When life gives you lemons... gamble with them!

[carlislestyle]

Guess what Peter did after his miserable time last night where Ripley pretty much trampled all over his pathetic life with his own brilliant one? Well, thus far he'd lost about £75 on the bloody machines and some kid nicked it by playing a £20. No... he was not a gambler. He was a bloody miserable one, not achieving any money and he didn't get why

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[knowwhentofold]

Before long, Ripley pulled into his driveway. Hey, at least he wasn't living in a caravan any more! That would've been fun, trying to squeeze two grown men who detest each other into a tiny space.

"Oi, Carlisle. Wake your lazy arse up, will yer?"

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Peter grumbled and hugged his bag to his chest, mumbling something about Natalie... perhaps he though the bag was her. Not exactly a brilliant compliment. Yawning, he rolled onto hs back and cracked his eyes open.

"...Huh?"

[knowwhentofold]

Ripley rolled his eyes, holding the car door open for Peter. "Come on, up! Get yer arse inside before I change me mind and shove you in the pool."

It was hard for Ripley to be nice to someone like Peter.

[carlislestyle]

"Oh are we goin' swimmin'?"

Peter stumbled out the car and grabbed a hold of Ripley in a death grip that was almost crippling, clinging to the other man in an attempt to stay on his feet... huh, Ripley as taller than he thought he was. "You're a giant."

[knowwhentofold]

Personal space, Peter. Learn to respect it. He tried to free himself from Peter's deathgrip without dumping Peter on the floor, and in the end gave up and decided to let the man cling.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm a giant and you're a drugged up prick, now let's get you inside and to bed."

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Peter giggled in a childish manner and smirked at Ripley in an oddly suggestive manner. "To bed? You're not my normal type, mate. I mean, you've got the violence and hatred part down, bet you'd be good."

He's just musing, honest!

[knowwhentofold]

Dear Lord, Ripley really really hoped that was the drugs talking otherwise there would most likely be a murder tonight. And poor Peter's body would be found floating in the pool.

He ushered Peter inside and switched off the alarm, before ushering towards the stairs. "Up!"

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Peter shook his head, his legs going near limp as if he was being deliberately awkward. He wasn't! But it was hard to tell as he slugging stumbled over each step, singing under his breath as they got up the stairs.

"Annnnnnd I would walk 500 miles..." Well, it felt like bloody 500 miles. How many steps did he have?!

[knowwhentofold]

The pool was looking more and more tempting. Hey, at least it wasn't the old house, it had twice as many steps, you even had to go up steps to get to the bed. Ripley half guided, half shoved Peter towards one of the guestrooms and dumped him in the general direction of the bed.

"Right... want a cuppa or owt?"

[carlislestyle]

General direction? He narrowly missed the floor and had to climb up into the bed, burying himself in the mass of blankets and he mumbled 'no' and settled down quite happily.

Within moments, Peter was happily snoring again.

Bet you regret being a good guy now, Ripley.

[knowwhentofold]

There was still every chance Ripley may suffocate him with a pillow and claim Peter did it in his sleep... He gave him a nudge. "Less snoring." Git.

Ripley gave a sigh and left the drugged up, injured copper to rest.

[carlislestyle]

The night was one blissful drugged up slumber that felt frankly fantastic in every way. Peter didn't stir once or bother Ripley at all.

Well... until 6am when he woke up and the drugs wore off. And Peter made a racket half tumbling down the stairs to get to the kitchen. Wasn't his fault! His feet hated him and the stairs were horrible.

[knowwhentofold]

Bloody hell! Ripley woke up with a start, thinking there was a break-in. Noisy prick. Peter was lucky he hadn't been smacked over the head with a baseball bat. "Bloody 'ell. Who needs an alarm clock with you around?"

He rubbed at his tired eyes, yawning, pointing at various cupboards and canisters. "Tea, coffee and sugar over there, cereal in there, bread in there, toaster there, milk in the fridge."

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Peter slumped down in a seat by the table and let his head drop on it. There was no shock or drugs to dull this, everything throbbed and he felt a renewed hatred for the universe, Ripley and young kids. Putting his arms over his head, he groaned.

"What about water? How'd I get that?"

[knowwhentofold]

That would be from the tap then, Peter. With build in filter, thank you very much. Ripley sighed and moved to get Peter a glass of cold, filtered water and chucked the box of painkillers the hospital had sent home with them at his head.

"Get them down you. Only two, mind. Don't want you dying of an overdose."

[carlislestyle]

Peter knocked two back, downed his whole glass of water and slumped back down onto the table. Everyone at work must of known, he was going to be a laughing stock and, worst of all, he was stuck with Ripley. Closing his eyes tight, he wandered if this was enough karma yet.

"I feel like a truck ran me over. Three times."