The thunk of the bottle as it falls and the low swish of it rolling through the grass off down the slight incline; Harry's raised hands, that fucking tone -- but sure. Sure, maybe they've a point. It'll be trouble if he beats Harry Flynn's head in and that's enough to make Charlie pause. To consider himself for a moment as he gives the bastard a once over.

After a beat, Charlie nods. He shakes out his shoulders, shifts the tension in his arms: "Yeah?" It might almost be mistaken as agreeable if, a half second later, he didn't lunge after Harry in an attempt to tackle him straight down the hill.