. ST/LT welcome, no limit on tags, open to all. ]

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"Someone or somethin'," Sean amends, stepping to examine the stack of magazines and still smirking faintly. "S'pose it's useful enae, at least, if'n a tad more unwieldy'n a good gift ought t'be. Need a hand?"

"Yeah, yeah, we've all heard the sentient island theories, but s'far as I'm concerned," Sawyer goes on, waving his hand vaguely through the air and thinking of dark, billowing smoke and howls in the distance, "you know how to think like a person, I'm gonna call you a someone and not a thing. Doin' otherwise might just piss the island gods off even more."

He thinks of Jacob, and of how much people are willing to sacrifice or do in the name of someone who's never appeared in front of them, someone who has only strange weather patterns serving as a show of power.

Crossing his arms, he surveys the pile. "Give you a few dozen rolls if you want 'em, and if you help me carry it all inside. It'd be a nightmare if the rain got to it."

Sean merely quirks an eyebrow at Sawyer's assessment of their mysterious benefactors, saying nothing. He's never gone so far out of his way to avoid pissing someone off, gods or otherwise, and while he's paid the price for it plenty of times as well, he doesn't see that changing any time soon. Let it never be said that he isn't a man of his convictions, no matter how occasionally asinine. The island remains nothing more than a cursed hunk of rock with the odd perk.

"Sounds like a fair trade t'me," he says simply, eying the pallet. "So how're we doin' this? Piecemeal?"

"'less you think there's a way to shove this through my tiny-ass doorway, I'm assumin' it's the only choice we've got," Sawyer points out, reaching into his pocket for a small folding knife that he promptly drags through the plastic. All things considered, given the short amount of time he's had to grow accustomed with the idea of a giant pallet of toilet paper being right in front of his house, he thinks he's adjusted well. And quickly.

Which just says a whole damn lot about this place. Everyone gets used to the chaos. (He still prefers the other island, in his way, knowing that there's a way off that rock. That the rest of the world still turns around him. But the unpredictability holds pretty steady between the both of them.)

"So. Birthday coming up, mm?" Sawyer asks, glancing in Sean's direction before tossing a couple four-packs of toilet paper his way.

"Funny how they seem to do that every year, aye?" Sean asks wryly, catching the rolls and tucking them under one arm. Gone are the days when he could simply let the day slip past unnoticed even to Meredith, but oddly enough, that's a perk that he doesn't actually miss as much as he once thought he would. "So long as no one thinks they'll get away wi' makin' a big deal out of't, I'm sure I'll weather it foine, though."

He laughs, if only because it seems like the two of them always manage to find more that they share. Sawyer hasn't really enjoyed celebrating his birthday since the last one that he had with his parents, and even then he remembers it being twice as enjoyable for the fact that their marriage didn't feel so strained on those days, when Sawyer himself became the focus, rather than everything else which swirled around their small little family. Since their deaths, though, there was nothing much for Sawyer to focus on, each birthday just a reminder of what he didn't have, and what he didn't care to celebrate. The more time passed, the further away he was from them. That was all.

"Well damn," he says, snapping his fingers. "I had the bakery all lined up to help that girl of yours jump out from a giant cake. Would've been fun."

Sean laughs in spite of himself at that, narrowing one eye slightly and shaking his head in a mock warning. "I'm sure she c'n arrange that sort o' surprise herself if'n she was so inclined."

"'Course she could," Sawyer agrees, before arching his brow suggestively, wagging it a couple of times. "But could she have thought of it? Now that's the real question."

Not that Sawyer honestly knows Meredith Grey much. Or at all, aside from the brief conversations they had while he was still dating Grey's sister. But the impression that he has is definitely of a lady who isn't so keen on partying all over the place anymore.

Then again, who knows? Sometimes people surprise each other.

"She ne'er was big on bakin', maybe it wouldnae occur," Sean admits dryly, reluctantly cracking a smile once more. "But then, cakes've always seemed t'be somethin' of a special case wi' her, so who knows?"

Sawyer raises his brow in curiosity, immediately wracking his brain for what little he knows about Meredith Grey. Wedding have something to do with it, perhaps? But for the most part, he comes up blank, and no matter what the question is, Sawyer always wants to know the answer.

"And what makes cakes a special case? Good birthday party she had as a kid?"

"Beats the hell out o' me," Sean laughs, shaking his head. "All I know is 'twas her one stipulation in havin' a weddin'." He only wishes he was joking. "Dinnae tell, but 'm fairly sure it was a good chunk o' why she said yes t'me in the firs' place."

"So she could eat the cake?" Sawyer snorts, not sure whether or not he's meant to believe Sean's words, but somehow, it doesn't sound like plain sarcasm. And while he's not in a mind to get married, and not sure whether or not he'll honestly ever be, that doesn't stop him from wondering what kind of a man it takes to deal with a woman like that. Mere seems nice enough to his eyes, but Sawyer can't imagine having to sidestep so much, so carefully. "You get those from the bakery any day, if you want. Seems like they've always got enough time to churn out an extra pastry."

"Ye'd think so, an' yet 'twas still the one bloody part o' havin' a proper weddin' she wanted any part of," Sean grins, now nothing but fond at the memory. "Lucky I got her ta come 'round on a few other points eventually."

"Clearly," Sawyer snorts, shaking his head, before glancing over with a sharply arched brow. He's been to a number of weddings over the years, some of them a hell of a lot more tense than others, and all too many that certainly weren't happy or genuine. But theirs isn't one that applies. "Though I'm still hurt that I wasn't invited to the actual weddin'. Could've at least given a guy enough warning to come and crash."

"'Twas only a small affair," Sean says, defensive but grinning in spite of it. "Only had time ta find a best man, really, an' believe it or nae, ye were on the shortlist." In the end, though, it probably might have been a little strange to have the best man and maid of honour be exes, not that it was really much of a factor at the time.

The revelation catches Sawyer off-guard, unable to completely hide his surprise as his brows raise at the thought. He likes Sean well enough, that goes without a doubt, but the thought of being the guy's best man is nearly inconceivable to Sawyer. The thought of being anyone's best man is inconceivable to Sawyer. Because what is he, after all? A heckler. Occasionally a good shot. But certainly not the kind of guy who makes for the best of friends, or is well-spoken enough to deliver a memorable toast.

"Think you probably made the right call in goin' with someone else," he snorts, allowing himself a grin. "Would've poked fun at you the entire time, knowing me."

"Aye, that's what I figgered," Sean says, mockingly serious for just an instant. Honestly, Logan probably hadn't been that much better on that front, and things had turned out fine. And of course there's nobody who can hold a candle to Tom when it comes to letting the wind out of Sean's sails, no matter how complicated things with his cousin grew over the years. "I've got to maintain some appearances, yet."

"You've married a world-class surgeon; even if you wanted the part of an eternal couch potato, think you've already got appearances set, doc-in-law," Sawyer points out. As far as he's concerned, however lightly the joke's made, there's a great amount of truth in it as well— having the right people by one's side always helps one go further. Even on the island, people play favorites. The very nature of the Council election seems to further that.

"Then again, guess you ain't the type who much likes to be a trophy."

"Yeah, yeah, everybody an' their dog knows I married up from me station, I get it," Sean says dryly, although most of his insecurities regarding that have dried up nicely (he'll never admit it, but her agreeing to the hyphenate last name had helped). "Problem is, there's nae much else t'be in a place like this, least fer a fellow like me."

"What, you ain't ever done a job back home that's got some kinda equivalent over here? I mean, hell, none of what I started doin' in the months before I got here was really relevant to this place, but if I wanted to stretch further back, there's always bein' a busboy," Sawyer points out, head generally nodding in the direction of the Winchester. "Or a bartend. Building crew. The hell did you do back in your world anyway? 'fore you got here."

"I was a cop," Sean answers simply, even if it hasn't been a simple answer for a long time, that old righteous pride he'd felt having slowly evaporated with the time he's taken to properly evaluate his actions in those last weeks. "'Twas a far cry from goin' on what this place calls a patrol, though."

"Cop," Sawyer blinks appraisingly, surprised at the small knot of jealousy that seems to dig itself straight into his gut. Because Sean's right. No matter what any of them does on the island, it's never going to be the same as things are in their worlds, never going to be any sort of proof that they can handle themselves, or a show of growth. "Hell, Cass, that's damn respectable. Don't blame ya for not carin' for the kind of group we've put together here. Ain't a lie that we don't do too much day to day."

"Ah, it's nae so bad," Sean reluctantly admits, as much as he truly does hate the stagnation, that sense that he's just standing still. "It suits the place, I'll put it that way. Jus' like Interpol tried ta suit the world I left behind. I should be grateful that we dinnae have more t'do 'stead o' grumblin' 'bout it, it means we're doin' alright."

Not that that bit of logic stops him. It shouldn't make him a bad person to wish he could help more, but when that amounts to wishing for trouble to befall others...

At least it's something that Meredith's always understood all too well.

"You ain't gotta apologize for bein' a little restless," Sawyer argues with a nod of his head. There isn't a day that goes by that he doesn't wake up and wonder where he is, how he's still managed to stay on this island, what he should be able to come and expect in coming days. How the peace won't last. Even if he has no desire to find himself in a world more troubled than the island, the mere thought that problems are bound to leak in has him often wishing that there was a way to be more proactive.

"But hey, there's more t'do lately than when I first got here. There's a whole friggin' city underneath the island, that's gotta count for somethin'."

"Booze is better, too," Sean deadpans, about the only thing he has to say on the matter. It counts for something, sure, but a whole friggin' city still isn't the world. A larger prison is still just that.

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confidenceman - 2012-03-04 23:31 (UTC) - Expand

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