Author: gothfeary (a.k.a. Kat)
Title: Conversations over drinks and Immortality.
Series: Chosen not to Fade Away
Rating: K. No naughty buisness here!
Summery: Never challenge the Irish to a drinking contest. You'll just lose.
Spoilers: Buffy season 7. Highlander spoilers for… I don’t know what season; I think its season 5.
Disclaimer: I own neither Buffy nor Highlander; I just borrowed them for my own evil purposes.
A/N: Reviews are love people.
- - - - -
Angel sat at the table in the small New York demon bar with a shot glass in one hand, and a bottle of Irish whiskey in the other. He looked over at his drinking companions and smirked, “I’m over two hundred and fifty years old.”
“Four hundred.” Duncan MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod retorted.
Angel took a shot.
“I’ve died over a dozen times since Sunnydale.”
“I died twice this week.”
Another shot for Angel. Ok, he thought, drinking contests with an unknown Immortal, not his smartest plan.
“I tried to kill the woman I loved because I lost my soul.” That should win me this round, the brooding man hoped.
“I did kill my best friend, because the Devil was toying with my mind.” Despite the fact the Duncan won that round, he took a shot anyway, hoping to drown out the painful memory or Richie’s death.
Angel sat and though for a moment on why he was losing. Then it hit him; he was on the offence, making strikes that Duncan could obviously block. The best offence was a good defence, after all.
“Fine. You go then.” Angel pushed the bottle of scotch into Duncan’s hand.
“Alright then,” he said with a grin. “I have known three Slayers.”
“I dated the mother of the new Slayer line. I know them all.” Score one for Angel. He grinned as he watched Duncan down his shot.
“I helped trap the Master in Sunnydale.”
“I helped grind his bones to dust.” The empty glass hit the table with a clunk as Duncan set it down again.
Duncan didn’t want to sit here all night until one, or both of them died from alcohol poisoning. Because, that was just no fun in the morning.
“Alright, if you can’t beat this next one, you drink the whole bottle in one go.” Angel looked at his near full bottle, then at Duncan’s. They were about the same level. Angel, not wanting to lose to a Scotsman, replied calmly, “If I win, you drink all of yours.”
Duncan knew he couldn’t lose with this one, so grinning from ear to ear in a manner very similar to Spike whenever he and Buffy saw Angel (cookie dough not ready my ass! He thought), Duncan held out his hand the vampire. “Deal.” Dropping Angel’s room-temperature hand, he sat back.
“I lived through an attack by the Scourge of Europe.” Duncan thought back to his time in China when the Boxer Rebellion broke out, and the four vampires had taken advantage of the chaos, and slaughtered almost an entire village.
With a self-satisfied smirk, he gestured to Angel’s bottle and asked, “well?”
Angel looked him strait in the eyes.
“I was the head of the Scourge of Europe.” He said casually.
Duncan sat bolt upright, nearly jumping off his chair. “What!?!” he gasped.
“Sired by Darla, Sire to Drusilla the Mad and William the Bloody,” he told the other man with ease. “The name I use when I have no soul is Angelus.”
“You’re Angelus!” Duncan exclaimed.
“Well, I think you win.” Turning to his bottle, Duncan let out a resigned sigh. This was going to burn like hell, he thought to himself before taking a deep breath and raising the bottle to his lips.
As Angel watched Duncan empty the bottle, he couldn’t help but laugh as he said, “And you thought Scots could beat the Irish at drinking!” -End-