Title: One more round
Yes, this is gen. However, the sequel I'm dreaming up isn't. =) It will go to the lists that want it........
And blame monty python for the lumberjack song.
Summary: Wesley. Angel. Spike. Gunn. Drunk. No plot to speak of. A little OOC.
Archive: Please ask me first
Rating: PG for language and saucy references. (yes, bloody is an expletive from where I come from....)
One more round
They made an odd little grouping.
Even for LA.
Bleached blond, Dark and mysterious, suave and intelligent, and a hood. The waitress blinked as they parked at a table, scurrying over to take orders. Damn, but a girl couldn't have a decent fantasy with any of them!
As she took their orders and practically ran to the bar, the waitress wondered what the hell such a motley group was doing together anyways.
Not that she was complaining. Mm-mm.
They'd met earlier, at the door of the Hyperion. The unexpected guest was uninvited, to say the least. Chylde or no Chylde, Spike wasn't exactly on the list of people Angel most wanted to see.
Rather than run the risk of an invitation, they'd opted for a bar downtown. Wesley, Angel, Gunn and Spike. All of them walking. Three of them watching the other. And two of them just waiting for an opportunity to stake.
Spike leered openly at the waitress as she brought their drinks, leaning out to goose her with a seductive grin as she walked away before turning to the others. "Hey, where's the fourth stooge? The one with the tits," he cupped his hands at chest level and jiggled them around a bit. "You know, UberBitch."
"Oh, Cordelia. She's off someplace." Gun shrugged, reaching for the peanuts. "Said something about getting her face on."
"'Bout time." Spike kicked a boot up on the table, lighting a cigarette. "The one she's got's bloody ugly."
"Now I say..." Wesley was behind the others in drinking, contenting himself with his single beer. "I don't think you of all people should be talking that way of a lady."
Spike pointed behind him. "Look! Kremorian daemon!"
"Wha? Where?" as the ex-watcher swiveled in his chair, Spike leaned forward and poured a shot of bourbon into his beer.
"Oh, very humorous. Ha ha ha." Wesley turned back and shot the Vampyre a look. You haven't changed a bit, have you?"
"Nor you," Spike retorted, nudging the Englishman's beer closer to him. "Go on, drink up. Put some hair on your balls."
"Delightful." Wesley took a sip of his beer for form's sake and grimaced. He cast a sideways look at the seemingly relaxed Angel. "And you seem to be getting rather chummy with William the Bloody here. Need I remind you of what he's capable of?"
"Bugger all." Spike broke in bitterly, downing another shot. "Not since the bloody Initiative wired me up like a bleedin' toaster."
"Well ‘Hurray' for them I say," Wesley raised his beer. "Something to drink to. May you have many more years of impotence."
"Now you're just being nasty." Spike looked wounded. "And to a fellow countryman and all. Gets me right in the heart it does." He took another sip. "Pillow-biting git."
As he expected, the ex-watcher rose to the bait. "You have to be the most despicable, revolting piece of - "
"Can the crap Spike." Angel leaned forwards, hands splaying on the table. "Why are you really here."
Spike shifted uneasily in his seat. "Change of scenery. Nice to get out and about a bit, innit?" When he saw the others weren't buying it, he poured a second shot for Angel and pushed it over to him. Ignoring the meaningful glances, he waited until the other Vampyre got the hint and drank up before explaining. "Look. I had to get out of Sunnydale for a bit. Place was making me sick." He poured another shot, then waited until Angel drank again before joining him. "It's sick, even for me, but I'm in bloody love with the bloody slayer."
Two hours later, and the waitress was losing her opinion a little on her tables of studmuffins. Drinking like fish. Alcoholics, the lot of them. She'd still go that one in the glasses though. In a heartbeat. Nice to see a real gentleman sometimes. But that blonde wasn't bad either. They always said a bit of roughage was good in the diet...
Spike turned on Wesley as he started to laugh again. "You...and Buffy..."
"Look shut your bleedin' trap before I do it for you, you upperclass crumpet. I've had it up to here with you." He toyed with his glass a few more times, then refilled it. "She's in my eyes, in my heart, she's in my dreams all the time. She's turning me good." He flipped the collar on his jacket self-consciously, reaching for the bourbon and giving up halfway when Angel topped the last of the bottle in his own drink. "So I thought I'd get out and parley a little with my Sire. Find out how the other half lives. Life after Buffy." He swiveled in the chair and grinned evilly at the ex-watcher, letting a little of his game face show. "Maybe I should be asking you, eh?" He kicked back in his chair. "How is life after getting the boot from the conglomerate of wankers?"
Wesley flashed his teeth at him. "Oh, marvelous. Wonderful." He was beginning to feel distinctly giddy. Damn good beer they served here, not that grain flavoured water most Americans liked to drink. That was the reason why he was starting to feel almost chummy towards to vicious killer sitting opposite him. Only reason. He wasn't plastered, despite the beer. Just lightly Adobe'd. Maybe a touch of stucco. He'd have to watch what he drank, too. Especially with Angel beside him beginning to look distinctly woggle-eyed after a bottle of bourbon and what smelled like some fine Irish whiskey. Well, he deserved it, poor chap. Nice to get him out of his brooding once in a while.
His eyes traveled to the fourth in their group. Gunn was nursing his fourth beer, but of the garden watered American variety, and he looked rock-steady. Could see the edge of a stake in his pocket, within easy grasp, even though he seemed to have classed Spike somewhere in the realm of "No bite, good guy."
He peered into the bottom of his now-empty glass. Good man, that Gunn. And his round, if he remembered rightly.
~ Three hours later ~
Wesley drained the last of his beer and snagged another one, pounding the glass on the table. "I mean what kind of bloody saditistic institititution would take a red blooded male in the prime of his life and put him in charge of a ..." his eyes got distinctly dreamy "Young, vibrant, admittedly violent..." his hands made a motion in the air that apparently described a pair of coconuts in a wine glass "..teenaged woman in the flower of her womanhood? And with a big sign saying "permission forbidden" " he shook his head. "It's inhuman."
Gunn snickered, five beers past his limit and aiming for six. "Man, that's the English for you."
Spike slid his leg off the table with a thump as he and Wesley got to their feet. "Are you sayin' all English are poofs mate?" he growled.
Gun held up his hands and scooted back in his chair, starting to giggle. "Man, I ain't saying nothing. You're the one in the leather pants."
"I'll have you know." Wesley paused to fix his glasses, then impaled the younger man with a determined steely-eyed drunken stare. "I'll have you know...." He forgot what he was going to say and floundered for a moment before rallying, poking Gunn in the chest and succeeding on making contact on the third go. "What about Henry the eighth? Eh? Henry the bloody eighth. Eight bloody wives, he had!"
"Six." Angel belched.
Even Spike was impressed. "At the same time? Bleedin' hell." He flomped back into his chair with a sigh. "That's just not possible. I've tried you know." He tossed back another shot with a grimace, then threw the glass over his shoulder, snagging the near-empty bottle "You can only get up to about four before you run out of hands and mouths and things."
Wesley sighed. "It's lonely, being a watcher. You always miss the pretty girls." He leaned his arm on the table, propping his chin up with a fist. "I never wanted to be a watcher. Oh, I'll grant you the knowledge was wonderful, and the fighting skills do come in handy, but I never really wanted to be one. Hereditary, you see. My father was passed over and called me up to bat for him." He fished for some peanuts, flicking the ash from Spike's many cigarettes out of the way. "It didn't matter what I want."
"What did you want?" Spike tilted his bourbon, found it empty and took Wesley's beer instead. "No. Let me guess......Librarian. "
"Male stripper?" Gunn offered with a snigger.
"Cricket player" was Angel's contribution. The souled Vampyre didn't seem to be holding up that well with the alcohol.
Wesley gave them all a grimace. "Charming, the lot of you." His eyes grew misty. "I wanted to be on the stage. He looked terribly forlorn for a moment. "I wanted to sing...I just wanted to sing...."
There was a reflective pause. Then:
"ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo I'm a lumberjack and I'm ok...." Spike threw his head back and broke into a rich baritone.
"I sleep all night and I work all day." Angel joined in. Wesley looked mournful for a moment, then joined them on the next verse.
"I cut down trees, I eat mah lunch, I go to the lavatoryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!! On Wednesdays I go shopping! AND HAVE BUTTERED SCONES FOR TEAAAAAAA!!!"
Gunn blinked blearily at them as his mind slanted sideways on a different track. "How do you ‘have' tea? I mean, we're talking serious scaldage of personal parts here....and the buttered scones part is just kinked."
Wesley threw a coaster at him. "Not tea. Tea. What civilised people have instead of dinner. Dinner is not a meal. It's an entirely different affair." Wesley paused to stifle a belch in a gentlemanly manner against his sleeve. "Entirely."
Spike nodded. "Dinners are big posh do's where you drink too much bloody cognac and crap on about matters of ‘high importance' until some pissed old fart trips over a corgi and sets fire to the curtains with their cigar." He sat back and shoved a cigarette in his mouth with a wicked grin. "Crystal palace 1936. What a hoot that was!"
"Sex with scones isn't that bad." Angel said reflectively. "There was this one woman in Mexico a couple decades back that did this thing with enchiladas..."
Wesley stared at him in disgust, attention dragged away from watching Spike light and smoke his cigarette filter-first. "Y-you had sex with a scone? Oh Angel" his voice dripped with reproach. "How terribly vulgar." He sighed. "Please tell me that jam wasn't - oh Angel."
"Raspberry as I recall, wannit?" Spike blew a smoke ring and grinned at the other three through it.
"Oh dear lo-... you're joking, aren't you!" Wesley started to giggle, reaching out to give Angel a friendly punch on the shoulder that nearly threw him out of the chair. "You are, aren't you. Having one on good ol Wes...oh sod, you're not joking are you. Another treasured childhood memory down the drain." He took his beer back off Spike and took a swig, spraying it across the table "The hell?"
Spike grimaced at him. "Backwash."
"Oh that's bloody charming that is..."
"Hey, you should be thankful we're not in a swankier joint. If that'd been vodka we'd be talking Great Fire of LA." He crushed his cigarette out on the table top.
"Might be an improvement, actually." Angel mused.
Wesley giggled again. "Anyone got a flamethrower?"
Reaching up, Spike flicked his fingers in the air a couple of times. "Hey, Service. We need a flamethrower here for the drunken git with the compulsive giggles." Looking over, he shot an annoyed glance at Gunn. "The hell? What the hell are your bloody feet doing in my bloody lap?"
" ‘m getting' comfy man." Gunn stretched out further in his seat, coming perilously close to shoving a heel into the Vampyre's crotch. "You got a problem with that?"
"Yeah I got a bleeding problem with you stickin' your size 12s in my package you gerbil-faced ponce!" Spike shoved them off. "Damn near 90 dollars these pants cost me," he huffed, smoothing out imaginary dirt marks. "Real leather, you know."
Angel rolled forward in the chair, disbelief stark on his face. "You. Paid. For clothes?"
"Yeah." Spike stopped his brushing. "Ok, so I stole the money in the first place but that's not the point, is it? It's the bleedin' principle of the thing." He sat back and lit another cigarette, looking wounded. "I don't need gang-boy over there sticking his damn feet all over my threads like some bloody chaise lounge. Not good for the image." He shot a disgusted look at Gunn, then did a double take. "Ey. Nancy boy's gone sleepy bo-bo's."
Wesley blinked. Indeed, Gunn was curled in the chair, feet on the table, fast asleep. "Americans," he scoffed. "Just can't hold their drink." He thumped the table to demonstrate his point, hit the edge of a coaster and flipped it up into his own face. "oh bugger."
"I'll wake ‘im up. Can't do to miss the party now, can it?" Spike leaned heavily over the arm of his chair towards the sleeping man. "Chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarles....." he drawled slowly, lassoing Gunn with another smoke ring.. "Chaaaaaaaaaaaarles honey, time to wake uuuuup."
Angel snorted into his third beer and started giggling.
Gunn grunted and shifted a little. "Man cordy, ‘m trying to sleep here." He murmured. "Go find some other doggy to bone, wouldja?"
Spike's eyes grew the size of saucers and Angel laughed so hard he fell out of his chair, falling on all fours onto the floor and pounding it with a fist.
Wesley stood up, indignant. "You sir, are no gentleman!" he proclaimed at the slumbering man. "A gentle -" he slipped and righted himself on the table "A gentleman does not divulgar such confidents."
Spike took another puff of his smoke. "You tell him, cream puff."
Angel rolled onto his back, howling at the ceiling.
"I INSIST ON A DUEL!" Wesley proclaimed. "For the honour of the fair..." he faltered, then remembered her name "Miss Choice! I throw my...peanuts at you sire!" scooping up the bowl he flung the contents at the sleeping Gunn in challenge.
He didn't stir.
Fists cocked, Wesley started forward, then tripped sending the whole table flying as the last vestiges of sobriety in Angel grabbed at his ankle.
With a muffled "bloody hell" he flew forward, landing on Angel in a flurry of arms and legs. "You! I should bloody stake you!" he yodeled, picking up a discarded match from the floor and poking his co-worker with it.
"Sir...Gentlemen... I'm afraid you'll have to leave." Angel looked up from a nice pointy shoe inches from his nose to some nice slender legs, and the nice curvaceous form of the waitress. And the ten stone gorilla spawn that seemed to be standing behind her. Puzzled he turned to face the ex-watcher. "I thought you said Kek daemons were extinct."
"Well they should be. I mean if Cordelia's brownies didn't do it..."
"Gentlemen..." the slightly impatient voice broke in again, tinged now with the tones of ‘We don't want trouble but magilla here can give you it if you want' "We really must ask that you leave. You're...frightening the other customers."
Wesley shoved his glasses back up from their precarious dangle on the end of his nose. "oh, are we really? Terribly sorry madam," he said earnestly. "I just seem to have fallen and I can't get up..." Angel collapsed to the floor again in giggles.
"Can I bite her?" Spike asked suddenly.
Wesley reached up and smacked him on the nose. "No. Bad William."
Spike rolled his eyes and swing his leg off the arm of the chair. "Can't take you three bloody anywhere, can I." Leaning over one more time, he gave the recumbent Gunn a shake, then bellowed in his ear. "I CUT DOWN TREES, I SKIP AND JUMP, I LIKE TO PRESS WILD FLOWERS!!"
"GAAAAAAAAAAAH SHIT!" Gunn jumped a clear six feet in the air out of his chair, landing on top of Wesley who proceeded to serenade him with the rest of the verse in chorus with the other two.
"I put on women's clothing! AND HANG AROUND IN BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARS!"
"Yeah yeah yeah, we're bloody going already." Spike reached down and pulled out Gunn's wallet, grabbing handful of twenties. As the other men slid slowly to their feet in a pile of giggles, he tucked it down the waitress' top, then cupped a breast easily in his hand. "For you, sweetie." He blew her a kiss, then followed the others out of the bar.
"I chop down trees, I wear high heels, suspenders and a BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!"
And the denizens of LA checked their locks and pulled tight their curtains as the two men and vampires rolled their way drunkenly homeward, caroling at the top of their lungs.
"I WISH I'D BEEN A GIRLIE!!! JUST LIKE MY DEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR PAPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"