Inigo Montoya sat crying under a tree. He had a bottle of wine in one hand, and whiskey in the other.
"I have failed!" he moaned. Inigo raised the whiskey to his mouth and drank sloppily, the tears and alcohol spilled down his neck. "I have failed you, father!"
Fezzik, sitting at his side, patted him on his back. "You haven't failed him." He rumbled comfortingly. Inigo stared at him miserably.
"I have! I have been searching for that hijo de la perra for 19 years! 19 YEARS, Fezzik! And what do I have to show for it? Nothing." He hung his head. "My father will never be avenged."
Fezzik shook his head. "No, Inigo. You're so close!"
The drunken Inigo threw down the bottles in his hands and lept up. "You're RIGHT, Fezzik!" he proclaimed loudly. "I will need to sharpen my sword; and practice my Agrippa, it's getting sloppy…and money! I need a job...the six-fingered man! VENGEANCE! My father will be avenged!" he started gesturing madly and shouting in Spanish.
Fezzik watched him calculatingly. He knew Inigo would crash in a minute or so. Sure enough, a minute later, Inigo stopped ranting, a dazed look on his face. Fezzik reached out and caught him just as he fell forward. He smiled and heaved Inigo over his shoulder.
"I think revenge will have to wait until you're not drunk anymore."