lucetilogs | i can't help but wonder, what would jimmy buffet do?

Entry tags:

i can't help but wonder, what would jimmy buffet do?

Who:

quippable
What: More drinking shenanigans.
When: November 19th, early evening.
Where: CH6 R38, and then to some bar later on.
Summary: Said shenanigans are Cordy's bad idea this time around.
Rating: PGish to start off with, I assume?

Only a few hours until sunset. Normally, this would be about the time he was rolling out of bed and starting to go through his morning routine, but there was nothing normal about Angel right now. Not that there ever was, and there's something to be said for him considering his vampirism to be normal while the humanity the Malnosso has bestowed upon him is regarded as an unwanted affliction rather than a return to a state that he was robbed of when Darla killed and turned him all those years ago. Days are spent mostly indoors, partly out of habit, and partly because there's nothing he wants to engage in beyond the sanctity of the apartment walls; so, unless there's some errand to be ran, the former vampire can be found indoors, either with a book, some sketch he's working on, or going through some training exercise.

The latter usually requires all the furniture be pushed back to one corner of the room to give him enough space to do so without breaking something, but this evening, everything's where it should be. Training's off the table, and the man's instead stretched out on the couch with a book in hand - something Machiavellian - content to be lost in its pages before he needs to pick up a sword and see to his nightly patrol. While the patrolling isn't necessarily needed, what with other parties taking up that mantle as well, it's routine at this point. Gives him something to do and contributes to some sense of structure where there otherwise is none.

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"Read, draw," he answered and tacked on belated, "brood," because he knew that she knew him well enough to know he spent a good portion of his time sitting the dark, skulking.

As for favorite spots? There weren't any. Not really. He'd made a point not to really let himself like any of the spots in Luceti. It would be like finding a corner of hell enjoyable or picking his favorite spot in Fred's cave back in Pylea. Somewhere you got stuck and weren't meant to be, so why stop and smell roses you weren't supposed to be smelling in the first place? Nevermind picking them and putting them in a vase to admire.

In response, he simply shook his head. "I don't really care much for this place, to be completely honest. I actually kind of hate it here. Hate doesn't really make finding favorite spots."

She listened with her head ducked slightly to make sure she didn't miss a step. She cracked a smile at 'brood'. If anyone could win the award for best brooder, it'd be him, hands down.

Her brows furrowed as he told her he hated this place. She had to wonder why. Was it the Malnosso? The spoilers? She hadn't been here long enough to decide which side of the fence she was on.

Cordelia glanced up at him and asked softly, "Do you want to go home?"

"My s--" My son is there, he almost said on impulse, the answer to that question always an honest one and one he would've answered with what he bit down on had he been speaking to any other person. But this was Cordelia, who didn't yet know her champion slept with Darla and got a kid out of it. Angel knew he was going to have to tell her at some point (and some point soon at that), but tonight was not the time for that.

Tonight was about making life in Luceti not as dull as he painted it, and regardless of whether or not he still believed it to be disenchanting and without any of the sparks required to hold his attention, he would make it seem so for her. Just because he hated it didn't mean he wanted her to.

He cleared his throat. "I mean, of course. My friends, my team - they're back home and so is my mission. I can't protect LA and fight for the Powers if I'm here. I'm not a Champion here."

"Did you ever think that maybe you were brought here to have a break?" In her opinion, Angel definitely needed a breather from the shit fest of L.A. Everything was exploding one after the other; from losing Doyle to her visions to Darla making her grand return to her being zapped into Pylea and Buffy's resurrection. And all the crap that was bound to happen in three years time. Their life was a huge rollercoaster that they couldn't get off of. It was dizzying.

"Every Champion deserves a hiatus. And from what I hear, time stops back home. It'll be like you were never gone when Oz sends you home." Which, she felt conflicted about. A part of her wanted to go back home to her friends - and Angel back there - but another wanted to stay here. It felt like Pylea all over again. She was just waiting for the Com-Shuk and catch to rear it's ugly head.

Her optimism brought a sad smile to his face that he tried to fashion into something a bit more sincere and less heartbreaking. "I don't get vacations." And didn't deserve them, as far as he was concerned. If he did, he would've packed his bags and gotten the hell out of California and the North American continent altogether after hell was undone and LA restored.

"Thank God for that." Else he'd have to go through the 'you were gone' song and dance again with Connor and that was a hurdle he thought they were past. His son has enough abandonment issues without some wing happy crazy land adding to them by stealing his father away from him, regardless of whether or not Connor actually needed his father right now. Maybe it was the other way around. Maybe Angel needed him. Either way, the pause was at least appreciated in a sea of things that weren't.

She knew that very well. She sometimes wondered if Angel knew how to take a vacation. The times he'd left them for solitude had left her wondering exactly what he was up to. She didn't really think that they counted as vacations. "Remind me to order you a drink with an umbrella." Cordelia was going to make sure he had half of a vacation here. He needed to relax and quit brooding.

"You can say that again. Imagine what it'd be like if I was gone for two years." She grinned, "You guys would be completely lost without me." Possibly literally, when it came to the visions. But it went both ways. She knew she'd be lost without the mission and her family. She'd felt it in Pylea and it was a feeling she never really wanted to experience in the near future.

Not really, nope. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. The 'vacations' he'd taken with Darla weren't exactly on the same page as ones that normal people took, and those vacations to beaches with white sand and crystal clear water weren't exactly on the table, either. He didn't exactly mind. Angel enjoyed his work and the sense of fulfillment it gave him to accomplish something that had meaning, often things that brought others joy and relief they'd been seeking that alleviated and pain and stress in their lives. He liked helping people and didn't feel as if he deserved a reward for it, especially not a vacation of all things. The thank yous and looks of gratitude when those weights were lifted from people's shoulders was reward enough for him.

"Me and drinking?" He made an awkward sort of noise caught somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. "That's not exactly something that goes well together. I was something of an alcoholic during those last few years of life. There wasn't a bar in all of Galway that didn't know my drunken presence."

And he'd been pretty hammered earlier in the month when things got too intense and overwhelmed him in a way he didn't know how to cope with in the ways that were available to him in this place. He would've just gone and killed something if that was an option here, but there weren't any demons or vamps available for him to tear and release his frustrations on.

"I am lost without you," he said then, echoing what he'd once upon a time told an older version of her. And although he looked straight ahead to avoid meeting her gaze, the way in which he said that was packed full of more emotion than Angel usually shoveled into a sentence to be considered a casual statement.

Edited 2011-11-23 06:57 (UTC)

She was well aware of his drunken stint earlier in the month, thanks to Shiki, and was still curious as to what brought it on, but it was a conversation for another day. Cordelia was, quite frankly, tired of walking constantly into the barbed wire fence that was the spoilers. She just wanted an evening where she felt like she was on the same wavelength as Angel, no timeline secrets.

She sensed something was a little wrong, though, she took it to mean that his months here prior to her turning up weren't exactly filled with parties and fun. She slid her hand into his, giving him a squeeze. "Well, I'm here now. And you know how hard it is to get rid of me," she ducked her head a little to try and catch his gaze, giving him - hopefully - a comforting smile. They may not be from the same year, but Angel was still her Angel, regardless. She was determined to leave with him or not leave at all.

"Besides, I doubt you had anyone like me to help your drunken ass back home," she gave him a wide grin. It was an attempt to lighten the rather gloomy mood that had fallen over them so quickly.

If they couldn't talk about the future (or her future, rather), then they would talk about the past. Normally he didn't discuss such things, preferring to keep that kind of information to himself unless asked directly about it, but this was an exception. He wanted to talk. He didn't want to clam up and go quiet, keeps-to-himself vamp on her all over again and be stuck back at the same square they were at when he first ran into her at that party. She and the others had contributed to so much of who and what he became - the person he is now - and he doesn't want to lose that. His friends may be gone, but they left behind a great legacy and a socially awkward vampire who used to sit alone in the dark and not do much of anything else was but one of the many lives they touched.

"No I didn't, did I?" He squeezed her had back, refusing to let it go now that he had it, not caring who saw them walking hand-in-hand or what they thought of it. "There were girls, but they weren't like the girls now. The rules of society were very different when I was growing up and women played a much different role. You would've hated it. Maybe not the glitz and glamor part, had you been born into high nobility, because God knows you love fashion and shoes and - do you really need that many shoes?"

As they reached the bottom of the stairs and he pushed open the door to the outside, releasing them out into the cold air of Luceti's winter, but still not releasing her hand, he recalled helping to pack up her apartment. There'd been so many shoes. He hadn't seen her wear half of them, and if she had, he hadn't noticed them. It made him look down at her feet for a moment and take note of the pair she had on now, before looking back up to watch where he was going.

"Anyway, you would've hated the role they expected girls to play back then. You're too stubborn. Too opinionated."

At the mention of her shoes, she looked down at the ones she was wearing. It was one of the things she would have to integrate into their apartment - a nice shoe collection, thanks to Luceti. "There's always an occasion - and outfit - for a particular shoe, Angel." Especially if they were to walk through the snow, she'd need the perfect boots for the long hikes to civilisation.

She liked hearing about Angel's pre-vamp days. It was a part of him that she felt she didn't know enough about. For once it seemed like those traits of hers were good things rather than bad. "You mean the passive role," she stated rather than asked. She didn't need a history lesson from Giles to understand how the times have changed since Angel's day. "You know any girls who were like me?"

"The obedient role," he corrected, his lips pressed into a thin, unhappy line.

Years ago, back in Sunnydale, Buffy had dressed up similarly to the girls of higher class, positions, and titles for Halloween, thinking that was what he wanted. His ideal girl. He'd almost laughed at the notion. It'd been sweet, her attempt, but she couldn't have been more off her mark. What he told her then had been the truth: He hated those girls. They bored him. One of the reasons he hung out in the taverns so much, was because it was the only place to find a girl who didn't bind herself to the rules of society or do what someone told and expected of her. He liked that. A sense of power and self-importance; confidence. It was something he still liked in a girl, one of the many reasons he found himself attracted to Cordelia.

"I did, but you're going to hit me for saying her name and daring to make the comparison." To prevent her from lurching away from him, he tightened his grip on her hand. "Darla."

Cordelia attempted to take a step away from him, since she physically couldn't take a step away from the name, but, unfortunately for her, Angel's tight grip on her arm prevented her from doing so. All she managed was a step away from him only to be reeled right back into his side.

Darla made her see red. The mere thought, reference or description of Darla was enough to make Cordelia want to - stupidly - go after the vampire and stake her herself. The affect she had on Angel hadn't been completely forgotten. Cordelia was weary that Darla would appear here at any given time and send him off the rails again.

"I think I just lost my appetite," she said, her face pinched as though she'd sucked a lemon. She should've seen this one coming, somewhat. Though, the idea that there was anything similar between the two of them made Cordelia feel incredibly uneasy. She held little respect for the vampire. "Let's pretend I never asked." Anything having to do with Darla, Cordelia wanted to avoid, avoid, avoid. And a good drink would help with that, especially getting rid of the bad taste any thought or word about Darla put there.

He knew that was going to piss her off, and he held tight to her hand. "Don't. Let me explain. You're always telling me to talk. I'm talking. Let me talk. Listen."

Angel didn't start talking right away, though, giving her a few minutes as he led her through Luceti to calm down as much as she was capable of doing.

"Don't you want to know how it happened?" He asked her finally. "You can't tell me you never wondered about how I met Darla and became a vampire. Where I got 'Angelus' from--" Because that's not his real name, and he's baffled by those who believe it is. Who names their kid Angelus? "--how I ended up in the United States?"

Find her weakness, why don't you? Anything about his past was something Cordelia wanted to know about. She remembered how riveted she was in the story about Holtz, and she knew that, regardless of the subject matter, she'd find herself feeling the exact same.

Cordelia was still fuming, but she simmered down somewhat at finally getting her own way. All she ever wanted was for him to talk. She'd be a bigger moron than him to tell shoot down his offer.

She didn't even have to think about her answer. "You know I do. More than anything."

"I'm going to tell you something." Angel lowered his voice and leaned closer, steering them away from others who were out and about. "Something I've never told anyone. Not even Darla. But, you have to keep it to yourself. Can you do that?"

Olive branch. An a peace offering for now and to remind her of later when the Darla topic came up again. Tell her something no-one else knew outside of those who had the proper clearance to get a look at his files in Wolfram & Hart's archives.

"My name. My full name. No-one ever gets my last name." Just like he told Paprika - he remembered that part of their conversation while he was drunk. "If you want to know."

She tilted her face towards his. "You know I want to know."

She wondered where this was coming from. As far as she knew, no one really knew Angel as anything but Angel and Angelus - and all the titles he'd accumulated over the years. "You don't have to tell me just because I got a little offended you think Darla and me are alike." Little being the understatement of the century. Cordelia felt like she would've breathed fire if given the chance.

She frowned slightly, looking him in the eye, "But you know you can trust me, right? Cross my heart and - you know the rest."

He held her gaze and said, "My name's Liam," dropping the American tone he kept over the Irish accent as he did so, letting his roots shine through. "Liam Haren."

"Liam, that's -" Not what she was expecting. Yet, expecting anything when it came to Angel was a bit of a wasted effort. He always surprised her. It took her a moment to acknowledge there was anything different to his voice. "You've dropped the accent." She couldn't recall a time where she'd heard him slip from American to Irish - or maybe he had and she just hadn't been paying attention enough. She wanted to ask him if the American accent was a front, whether he put it on to further distance himself - or disguise himself, she wasn't sure - from home.

But she didn't feel like it was the time or place to ask him something he hadn't even told Darla, of all freaking people. "I like your name."

Angel nodded. "Had to, if I wanted to be left alone. New York at the turn of the twentieth century wasn't exactly a happy place for the Irish." The accent was still out, to give her a taste of what he'd sounded like in life. "Wasn't long after I got my soul back. I didn't want anything to do with anyone. To blend in, to not draw unwanted attention to myself, I taught myself to speak without it. Never bothered before then, and I've never been entirely comfortable with using it again."

Not even while Doyle was around. The other man's accent had been welcomed, a nice, familiar sound that reminded him of home and helped him feel more at ease in those early days with a man he barely knew - and part of him wondered if the Powers had done that on purpose. But, he was still too wound up in those days, too on edge and not prone to sitting alone in the dark to let himself relax enough to share his roots with a man who'd been from the same country he was born in.

He cleared his throat, dropping the accent and readapting the American tone she was used to. "You do? I don't know if I like it. Can't remember if I did. It's been too long since anyone's callled me that outside Spike when he's being annoying." A slight spoiler, should she choose to interpret as anything but a reflection on times long gone.

"It's a part of you," she said. She liked it because it was him, something that's been there with him since the word go. The same could be said for Angelus, but he was an exception to this. Cordelia would gladly accept being called a hypocrite when it came to that; liking everything about Angel but the demon within.

She rolled her eyes at the mention of Spike. She took it as something the Billy Idol wannabe had learned over the years of the two being the best of pals. His name wasn't something she saw as being easily forgotten. It made sense to her that Spike would know it, and that Angel would know Spike's birth name.

It was weird hearing him speak in an Irish accent, obviously because he'd never used it before. She believed she could get used to it, if he were to keep it around. "It seems pretty accepted now. You don't want to keep it?"

"You won't like the answer to that question," he told her, guiding her around the corner of a building as they stepped into the village proper, hand still in hers. "My family. They were my first kills. It didn't matter when I was a vampire until I got my soul back. Coming to America and encountering a distaste for my people that I hadn't experienced since I was alive reminded me of that life and what I did to them."

"And you want to stay far away from that." She couldn't blame him. She lifted her free arm, gesturing loosely towards him, "Hence the lack of Irish lilt."

She gave his hand a squeeze. "You're not that person anymore. You do know that, right?" For her, it was Angelus who had done that, not Angel, but the line that kept them separate sometimes blurred. Cordelia just didn't want to admit that.

It had been easy, to buy into the separation between man and demon that the Sunnydale teenagers had put into place after he'd lost and regained his soul, that line drawn clearly between who they perceived to be Angelus and believed to be Angel. Not until they did he think along such lines, and although it had been wrong, it had been a welcomed explanation for what had happened. It hadn't been him, it had been someone else, a split personality. But, that hadn't been the case, had it? No. He was Angelus - even as a human, he was still Angelus. There was a part of him that was capable of Angelus' brutality, and it had taken going to Wolfram & Hart for Angel to truly understand Darla's words about what he was informing what he became, and his 'darkness' being innate, within him all along.

There's darkness inside everyone. It's part of what makes people so human, their grayness. Being capable of both light and dark, having that choice. As a vampire - one without a soul - there is no choice. There's just the dark, and it's all you know.

"Yeah." No. But, he wasn't going to correct her on that. Not now.

And speaking of the need for a topic change, here they were. Seventh Heaven. He released her hand, finally, to hold the door open for her. Still the gentleman.

Edited 2011-11-24 13:49 (UTC)

Always the gentleman.

Cordelia walked through the door and grabbed his hand again, pulling him through the door as she searched for the bar.

"I really hope you're ready to get your drink on," she said. Just like she said when they were leaving the apartment, she definitely needed a good couple of drinks ... on top of another good couple of drinks. Despite him opening up, she needed to get rid of the sour taste in her mouth at the mere comparison to being like Darla in personality.

And hopefully the drinks would lift the heavy blanket that had fallen over them and would lighten the mood, somewhat. Spoiler territory was on the list of things to avoid this evening, and so was the deep heavy stuff that they'd dipped their toes into minutes before.

She lead him to the bar, letting go of his hand to sit down.

Angel planned on drinking in moderation, if not with a deliberate lightness. He didn't need to repeat the wasted antics of earlier weeks, and someone had to ensure she behaved herself and got home safely. Not only was he a gentleman, but he was overprotective, too. Cordelia had herself a (supposed to be) vampire guard dog that would not hesitate to bite those who threatened her.

He took a seat next to her. "What do you want?"

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headcanon last name, go!

i like it!

:D

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