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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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?"

"A drink with one of those cute little umbrellas," she said, gesturing with her fingers how small the umbrella in her imagination was. She knew that if she had one drink with an umbrella, she'd need a few more friends for said umbrella to litter around the apartment. She wasn't exactly as clean as Angel was, even if her place back home was less messier than her first L.A. apartment.

She shrugged. "Or I could settle for a beer." She glanced at him, "Whatever you're having." There was no way he was weaseling his way out of this. She was determined that he had a drink.

Or few.

Angel would more than likely spend a good portion of his time cleaning up after her. Not that he minded. It beat a teenage boy's mess. Or the rubble that was the crumbling Wolfram & Hart building that was impossible to keep tidy and drove him up a wall.

"I think what I drink's a little too strong for someone who prefers those froofy cocktails with the umbrellas."

"Froofy?" She looked at him dead-on, mock offended. Oh, well, that was it. He didn't have his vampireness to keep him sober. He was all human, one hundred and ten percent Liam, and she planned to prove him wrong. She had a good chance of proving him wrong. She could handle anything he could handle - except surviving being fatally stabbed - but still. Anything Angel could do, she could do better and in heels.

"I bet I could drink you under the table." Human Angel was something she'd never encountered before, but she didn't want to think that Angel the vampire was anything like Angel the human when it came to being unaffected by drinks. With what Shiki had told her - the combination of Human Angel and drinks - in mind, she knew she might have an upper hand here. Just slightly.

Game on. "Order your manly strong drink. And prepare to have your ass kicked."

"I'm Irish." Stereotype, yes, but the truth of the matter was that his tolerance wasn't what it used to be. Having only been human for a little over a month, he wasn't as accustomed to drinking as he was in his youth. It hadn't taken much to get him drunk the other night. He layered the accent back on as he added: "Not a hard thing to do."

And then he was standing up, going to the bar, and when he returned, it was with two mugs in hand full of a bitter ale. He handed one to her as he sat down. "Cheers?"

She wasn't going to like this, was she?

But a challenge was a challenge, and Cordelia was determined to prove Angel wrong.

She lifted her mug, "Cheers." And took a long sip. Her face scrunched up. She figured she'd be better at this if she went out to bars more, but she tried to keep her face blank, determined to get used to the taste. She set the mug down.

"Somehow - for when we go home - we need to remember to take the gang out drinking." She couldn't remember a time when they'd all gone out drinking together. The only time they did was when Angel was obsessed with Darla. She had enjoyed herself, underneath all the bitterness and hurt. "Fred's got to build up a tolerance for alcohol. We need to help the utterly hopeless."

He hid his frown behind his drink. Fred was dead, and he wasn't sure if the thought of Illyria consuming alcohol was amusing or terrifying. Probably a bit of both, though a drunk godking was easily on his list of things he was okay with not seeing. Ever.

"You're my secretary. Take a memo," Angel said, because he feared his silence would speak too many volumes about how gloomy the future that lied ahead really was.

"Give me a raise and I might consider taking them in the first place." She was, quite possibly, the worst secretary in L.A. She wasn't particularly fond of the job - taking messages and phone calls - and was kind of glad that everyone seemed to take on that role, somewhat, once they moved over to the Hyperion.

"I thought I was promoted to Seer. And Seers don't take memos." She'd stick her tongue out at him, but took a drink instead. She was slowly getting used to the taste.

"There's no currency system here," Angel pointed out. Nevermind that while Angel Investigations was back on it's feet and operating again, money was something of a laughable matter. Whatever funds he'd acquired while running Wolfram & Hart were gone. They were all pretty much broke and running off favors. A team comprised of no-one who started this journey with him and only one person on it was Cordelia even familiar with.

He wasn't sure how she'd feel about Kate being part of the team, should that spoiler ever be spoiled.

"You were. Are. You are my seer. And I guess the Powers never got the no memos notice." The visions were like memos, kind of.

She kept forgetting about that. She felt as though she was adjusting well to not having money at her disposal like she did as a teenager. It didn't mean her focus wasn't completely off of it. All she wanted was for Angel Investigations to succeed, and she saw that in the lives they saved and the money they made to keep the business up and running. And it didn't hurt that it helped them make a living. "I guess we'll just have to find a substitute," she said, jokingly.

The Powers That Be. She wondered what those guys must be up to - or if they even noticed that their champion was stuck in some wing hell with her. "No, they were definitely pro-memo." She'd lost count of how many visions she'd had over the last three years. It felt as though every time she got her head back on track and in the game, they threw another curveball into her skull. "That is one thing I do not miss, by the way. Having my head to myself. Kind of forgot what that was like."

He pressed his lips into a tight line. Substitute. Angel feared what she would demand from him in the place of money. Probably lots of home-cooked meals and tidying up that he would do anyway.

"No visions." Honestly, Angel wasn't sure how to feel about that. Part of him wished she'd have one, even with him stuck as a human, just so he could have something to do. Like the good ol' days. Get up and run after receiving word on the who, what, and where of someone in dire need of saving. "What will you do if you have one?"

"Besides the usual shrieking?" Cordelia looked down at the table. She'd do the usual; deal with the hangover, dig a little deeper, and help the team figure out all the w's and kick some ass. "Act on it," she looked up at him. "Unless it's at home ... then we'll just sit on our hands." She didn't even want to think on that possibility. If she did get a vision, she'd at least want it to be Luceti-relevant, that way, they could do something about it. If it was based in L.A., she didn't know what would happen. Would the hangover last longer? How would the team know? She didn't like dangling the carrot in front of Angel's face knowing he couldn't do anything to help whoever she saw in her vision.

"There's no way you can just ignore something like that. Mind-numbing pain aside, I'd never forgive myself if something did happen."

He hadn't even thought of the possibility of her seeing something from home. The Powers wouldn't dare be that cruel, would they? He hoped, at least, if they did show her something, it was from something around her point in time rather than his. She wouldn't understand what she saw if it was from his point in time. Los Angeles didn't look the same, and he was surrounded by people she would only half recognize.

Angel reached out and took one of her hands in his. "We'll deal with it, if and when the time comes."

Cordelia gripped his hard without even thinking about it. She loved helping people - after feeling their pain inside her own skull for hours on end, all she wanted to do was end that suffering - and she liked that she was an asset to the team, but there didn't seem to be any danger here, besides the Malnosso, that needed to be stopped. But she was liking the break she was getting from the visions; it had started to feel like she was getting one every week and she just wanted her head to belong to her instead of the Powers for a little while.

She kept her gaze on the table when she said, "Does it make me a bad person if I don't want that time to come while we're here?" She looked up at him. "You know I love helping people, and if we can do that here, let's do it. But it'd just be nice if we were given the head's up in a different way for once."

The grip she had on his hands kind of hurt, and he found it momentarily fascinating. If he were still dead, it wouldn't have felt like much of anything. Human, it elicited a response and he found himself squeezing her fingers back, though not as harshly as she did his own. As always, Angel treated Cordelia with nothing short of gentleness, keeping himself in check even when there wasn't a need to.

"No. It doesn't," he assured her. "Needing a break from lives we lead doesn't make us bad people. It makes us more human, if anything." Ironic coming from someone who's supposed to be a member of the undead, he was aware. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't grateful for how quiet things were when I first got here. As much as I didn't want to be here and wished I were still back home, helping--" Fix a previously hell-torn LA. "--the helpless, having some room to breathe was... nice. You should enjoy it. Don't feel bad about liking the silence in your head, Cordy."

She smiled, grateful for his understanding. It meant way too much to her for him to just get it. And he did, which didn't really surprise her. He'd morphed from someone she worked for to someone she could tell anything to without the fear of being judged as harshly as Harmony and her fellow Cordettes would've.

She always felt bad every time she thought about wanting her mind to be hers and not belong to a thousand faceless people. She had felt grateful when she'd gone a month without a single hit. Despite the good feelings that came with being visionless, she felt as though something was missing. Couldn't live with them, couldn't live without them.

Cordelia lifted her ale up. "We should toast to it." She wasn't exactly sure what. The silence? The break? All she knew was that the idea behind this night was being deterred constantly by things she labelled Too Serious for a fun evening. "Hopefully this place isn't littered with helpless people waiting to be helped, because you kind of need hobbies, Angel," she said, teasing, giving him a lopsided grin.

"I have hobbies," he protested, reaching for his glass all the same. "You just don't approve of any of them. And I won't let you keep my sketchbook."

That gave him an idea, though - her interest in his drawings. It was a skill he'd used back home, but mostly for case purposes. Interpreting visions and sketching likenesses of people, demons, places, and things based on her descriptions, and so on. He only used it for recreational purposes within the privacy of his own room, and those drawings were either kept in a place no-one would dare to look, or burned and thrown away once he'd gotten the urge to sketch whatever it was out of his system. Maybe in lieu of something more classy, or that bonus she constantly hounded him for, come the holidays he'd give her something he'd drawn to keep. An image from home. He made a mental note of it.

Angel held his glass up. "To much needed breaks for the overworked Champions of the Powers That Be."

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

headcanon last name, go!

i like it!

:D

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