“Ooh,” Ethan says, in a morbidly fascinated way he often sounds. The frequency rarely encourage anyone’s spirits. “That wasn’t supposed to happen was it, Ripper?”
The man he calls Ripper looks up, his green eyes glassy with pain as he groans a reply. “Shut the fuck up and he-help me up--” He lifts an arm without smacking himself back in the face. Baby steps, he thinks, while the rest of him is probably still numb from the fall. Poor thing, he thinks again, the thought leaking into what others would say to be an infuriating smirk on his recently acquired white-bloke-tan face. To Ethan it’s just a smile, really, even if it happens to be one he considers wearing for the rest of his life.
Ripper hisses through his teeth, his breath misting in the cold and Ethan finally took just a hint of pity. Like spicy stuff, you don’t want too much on the Scoville scale lest your tongue falls off. He grabs his old friend by the forearm, hauls him up, and shoulders about half of his weight. Ethan doesn’t grunt--Ripper is always the heavier one. “All the holiday dinners?”
“Absentee Slayer.” Ripper sulks into the garish patterned scarf wound around his neck. Ethan never did ask if he was colorblind. “She’s at Uni. Busy as a bee.”
The smirk doesn’t budge. “...while you just slipped on ice and fell on your arse. Let’s get you home, old mate.”