FIC: Feather Roads- Revelry

[Mad-Hamlet@xxxxxxx]

Disclaimer: All this belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Inc. 
(Grrr..rarrr)



Drain Brameged Inc. Proudly Presents
A Mad-Hamlet Production

We walk the roads that fate lays before us. More often than 
we'd like that path is strewn with blades and teeth. Shadows with 
claws that try to gut us from within, most of us struggle foward, 
over, under, through all these obsticles hoping, even in the face of 
all evidence, that we'll be stronger for it.

On occasion, through mercy, or mayhaps the whim of Gods 
needing entertainment, allow Fate's way to be softened. Cool breezes 
flow over our skin, all the living things around seem to speak to us 
and our existance is not only possible but worthwhile. The road is 
soft and comfortable and we can rest as we journy onward, wounds heal, 
blood stops and strength returns..just so we can face the next shadowy 
terror with a far too wide, sharp, grin just around the corner.

On occasion we're gifted with Feather Roads. This is theirs.



Feather Roads
Revelry


"Ok mate." I toss the butt of the cigarette in the corner and 
bend over the table. "Off the bumper, eight ball in the side pocket."

My..donation victim shakes his head. "You make that shot and 
I'll double up."

I glance at him. "That a fact?" I say slowly. 

"Sure." He snickers. "What, ya don't trust me?"

'Not a bloody chance.' I want to say. 'Your dressed like a 
reject from those the Hell's Angles rejected. No..wait. Like those who 
the Hell's Angels nearly beat to death, then rejected.' 

Course not being able to actually hurt the stupid sod should 
things get ugly, I don't. 

"Course I do." I smile. "We're all so gentlemanly arn't we?"

He mutters a curse. "Take the damn shot."

"Happy too." I reply. Course the ball goes zactly where said 
it would. You don't play this game as long as I have without learning 
a few things. S'why I chose this dive, not for the decor or the 
watered down beer. But it's the only place I've found where there's 
zero chance the Scoobs will come and also has a perfectly flat table. 
Yeah, that's right, we're at the same place where we met Red's little 
pals. 

The Eight ball sinks into the pocket with a quiet thunk. 

"Right then sport." I stand up and lay my cue on the table. 
"What with the double up I'm thinking..mm.." Do a little mental 
arithmatic. "Cool three hundred to go." 

"Three hundred huh?" He's glowering at me. Got his teeth 
clenched, his knuckles have gone white around his own cue stick. Two 
of his pals walk up behind him and one pats him on the shoulder. I 
know they're his pals cause they're wearing the same 'colors'. 

'Colors.' on white people. What happened to the good ol' days 
where they had similar tatoos or moterbikes. Tsk, no respect for 
tradition. 

My former opposition relaxes and smiles a slow, lazy smile. 
"It seems, me and my buds don't have the money to pay you your 
winnings. Isn't that too bad."

I glance behind where he's standing. There are two other guys 
sitting at the booth behind them, similary decked out. Total of five. 
I really hate this soddin' chip.

"Yeah." I say slowly. "That is too bad."

I grab my duster and slip it over my shoulders and just walk 
away. Course inside I'm screaming, the demon just rattlin' to be let 
free. I could let it go, but all that would do is get a quick scare, 
most likely resulting in a quick retreat. I don't want them to run. I 
want my soddin' money!

I sit by the bar and order a pitcher. The bartender raises his 
eyebrows but I ignore him. He puts it down, and a glass and I pour 
myself a cold one. Not really hungry. Bored. Angry and bored. Less 
than a year ago that would have resulted in good times, now more often 
than not, it's just me bein' angry and bored. 

Some others come step through the door. They look a lot like 
my former 'buddies'. That is, stupid looking ..only they're wearing a 
diffrent colored bandanda. Why bandanas? It doesn't make you look 
macho mate, it makes you look like the Villiage People. Oh great, now 
I've got that fucking song stuck in my head. 

I watch the two groups eye each other carefuly. I know this 
kind of thing. Pack mentality. 'Cept right now I'm thinkin' we're 
talking about the potential destructive power of a tank, commanded by 
the brain power of a labrador retriever. The whole place has gone a 
little quiet, like some sort of awed respect. Respect..right. I'd 
expect these guys to make good eatin', not respect them, any o'em. 

So. These two examples of steroid abuse are givin' each other 
the evil eye for about a good two minutes before the 'leader' of the 
new group turns to the bar. Ah, more 'manly' strutting. Turnin' his 
back on the enemy, proving how little he cares. Course the whole 
effect is ruined what with him fondlin' the firearm he's got in his 
pocket.

And suddenly..I have myself an idea. 


It takes a while. I have to nurse the entire pitcher of beer 
for hours before the time is right. By then it's warm and flat, 
but..with the lack of quality in it in the first place, I can't really 
tell the difference.

Eventually however the two groups of 'gentlemen' have fallen 
prey to drink. They've been getting louder for the past hour and I've 
been listening to one complain about..something or other for some 
time. Just how I like em'. Angry and stupid.

Let's see if I can be sneaky. 

I set my drink on the bar and slowly work my way over to the 
table where the fellow who I rightiously trounced at pool is still 
sitting. 

"Scuze me mate." I say interupting him. Him and his friends 
stare at me blearily. "Managed to aquire the funds to pay me what ya' 
owe?"

The one I'm speaking too turns to his friends with a laugh. 
"Hey guys, check out Mr. Aussie here, he want's his money!"

"British." I answer in a clipped voice.

"Oh..I'm so sorry." The oaf laughs. "Corrections boys, he's 
British. That makes everythin' more difficult."

"So do you got my money?" I ask feinging impatience and lean 
on the table just barely invading his personal space. Have to walk a 
careful line. I want to annoy him, not piss im' off. 

He stands up and I let him back me away from the table. He's 
bigger than I am and it takes actual effort to force myself to wilt a 
bit. I'm not used to playing this role. 

"You're an idiot" He pokes me in the chest, pushing me back, I 
willingly take a step. "You come round here, bother me," Pokes again. 
"Me and my friends will pay you back..outside. Catch my drift?"

I look down at my feet. Demon is rattlin' it's cage. Gotta 
play this close though. 

"Yeah..yeah I getcha" I shuffle away and that comes back to me 
all to easily. Even after a century I still remember what it was like. 
Being weak, having to back down... I don't like it. In this case it's 
for a good purpose though. Fun.

I meander back to the bar and make eye contact with one of the 
'other' gang sitting thereabouts. He sneers at me disdainfully and 
mutters a few curse words. I catch '...fuckin' pussy..'

I smile meekly and take my seat not looking away from the guy 
still laughing at me. 

"What?" I say quietly. "They're bigger than I am."

He just shakes his head. "Yer..yer..not a man chum."

No. No I'm not and if I ever have a good day I'll prove it to 
you.

I look at my feet.

"Could be worse." I mumble.

"Wha' say?" The guy sitting next to me slurs.

"It could've been worse." I repeat a little more loudly.

"Yeah...right." He replies and turns back to his drink.

"No..really." I press the point home. "I could have been 
like...like you."

That gets his attention. He stands up and is in my face, I get 
a lungful of beer breath. Charmed!

"Wha...wha.." He blinks a few times and starts over. "What's 
thas sssupposed to mean?"

I think he's trying to look me in the eyes but he's so drunk 
it more appears as if he's studying my left ear. Which is just how I 
want him to be, drunk and stupid enough to believe me.

"It means," And I smile. "It means that I coulda been like you 
squire. I at least don't have any younger sisters for the fellow over 
there to boast he 'carried home like a six pack' as he's doin' about 
your own."

Maybe that sentence was a bit too long for the bloke. I watch 
him blink a few times to process it. Ah, there he goes...he's got it. 
You can tell, the cloudy film over his eyes just got torched by the 
ignition of internal rage. Okay it sputtered a few times but I think 
he's getting rightiously pissed!

"Where...Where?" He roars stumbling about. I grab him and spin 
him around, shoving him in the right direction. "Over there mate. Have 
fun." 

He charges across the room screaming "Get Em' Guys!!!" 

His friends turn around confused but amble after him anyway 
only a few steps behind before he crashes into my playmates table 
knocking their drinks hither an' yon. I think his elbow catches my 
opponent in the face.

I whisper to the air beside me. "Into the jaws of death rode 
the six hundred. Danger to the left of them, danger to the right of 
them. The charge of the Light..read idiotic..Brigade." 

The bartender is standing there with his mouth open. I try and 
wave him over but he seems to be in shock. I hear the sound of someone 
crashing into the ground but ignore it.

"Scuse me." I rap the bar top with my knuckle. "Hey, over 
here. A little service please? Yoohoo!" 

His eyes snap to mine. "You..you..." He sputters. "You did 
this!" 

"Yeah!" I smile cheekily. "Great ain't it? Can I get another 
beer? Cold this time if it pleases you."

"Wha..wha.." He gapes. 

"Might want to go to a speech doctor to have that checked 
out." I say helpfully. "Nasty stutter you got there."

He ducks beneath the counter and comes back with a baseball 
bat. I shift and giving him my best teeth laden grin. "Don't." I 
command. 

"It'd ruin my fun, you don't want that." I lean over the 
counter so we're just inches apart. "Do you?"

HIs eyes roll up in his head and I snatch the bat out of his 
hand before he collapses. Never had anyone actually faint on me 
before. Gives me a buzz, that or it's the beer...no. Definetly not 
this piss-water.

I swing the bat a few times experimently. Really wish I could 
use it. Can admister some serious pain with a bat if you know how to 
use it. For now though it'll have to serve as just a prop so no one 
tries anything funny. I set is aside on the counter top and reach over 
to help myself to a bottle. Hmm...Johnny Walker. This'll do the trick. 

I swivel on my stool and watch as two fellows repeatedly slam 
another poor suckers head into the wall. I guess they're too drunk to 
realise they're pounding on their own friend. Ah well. It's 
chuckleworthy.

"Cheers" I mumble saluting the room o'combat with the bottle 
pulling the top off with my teeth. I know you don't have too 
but...makes me feel macho. 

It doesn't take too much longer before everyone is down. One 
guy is still standing, barely. Everyone else is...not. I walk up to 
him. He's neither one o' my playmates but that's okay.

"Congrats mate." I say. "Yer the winner."

He wobbles a few times. "YEAH!" He shouts. "I win! I WIIINN!!"

I give him a light tap of his forhead. He stumbles back, falls 
over one of his party pals, falls, stays down. Smart boy.

"Yeah." I say wishing I could kick him a few times. "Yay you."

Five minutes later I've helped myself to all the wallets and 
the money from the register. The grand total is a little over fourteen 
hundred.

"Double or nothing." I growl pocketing the cash. "Double or 
nothing."

Now, what does a gentleman like myself have to do to get 
something to eat around here?