Day 1.5: Chocolate Milk ISN'T Regulation! [Open]

[Finley JF Chapman]

Country: Somewhere in North Africa
Time: Sometime in mid-summer, midday
Weather: Blazingly bloody hot and clear

The Barber of Seville - Nr. 2 Cavatine (4:54)

"Ich bin das Faktotum der schönen Welt, ja ich!
La la la, la la la, la la la - la!"

The Lance-Corporal's strong baritone rang through the back rooms as he worked, one boot-heel strongly clicking against the floor as he moved to and fro. He was graceful as a swan as he moved across his imaginary stage -

"Hab' mir die schönste Bestimmung erwählt, mir erwählt!
La la la, la la la, la la la - la!
Ich bin der Cicero aller Barbiere, aller Barbiere,
Und gratuliere - mir selbst zum Glück, mir selbst zum Glück!
Ha, bravo, Figaro! Bravo, bravissimo, bravo!"

He had been trained in opera as a boy. His father, fond of the classics, had first heard his son's strong and beautiful voice while Finley sang a nursery rhyme along with his mother. What followed had been days and nights of abusing his vocal chords, deep intakes of air that blared long and loud notes that roared like thunder. The memories of his opera teacher encouraging him to hit the most difficult of pitches he could muster was one of the fewer, kinder memories of his childhood, and one he treasured and held in high esteem.

"La la la, la la la, la la la - la!"

And when better to do sing opera than while doing something he loved - cooking! Yes, Finley loved cooking as much as he enjoyed eating someone's cooking, bad or good. At the moment, a powdered pile of chocolate, carefully made from four different chocolate ration bars, lay on a small cloth. Beside it, a silver pitcher of camel's milk, bargained for from the local traders with some boiled sweets and a German knife. If there was one thing Finley was good at, it was scrounging for things off the remains of battlefields. About the only good thing war gave were places he could explore without being harassed!

"Ich bin der Glücklichste durch mein Geschick, bravo!
La la la, la la la, la la la - la!
Ich bin der Glücklichste durch mein Geschick!
La la la la - la la la la, la la la - "

With a few cups that were actually metal bent and hammered into shape, Finley daintily picked up the pitcher of camel's milk, standing on one foot as he held the next note -

"LAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaa!"

A little flat on the end, but nothing to worry about. It wasn't like he was performing in front of a crowd!

"Jedem zu Diensten zu allen Stunden,
Umringt von Kunden bald hier, bald dort.
So wie ich lebe, so wie ich webe,
Gibt es kein schönres Glück auf der Welt,
La la la, la la la, la la la, la la la, la la la - la!"

The milk was poured carefully into each cup, and Finley quickly hurried over to the pile of chocolaty powder. Gently picking up the cloth, he walked over and cupped the fabric in his hands, rolling it into a sort of funnel. As if the cloth were now an icing bag, he gently squeezed the powder out, putting as even an amount into each cup as possible.

"Hübsch und gesund macht euch
Nur der Barbier zugleich,
Köpfe und Bärte sind alle sein!
Und Akzidenzien gibt es in Fülle
Mit Herrn und Damen ganz in der Stille!"

The Lance-Corporal then fished around in his pockets for a spoon, earlier filched from the officer's mess as he helped clean up after the midday meal. Quickly stirring each drink, he peered closely at his work, giving each drink as much attention to detail as an artist would to his painting. His singing temporarily reduced itself to a singsong mutter -

"Mit jungen Damen, la la la la la la la!
Mit alten Herren, la la la la la la la - la - la!
Ich bin der Cicero aller Barbiere,
Ich gratuliere - mir selbst zum Glück! -
Man ruft, man seufzt nach mir,
Will mich bald dort, bald hier!"

- And he quickly stood back up. Admiring his work, he took a small tray, also filched from the officer's mess, and placed each drink upon its polished surface. Only one-and-a-half days since he was transferred to the wee African base, and he had already replicated chocolate milk! Oh, he was such a genius in the kitchen!

"Grafen, Baronen, Mädchen, Matronen!
Bald heisst's rasieren, bald rapportieren!
Bald ein Billettchen dort adressieren!"

Walking towards the door, he shamelessly kicked it open, and his singing voice's volume echoed out in full force. He walked down the hall as if he had been promoted to Captain, walking with a swagger of boyish pride.

"Man ruft, man seufzt nach mir,
Will mich bald dort, bald hier!
Grafen, Baronen, Mädchen, Matronen!
Nur dies Billettchen! Figaro! Figaro!
Figaro! Figaro! Figaro! Figaro! FIGARO! FIGAROOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

[Deleted]

There are many reasons for a person to fight, some fight for love, others for lust, some fight to defend themselves or their country while others invade hoping to reap the spoils of war. But then there are people who just fight. They have no reason other then the thrill of battle, they don't care who their opponent is and will often fight a friend if their enemies are not within reach.

The crowd was silent, yet the way they where moving, arms swinging about in punching motions and the way their faces where red as if they were shouting and cheering made it look like they were making a lot of noise. They were moving so slowly too and everyone seemed to blur together, coming ino Sharp focus when they stopped moving only to become a blur again as they moved. The world darkened as a figure towered overhead silhouetted in the light hanging from the low roof. Even with everything moving so slow the silhouette moved with speed, a fist suddenly came into sharp focus before the world was lost in darkness.

The crowd was deafeningly loud, their voices had risen with each punch landed and every drop of blood that hit the concrete floor was celebrated. The rush was immense, it seemed to pump through veins, replacing blood and rational thought. Time stood still in the final moment of victory and a spotlight seemed to shine down on the defeated. The final strike was needed, the last blow that would end the battle and bring glory to the victor. Eclipsing the light the defeated could only look up and watch as the crowd cheered his defeat.

Kane! Kane! Kane! Kane! the crowd cheered and shouted, a few of them looked rather disappointed and two men came forward to help their fallen comrad but most of them were too busy collecting their winnings. The two men helping their mate splashed water onto his face to try and bring him back to consciousness and it took a few cups till he finnaly opened eyes. Kane knelt down and shook the mans hand before rising back up and throwing out his arms in victory.

When the cheers died down he walked over to a bench and picked up a towl to wipe the sweat and blood off his face.
"Young lad's got a good left hook," a collecter said as he dislodged from the crowd, "Busted open your cheek." The collecter handed an envelope to Kane.
"Clearly not good enough though." Kane said as he took the envelope and pocketed it. The collecter left and Kane finished cleaning himself up. He picked up his pipe and lit it before joining the crowd leaving the hanger. While most of the group split off towards their barracks or mess hall Kane made a bee line straight to the officers mess. He'd kept his uniform in there and would have to change before going back out in public, plus there was a medic's bag hidden under a table for him to stitch himself up.

The mess seemed to be diserted when he pushed open the door to the main hall, behind the counter he could see partially into the kitchen and was not dissapointed to see that the place was empty. Not that he'd care if someone was here. He walked over to a table and pulled the bag containing a stitching needle and thread, a small mirror and a cloth. He was just about to start cleaning himself off when he heard a large crash followed by singing. German signing! Kane quickly jumped up and stormed into the kitchen, kicking open a door and stomping into a hallway where the person singing was.
"What the Bloody Hell are you Singing about!?!?" why anyone would be singing in German was beyond him, and every syllable ground into his bones like a drill. When he saw it was an NCO he became even more angry. "Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?!"

[Leeroy Atherton]

OOC: Posting with this account while I get some stuff straightened out on the Finley account. It's Finley still, I just can't get on that account.

---

Finley's freckled face was white as a sheet, his blue eyes as wide as saucers. His mouth was open with the breath for the next verse, but no sound came out, and he slowly closed it. Towering over him was a bloodied man with pips, eyes smouldering like a dead tree in a forest fire. There was a tense, awkward silence after the officer's bellows, Finley not quite sure what to say to justify himself.

So, he just started talking.

"It's opera, sir," he answered. "One of the pieces from The Barber of Seville, or The Futile Precaution. It's a personal favourite of mine, sir, and it was originally written in Italian, but I decided to use the German lyrics because we've had Italian activity as of late, and I could not for the life of me remember the English lyrics, and I was trying to avoid having the Italian lyrics sung for fear I might be mistaken for an Italian spy, though it seems I may have given the impression I was a German spy, though I am most certainly not, and most certainly a Lance-Corporal of His Majesty's Royal Army...."

Finley then realized he was beginning to babble, though some would have said that he started babbling the moment he opened his mouth again. Moving his tray of chocolate milk away from the Lieutenant, as he was all-too-familiar with angry people knocking things out of his hands, he took one metal cup in hand. "You look terribly thirsty, sir," said Finley, leaning forward to sniff a little. Scrunching his nose and standing back up straight, he added, "And you appear to have come back from some sort of heavy workout. Here, have a drink!"

He held the cup up to the Lieutenant, giving a friendly grin, though he'd probably be ordered to wipe it off his face in the next few seconds.

"It's chocolate milk. Through my charisma and bartering skills, I managed to acquire the ingredients from the locals to create such a concoction. Try it, it's delicious!"

The next question the Lieutenant would ask would probably be why an NCO was in the Officer's Mess in the first place. Finley could have explained himself, but hopefully, the Lieutenant would be too distracted with the offering of refreshments to remember asking about that fact.

[Deleted]

kane stared down at the young Lance-Corporal, he was a little surprised at his shocked expression, clearly he hadn't been expecting an Officer to show up Andorra even be in the area judging by how loudly the boy was singing. He was about to repeat his questions when the young man started to talk, like a shotgun shell to the face the words burst out and seemed to jumble together as if he was spilling his guts under interrogation.

The Lieutenant didn't have to say a word, no that he'd be able to get a word in at the rate the man was speaking. In what seemed like a few seconds of talk he had gained enough information to consider adding The Barber of Seville to a banned list. But something else had been said in the torrent of words, the Italian's had increased their activity lately, and this young Lance-Corporal said he didn't want to sing the Italian verson so he chose the German... Did that mean he was a translator and could speak the language of their enemies? Kane only knew a few words of German but that wasn't nearly enough to interrogate his enemies. Maybe, just maybe... This young man could be of use to him.

The young man continued speaking, and then... Sniffed him? Kane's eyebrows shot up with surprise, this bloke was clearly not right in the head. What kind of man goes around sniffing other men? Kane was all but speechless as he then offered a cup of what he called chocolate milk. So how old where they now? Kane just blinked at the man, he knew how to handle arrogant overly violent soldiers who thought they were hero's. Just show them who's boss with a quick punch in the nose, Kane thought about applying that technique here to the point that his hand curled into a fist.
"What's your name Lance-Corporal?" Kane said as he unclenched his fist and reached out to take the offered cup.
"Plus you haven't answered my questions."

[Leeroy Atherton]

"Lance-Corporal Finley John-Frederick Chapman," said Finley. "Formerly Private. Then Lance-Corporal. Then Private. Rank's kind of a bugger to recall (it's dropped so many times), but I am most definitely a Lance-Corporal. Er, sir!"

Finley quickly stuck the the cup back on the tray, as the Lieutenant didn't seem to be in the mood for a non-alcoholic drink. "I'm not aware of any other questions you might have asked, Lieutenant sir," added Finley. "You asked what I was singing and I replied - er, not that I'm trying to imply something disrespectful, Lieutenant sir! I'm merely trying to follow orders, sir!" He grinned a sheepish grin, feeling himself shrink three centimetres under the officer's still-withering gaze. Keep it together, Finley; you've only just earned your rank back....

"I do apologize if I'm not supposed to be in here, sir," said Finley. By the bewildered expression that had been on his superior's face, if he kept talking, he might be able to wriggle his way out of trouble. "I was merely preparing something as a small morale boost to the men nearby. It sounded as if something rather important was going on - some sort of exercise, maybe? - and I thought they might appreciate it. And uh, if it means anything, sir, I'm twenty-two. Not a young'un by any means, but twenty-two. Just in case you're one of the men who's wondering if I snuck into the army again - er, again, nothing disrespectful meant, Lieutenant, and my that's some nasty-looking bleeding you have there.... Would you like some help? Or for me to go to the medical tent? It appears you, uh, might have cracked open something...sir!"

Okay, be calm, be calm, be calm as the gentle sea breeze.... A spring meadow's wind.... A cow after being milked for the day.... He couldn't lose it now. He was already seen as enough of an idiot by his old superiors. He needed to make a good impression!

[Deleted]

"You've been promoted and demoted that many times? Do you keep on getting caught in places your not meant too be?" Kane didn't know why he hadn't punched the young man in the face yet, although apparently he wasn't too young, twenty-two and in a war and he's still drinking chocolate milk. Maybe he hadn't seen combat yet.

As Kane listened to the not so young man talk some more he got the impression that he was digging a deeper grave with every word.
"Your preparing something to boost moral? Chocolate milk? Are you serious? Give them smokes or grog and their happy." Kane reached out and picked up a cup from the tray and took a sip. The cammel milk in it was very strong, but not something Kane objected too. When he lowers the cup he spots a drop of blood drooling down the side. Maybe Finley John-Frederick Chapman was right about his cut.

He ignored the blood and took another sip, the milk wasn't too unpleasant.
"What age were you when you first snuck into army?"If there was one thing Kane liked in a man it was fighting spirit. But that wouldn't mean the Lance-Corporal would be let off the hook. Kane was sizing him up, trying to decide if this oddity of a soldier was worth keeping around.


(ooc: sorry for the short length.)

[Leeroy Atherton]

"...It's complicated, sir," Finley said, his tone tinged with embarrassment. "Though I have gone poking around where I shouldn't, I've done a myriad of other things. I once accidentally drove a car into a Major's house, and then there was the incident with bacon in the soap...but I'd rather not go there, sir. Or get demoted again." He seemed to shrink a little more, and his smile grew even more sheepish.

Finley then realized that the Lieutenant had gone and taken a cup for himself. Despite giving Finley the impression the Lieutenant thought him daft, the pip-wearing hard-nose was taking a swig. Blood dribbled down the side of his drink, but he didn't seem to care, and Finley couldn't help but feel a little pleased. Oh, so you'll call it stupid, but then decide to help yourself? he thought. He wouldn't say anything out loud, but Finley had a feeling his gesture was appreciated.

"What age were you when you first snuck into the army?" the Lieutenant asked, and Finley laughed. He couldn't help himself; Finley felt the Lieutenant's jab was of a good-natured humour. Then again, he quietly hoped that the question hadn't been a serious one. "Age, sir? Let's see...it was 1939 the war was declared, and it's 1941 now...I was twenty when I signed up, sir. No work, wasn't about to go on a bloody fishing boat again after the bloody waves nearly knocked me off almost five bloody times or more." His expression had visibly rankled at the mention of that miserable Welsh vessel; the cold, the wet and the nerve-racking art of dodging sliding debris all had left a sour taste in his mouth. "No home either. I had just got evicted from my flat for not being able to pay the rent. Now that I think about it, I don't think I ever got another place."

[Deleted]

"Fascinating." Kane was getting irritated, this Finley chap tied way too much. Maybe it was because of the casual way Kane had approached him? Either way the answers he had gotten where not what he had expected. Driving a jeep into a Majors house had made him smile, but bacon in soap? What the hell was that? Not only that but Kane had just gotten a brief history on Finley's life before joining, again the tale was not something Kane had expected, or even want to know.

"So the Army is your home now aye? Well you'be got to pay blood rent here. You seen combat?" If Finley had been in the army for two years he should have seen a diecent amount of combat, his boyish attitude and odd ways told a different story though, unless the thrill of battle sent him mad and he reverted to a simpler time in his life. Kane had seen it before, gun-ho hero's who were crack shots on the range and had the balls to charge a group of ply-board enemies would crack and cower in a foxhole when the enemies start shooting back.

Kane thought for a second, "In any case Chapman, you are in a restricted area and you have been caught with contraband. I'm sure you know that Chicolate milk isn't a regulation drink." He put the bloody cup down on the tray.
"However, I'm in a good mood at the moment. So I'm going to cut you some slack." Kane smiled cracked his knuckles. "I am willing to forget that I've seen you in here, if you can land one diecent punch on me." He took a few steps back as he spoke and stretched his arms, it was all for show though, he was still warmed up from the fight he had before.
"So what do you think Chapman? How bad do you want to keep that rank. Oh, and don't worry about hitting an Officer, for the next 10 minutes all rank is put aside."

[Leeroy Atherton]

"A little, sir," said Finley. "My superiors insist on putting me on sorting supplies and base work, though, sir. Nothing really out in the field. They say I'm a liability because I'm 'too creative', or some such non - reasoning." It was only then that Finley realized he was becoming far too informal. He straightened back up, both figuratively and literally.

"In any case Chapman, you are in a restricted area and you have been caught with contraband. I'm sure you know that chocolate milk isn't a regulation drink."

"Yes sir," replied Finley. He did not move as the Lieutenant set his cup down, but his eyes followed the motions before flickering back to his superior.

"However, I'm in a good mood at the moment. So I'm going to cut you some slack."

"Sir?" asked Finley, slightly nervous in tone and face, especially with how menacingly the man cracked his knuckles.

"I am willing to forget that I've seen you in here, if you can land one decent punch on me."

Now Finley looked alarmed, white as a sheet and swallowing hard. "Sir?!" he borderline squeaked, giving the man a look that clearly showed he thought him insane. He continued to stare as the Lieutenant asked if Finley wanted his rank badly enough, and the Lance-Corporal's stomach twisted. He was used to such threats made about rank, but never before had such a violent request been put on him. Still, he was a man, and he'd prove it to the pip-touting bastard in front of him; the drinks were set down several paces back, and Finley walked until he and the other were at an even distance.

Then, after a couple of moments of staring, he ran forward with a rather foolish-sounding battle cry. He swung awkwardly to his left, as if stumbling - only to sharply pull back in a feint, and try to dodge whatever punch the officer threw. He'd then use the moment to move abruptly behind the officer, and ducking down low to avoid a back-swing, he'd attempt to kick the Lieutenant's legs out from under him.

[Deleted]

The stand off was almost a customary thing in most fights, like a ritual the two fighters size eachother up and search for weaknesses in the stance, Kane was a little put off that he couldn't see any strength in Finley, he wanted a good fight but if his opponent wasn't up for it then Kane would just knock him down quickly. As Finley charged forward with his little battle cry Kane brought his fist up. This was going to be easy.

As Finley swung horrably to the left Kane jabbed his right fist forward to catch Finley in the chin and was mildly surprised to find his chin not where he thought it would be. The feint ha worked and now Finley was behind him. Kane twisted his hand back and swung around to backhand him in the face but his strike passed over Finley's hair. He felt his knee buckle as the Lance-Corporal's kick landed but he recovered before falling. Bouncing back on one leg to put a little distance between them, he stared at Finley with shock. "I underestimated you Finley. That won't happen again."

Kane dated forwards, his right fist cocked back and ready to launch forwards with a powerful hit. As he came closer to Finley he rose himself up, almost jumped, bringing his fist in line with Finley's head. His left hand moved forward to deflect any attempt at counter attack but just before thrusting his fist forward he dropped down into a low offencive stance and striking out at the mans abdomen, intending to wind him, before springing back up and backing away a few steps.

[Leeroy Atherton]

"Let's dance, Lieutenant."

Finley's grin was cocky - perhaps a bit too cocky. That grin on his face disappeared as soon as the fist came flying, however, and Finley ducked with a yelp. The punch was easily avoided, but the Lieutenant's lower blow was not; it hit Finley straight in the nose, the loud cracking of cartilage and bone like thunder's. "GAAH!" went Finley, flying backwards and hard onto his back, blood streaming down the sides of his face and into his mouth. He sputtered, coughing, his opponent hopping back like a kangaroo on the run. Finley appeared stunned, staring at the ceiling for a moment.

Oh, right, he thought between seeing stars. I'm supposed to be fighting.

Finley scrambled to his feet as fast as he could, his broken nose giving him a bib and mouth of crimson. He spat out a few more drops, staggering; the man's blow was like a cannonball. He glared at the Lieutenant, coughing, and held his ground as best he could. Breathing heavily, he lifted his fists, and cracked a red-stained grin.

"Your mother was so fat, when the blokes went to a house of certain repute to find a quick tart, she was being used as the door!"

A low blow of his own to provoke the metaphorical bull. In that moment, the Scottish R's of his own mother rolled out like drops of rain, and a slight Welsh lilt he picked up in his youth tinged his voice as well. As soon as the Lieutenant charged, Finley would leap out of the way, swinging back around to lunge at the man's waistline. In a rather unorthodox move, he'd reach in and grab the man's undergarments, yanking them upwards as hard as he could, and kicking upwards in-between the man's legs as well. The "Double-Pain-O-Kicker-Pantaroo", the bullies of his youth had called it; Finley had been subjected to it numerous times as a result of being "the different kid".

Then, with his free arm, he'd reach around and jab two fingers into the eyeballs of the Lieutenant.

[Deleted]

"Your mother was so fat, when the blokes went to a house of certain repute to find a quick tart, she was being used as the door!"

"What the hell was that? This isn't the school yard boy." Kane growled and came forward and threw a quick left jab at Finley's broken nose. Finley was quicker then Kane anticipated and dodged past, as Kane rotated to face him he felt Finley garb at his pants and haul them up, was Finley trying to lift and throw him? Kane continued twisting around to try and break Finley's grip and the kick connected with his knee, the pain wasn't too bad but it caused his leg to buckle again. 'Same bloody leg.' He thought to himself but the kick was fortunate in that Finleys attempt to gouge his eyes didn't work out quite so well, instead of being blinded Finleys fingers just raked across the top of his eyes and eyebrows, it still caused enough pain to blur Kanes vision but not enough to render him defenseless.

Kane however didn't need full vision for his move, Finley was too close, blinking through tears Kane snapped out his hand and caught Finleys wrist preventing him from putting any distance between them. Kane pulled Finley into a hard haymaker, swinging his free fist around to try and collide with Finleys head and stun him, then Kane would grab his head and force his face down into Kane upcoming knee.

Once again Kane bounced back away from him, Finley was much younger then him and at first glance didn't look too tough but Kane wasn't giving away any free shots. Finley had already taken a broken nose and had pounced back to his feet with a blood-dripping smile. The Lance-Corporal was tougher then he looked.
"If you had of used your fist to punch me rather then your fingers to blind me this would be over by now. You only need to land one diecent hit." Kane said as he wiped his eyes to try and clear them.

[Finley JF Chapman]

What happened next was so unexpected, Finley didn't even think as it happened. He felt a few teeth loosen as one hell of a haymaker nailed him in the face, walloping into Finley's eye. He grunted loudly and stumbled backwards, only to be grabbed and have his face whacked over the Lieutenant's knee. Yet again, he was hit in the nose, and the attack only further served to mash it into a pulp. Finley with the floor with yet another grunt, and this time, he didn't get up right away.

"...Owwwwwwwww...."

"If you had of used your fist to punch me rather then your fingers to blind me this would be over by now. You only need to land one decent hit."

"Yessir..." Finley muttered miserably, slowly moving to push himself up off of the floor. By now, the Lance-Corporal's entire chin and chest were soaked through with crimson. From a mix of adrenaline and moving around too much, he had lost a fair amount of blood, and he really should have gone and seen a nurse. He staggered to his feet, trying to face the Lieutenant again, but didn't look too good.

Then, without warning, he collapsed face-forward and hit the floor like a log, unmoving. He made no sound except some heavy breathing, and it appeared as if he was down for the count.

[Deleted]

It was over, he'd gone down after that knee and it didn't look like he was getting up again. Finleys eyes looked like they were about to roll into the back of his head. Then surprisingly he got back to his feet. He may have been shaky and looked like he was about to pass out, but he was standing as of ready to keep on going.
"I'm impressed Finley. Looks like your tougher then I..." and then he fell over, "Thought."

"Maybe not." It had been a good fight, hard and fast, Kane surveyed the area with a little grin, blood had been splattered on the walls, not much, just a few drops here and there. It had been a good fight and despite Kanes earlier thoughts the Lance-Corporal had proven to be a good opponent, smart enough to target Kanes knee but at the same time he had missed his opportunity to strike a victory blow, an that was all she wrote, he had the chance to take the win but he'd missed it.

Kane blinked a few times as he looked down at the bloody mess on the floor. Maybe Kane had gone of hard? After all this was only meant to be a muck about fight, had he gotten carried away? He stood there for a moment and listened to Finleys breathing, deep and heavy, almost strugling. He whipped his eyes and went over to The wounded man, he'd taken it too far, afterall this wasn't an enemy soldier but friendly. Kane knelt down beside Finley and reached out to pick him up. He would have to carry him to the medic who treated the injuries after Kanes fights.

[Finley JF Chapman]

Finley didn't move as the Lieutenant picked him up, still sounding like something was terribly wrong. As the man hefted him upwards, Finley's hand shot out, like a viper from its nest as it reached towards the Lieutenant's jewels. The redhead wouldn't hesitate in seizing his superior's lower assets, twisting and wrenching them with enough force to (hopefully) make the man keel over. He'd use his other arm, which was closer to the Lieutenant's face, to suddenly smash upward and hit the officer straight in the nose; Finley would then leap away if he could, out of the man's (hopefully) loosened grip.

He wasn't done yet, though.

Charging forward, Finley would try to grab the Lieutenant's head and smash it over a raised knee. He would release it after impact, then try to grab it again and smash it twice into the nearest wall. Finally, if all had been successful, Finley would tackle his superior as if they were in a rugby game, then try to pin him, sitting on the Lieutenant's back and wrapping his legs around the Lieutenant's neck. He scooch forward, tightening his grip on the man's windpipe, peering down to grin evilly at the man.

"I do believe, old chap, that this means I keep my rank. Non? Oui?"

As the finishing insult to injury, he'd then reach under the Lieutenant's arms and proceed to tickle him. "Boys will be boys," after all....