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"I don't like this man." Otto decided aloud. He was rude. And super mean. Drunk Otto did not care for him at all. He kept a steady glare centred on the man. The fact he'd revealed that he and Ripley were apparently an item was forgotten in lieu of how much Otto just didn't like him. "You'd better have just called Ripples Sweetheart.." Almost, anyway. Almost.

The V word, the Vodka word, sent Otto right back onto his feet as he scuttled his way to inspect the shelf. He tried not to look happy about it, occasionally glancing with a glare at Finn as he opened the found bottle.

"He grows on you." Ripley assured Otto, his tone almost bored as if this were older than old news. "Like whiskey." He was quick to stifle the sudden surge of the sappy part of him that ended that mental observation with 'and just as intoxicating'. Instead he forced his mind to wander to a little more self-proclaimed acceptable things. Things like ending his explanation with: "Or a rash." It was around then that Finn caught and held his attention.

Ripley gave a single, slight nod to confirm Finn's mouthed, silent question. Amber eyes slid to the side as Finn leaned in, as if trying to see him without putting in the effort of turning his head. The suggestion made him snort in amusement, and before Finn leaned away he managed a quick: "You mean like I did."

Just when Finn had started to use his actual name more often, they had to find a drunken Otto who drunkenly reminded them of that terrible, stupid nickname. For a very real moment he feared the full-swing return of it, and the subsequent disgruntled responses on his part, but to his surprise it didn't happen. One breath came Ripples and in the next, the more pleasant Ripley.

The pale man hid a smile by drinking his whiskey.

Which he was well aware that he would need more of soon, Ripples or not.

"Lucky me." The Intermediate droned as, suddenly, Finn decided they were friends. Fantastic. He watched Otto scuttle for the vodka, which was on the shelf at the back behind a couple of mostly empty bottles, the only dusty thing in this whole room. "More whiskey for us." He shrugged, half-challenging his not-boyfriend's little mocking assessment.

Finn was okay with being compared to whiskey. He was not much of a fan of being compared to a rash or to mold, but really, what did he actually expect. Coming from Ripley, it would have been weird if the other man hadn't added in a small jab like that (weirder still if he had gone with his first thought instead), and the familiarity of it was actually more comforting then rankling. Coming from Otto it was even less of a surprise, given that the man had only declared his dislike of Finn just a few moments before. Still, Finn smiled, unaffected by the insignificance of the insults, mentally shrugging them off quite easily.

At Ripley's small amendment to Finn's hushed statement he rolled his eye and smirked, taking a couple more drags of his cigarette before looking for a place to butt it out.

"Fine, we'll just have to come up with something else for you, since Toto doesn't seem to meet your incredibly high nicknaming standards." Finn mused, going back to his drink, which was quickly becoming drained.

A glance was given back towards Ripley. "This is true, I suppose. He seems like a lost cause anyways." Not like Oliver who would never know the taste of any other type of alcohol so long as Finn had his way.

"No." His answer to Otto was short. "I actually came for some books I left here. I stay for the exceptional company."

Exceptionally pathetic company. Why was he still here again?

Oh right. Sheer amusement.

"Fine. I'll drop Ripples." It beat being named after a dog. A stupid, tiny lap dog. Blech. Otto took a swig of the vodka, feeling like that was a huge mistake the moment it reached his tongue. He really should have eaten beforehand... Woozy, he swayed in place.

"Well good. Make like a tree n'.... leaves." He grumbled, slurring his words. "Ahm very... vury busy... thinkin' about m'life."

"Thank you." Ripley heaved a sigh again, wanting so badly to feel relieved over the whole thing and yet, he knew it was too early to celebrate. Otto was drunk after all. He'd probably forget and return to using the terrible nickname tomorrow.

"We'll be out of your hair soon." He promised Otto, finally seeing a silver lining in this visit - they were about to leave.

But then Finn.

Finn.

Ripley stopped immediately and stared at the other man as he made a subtly hasty retreat. Of course he would. Of course he did. He didn't even bother turning to look at Otto to see his reaction; a part of him was actually too hesitant to even try. In his head he had clear, vivid thoughts of throwing the heaviest book he had right at Finn's head. As it were, he stood where he was, his arms crossing his chest and his gloved fingers digging into his arms.

"He rarely stays over." Ripley said after a moment, weighing his options. Lately they had been in Finn's room more and more, so he technically wasn't lying. "And the sheets are always clean." He added, only barely managing to contain his annoyance.

Finn knew he was in s**t. He knew he would be in s**t for saying it before he had even said it and yet he did so anyways. He knew he could get himself in more s**t by adding to what Ripley was now saying in an attempt to make things at least somewhat better, and doing so was incredibly tempting, considering he now felt like he had very little too lose by doing so, especially if he was going to be in the proverbial dog house anyways.

Yet he managed to refrain, as if somehow he could feel Ripley's hard stare, and could share that vision of an object soon finding it's way sailing into the back of his head. He had gone far enough, and needed to stop, and if he did so, there would perhaps be a slight chance he could redeem himself before the night was through. So, in a very un-Finn like gesture, he kept his mouth shut on that matter, though a small smile couldn't be helped as he kept his back turned on the other two and opened to door to make his escape, only then turning to wait for the other man to join him.

If he even would. The possibility that he wouldn't had at least crossed Finn's mind.

"Oh have another ******** shot of vodka, you hypocrite." Not that Finn actually knew much about Otto, or whether or not he was indeed a hypocrite, but judging by the few things he'd gleaned in the last little while from Ripley and the knowledge of Otto being with more then one person at once, he felt he could get away with saying as much.

Only then did his gaze flicker towards Ripley's finally, a silent question of can we go now?

Otto's eyes shot open when Finn called him a hypocrite. Did... Ripley tell him? Why would he do that? Why did he betray his trust? Was it really what he thought it was? A sobering dread washed over him, and he winced at Ripley's words.

He let them leave without a word, his stomach turning in pain.