[[A/N: At 11:42 at night, I have nothing better to do than to let my writing flow out. So I'm just going to try a really short one-shot of Inigo before the movie came out. I know its been done, but I just want to see what would happen. Reviews are welcome!]]
[[2nd A/N: I do not own anything from The Princess Bride.]]
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A bar somewhere in the "boonies" of Florin.
"Another brandy, bartender!" the drunken Spaniard bellowed.
"You got money to pay for this, Spaniard?" the bartender demanded, holding the mug of golden liquid tauntingly above Inigo's head.
"ObbkoosIdo," Inigo slobbered, his words slurring together. Translation: Of course I do.
"Then pay up," the bartender ordered. He pounded his open palm onto the greasy, wooden counter of the tavern. Around them, several tavern folk were beginning to look up from their mugs at the disturbance.
"I will pay," Inigo started. He kind of flailed his arms uselessly towards his drink but collapsed back onto the counter. "I will pay! When I slaughter the six fingered man!"
"You slobbering drunk," the bartender growled, grabbing Inigo's collar and yanking hard. "Pay up or I'll make you."
"AHAHA!" Inigo laughed crazily, pulling away from the bartender's grip. In one slash (that was not very pretty, considering his state of being), Inigo yanked out his father's sword from the hilt around his waist. "Show me your right hand!" the drunken man commanded. He stood with his arms in fencing position, wobbling dangerously.
"You're gonna point a sword at me when I've been givin' you drinks for five hours?!" the bartender exclaimed incredulously. He reached under the bar and yanked out his own blade. While not the beautiful, silver metal that Inigo's sword was made of, the bartender's weapon was still deadly sharp.
"YOU ARE THE SIX FINGERED MAN!" Inigo cried disorientedly, stumbling forward with his sword aimed directly at the bartender's chest. He ran into the counter. The bartender easily stepped to the left to avoid the "lunge."
"Boy, am I gonna enjoy messing up that face of yours," the bartender hissed. He heaved his rather hefty body over the counter and onto the other side.
"Hold it!" a voice shouted. By then a crowd had formed in a wide, semicircular perimeter around Inigo and the bartender. A bald man stepped out of the ring and into view. While short, the man carried himself with pride and arrogance.
"Gettoutadawey!" Inigo garbled. "Yadumbfart."
"Inconceivable!" the man shouted. "Do you know who I am?"
Both Inigo and the bartender shook their heads. The balding man sighed. "My name is Vizzini, the smartest Sicilian…no…the smartest man in the world!"
"Get out of the way, Vizzwhatever," the bartender growled.
"Why so angry at this Spaniard?" Vizzini asked innocently. "To have disrupted the tranquility of this humble abode?"
"I don't understand you, but this Spaniard refuses to pay for ten rounds of brandy!" the bartender accused, jabbing the sharp end of his sword towards Inigo.
"I WILL PAY WHEN I KILL THE SIX FINGERED MAN!" Inigo shouted, his voice cracking. His red cheeks were flushing more.
Vizzini nodded as if he understood the situation. He reached into his side pouch and pulled out a generous sum of gold coins in a leather bag. He tossed them over to the bartender. "That will cover it?"
"Woah. I don't want your money," the bartender stuttered. "I want the Spaniards. He needs to be taught a lesson."
Vizzini laughed sharply. "Inconceivable. Money is money." He walked over towards Inigo and cringed. "You need a bath."
"I want the six fingered man!" Inigo protested, swatting weakly at Vizzini's shiny head.
"You want money?" Vizzini shouted at Inigo, as if he was trying to break into the Spaniard's clouded mind. "Then come work for me!"
"Money…" Inigo mused dazedly. "For brandy."
Vizzini grinned. "Alrighty. Contract settled. Come with me…what was your name?"
The Spaniard belched loudly. "My name is Inigo Montoya…you killed my father. Prepare to die!"
Vizzini snorted. "Drunken fool. Your swordsmanship better be worth it." He dragged Inigo through the awestruck crowd and out into the open air, mentally forming his next plan.