Author's Note: I do not own General Hospital, any of its characters. I also don't own Inigo Montoya, the Eiffel Tower, Bermuda, Pluto, or really all that much besides the clothes on my back, and I worked pretty hard for those.
Generally Horrible: Episode One: The Vengeance of Inigo Montoya.
Sonny was slouching comfortably in his desk chair, shooting rubber bands at the ficus on his filing cabinet, and enjoying his favourite secret pastime of humming show tunes, when Jason Morgan strolled into the coffee shop office, averting his eyes instantly as he had caught Sonny in the middle of a rendition of "I Enjoy Being A Girl" for the third time in the past two weeks. It was a point of awkwardness between the two, which neither of them really acknowledged, but Jason was growing to resent waking up in the middle of the night with the tune to "I Am The Very Model of a Modern Major General" stuck in his head.
After several awkward seconds in which Jason stared and blinked at the ficus on the filing cabinet, and Sonny pretended to be clearing his throat, the two acknowledged each other with hesitant nods.
"Your trip was successful? The Montoyas were taken care of?" Sonny asked, pointedly.
Jason blinked and nodded. Sonny sometimes wondered if Jason could actually nod without blinking. The Montoya family, legendary arms dealers, had stood in his way for far too long. With them out of the picture, Sonny was confident that soon most of the shipping along the Eastern Seaboard would be under his control.
---
Meanwhile, a shadowed figure made his way along the Elm Street Pier. He had travelled a long way to get to this place, but his vengeance knew no limits. Here, he would finally meet the man who had killed his father and destroy him. It had been his life's mission...okay, so it had only been three days, but vengeance would be his. As he stole into town earlier, he had felt very much a foreigner. Eyes seemed to follow him as he made his way down the street, and he thought that something about his appearance must have given him away. Maybe it was his swarthy Spanish good looks, or his long, dark curly hair, or something about the way he walked. Maybe it was his 15th century wardrobe.
Suddenly, a young man made his way down to the docks. He fit the general profile of the man who had killed his father, but he had to be sure. Cautiously, he approached the young man, who quirked his eyebrows and looked him up and down appraisingly. The Spaniard made a mental note to update his wardrobe once his vengeance had been completed. He extended a hand politely to the young man.
"Excuse me," he said in heavily accented English, "I was hoping you could help me. I am but a stranger in your town, looking for a man on a business matter of some urgency. My name is Inigo – Inigo Montoya."
"Lucky. Lucky Spencer." The young man introduced himself. What an odd name, Inigo thought. The man certainly didn't seem to be very lucky at all. His shoulders were slouched, and he had a hang-dog look about his face, like someone who had been the subject of recent repeated abuse. Part of him felt immediate sympathy for his poor man.
"Nice to meet you," Inigo continued. "Like I said before, I am looking for a man. From the descriptions given to me, he his around your age, muscular, and works for an importing company in the area. Do you, by any chance, work for in importing company in the area?" A vague sense of recognition seemed to slowly dawn over the man's face, like he had said something familiar, but a second later, it was replaced simply by a look of confusion.
"No. I'm a cop." Ahhh...Inigo thought. Well, that explains the vacant, confused look.
"Do you recognize the description of the man?" Inigo inquired, watching the Lucky Spencer man's face twist in concentration. He could practically hear the cogs turning in the man's skull, and Inigo wondered if all such simple questions required such intense thought from him. He suspected they did. After a long moment, the man answered.
"Hmm...I can't place that description, but it does seem oddly familiar to me. Actually, it reminds me of my wife and my baby son for some reason that I can't quite fathom." His face contorted again, like he was dangerously close to putting important information together and coming up with a conclusion, but he again faltered, and looked up at Inigo blankly. "Anything else you can tell me about this man?"
"Well...he has a quirk."
"A quirk?"
"Yes, a quirk."
"What like he has a scar, or 6 fingers on his hand or something?"
"No...but he blinks...like this" Inigo blinked, dramatically, and stared forward for a minute. The force of his blink caused Lucky to blink in kind. Recognition flickered in Lucky's eyes. Inigo gasped, and glared at the young man.
"You blinked! It was you! You killed my father! Prepare to die!" Inigo drew his sword. Lucky looked at him fearfully for a moment. Reaching for his holster, he reached for his gun, only to sigh in defeat as he pulled out a red and yellow plastic toy gun instead. Inigo read the label. Fisher Price. Inigo felt pity for the man. He had a sense that this happened more often than the man cared to admit. Looking warily at Inigo, Lucky asked for a moment, and then pulled out his cell phone, and punched a number up on speed dial.
"Hi...Elizabeth? It happened again. Could you check Cam's room for my gun again? Yes, I know, it's a lucky thing I don't keep it loaded..." His brow furrowed in consternation as the voice on the other end of the line seemed to be yelling shrilly at him. "...but Elizabeth, he's sneaky. I don't know how he even gets in that drawer...Fine. Listen, I probably won't be home for dinner tonight. Some guy is about to run through me with a sword..." More shrill yelling erupted from the other end of the phone. Inigo was finally starting to understand why the man had that defeated look about him. Maybe he shouldn't kill him after all. He seemed to be suffering quite a bit. "...I'm sorry, okay. I can't control how many times I end up in the hospital at death's door. Things just keep happening to me. If I told you this morning that some crazy Spanish dude in period costume was going to attack me with a sword, would you have believed it?" The voice on the other end yelled again before abruptly cutting off.
"Listen," Inigo said. "I kind of pity you, and I cannot attack an unarmed man. Here, take this sword. I'll even let you have a couple of practice swings at me."
Lucky hefted the sword the man gave him, and waved it in the air, getting used to the weight. Confusion once again settled in on his face, and Inigo wondered whether it was his default expression. Surprisingly, a thought dawned on Lucky.
"Wait a minute. I didn't kill your father."
"LIAR!" Inigo shouted in a fit of rage, and ran his blade through Lucky's shoulder. Lucky collapsed in a pile of pain on the dock, clutching his wound.
"Ow!" Lucky groaned, rocking himself back and forth in pain, clutching his wound. "You didn't let me finish. The man you're looking for is Jason Morgan. He works at Corinthos Morgan Imports. You can find him at the coffee shop on Elm Street – that way." Lucky groaned again, motioning with his free arm.
"Oh," Inigo frowned apologetically. "I am sorry. I am mistaken then? Uhh...Can I – Can I assist you in some way? Perhaps call a hospital or a healer of some sort?"
"It's okay." Lucky gritted his teeth. "This happens more than you realize." Gingerly he eased a bottle of pills from his pocket, and emptied the whole thing into his mouth, before chewing, swallowing, and slowly getting to his feet. His eyes glazed over and he smiled. "Much better."
Inigo eyed him oddly. He did not think that what the man had done was a very good idea, and yet he seemed so pitiful, that Inigo couldn't help but think that he probably needed the pills to cope with his sad existence.
"Will you be – okay?" He asked the young man. The young man's unfocused eyes drifted over to him and he laughed.
"Oh yeah. Just peachy." Glancing back over his shoulder, Inigo made his way off of the docks and headed to Elm Street. He spotted the coffee house immediately, and with great wonder noted that every place of note in town seemed to be within walking distance of that very pier. How odd. He stalked toward the coffeeshop. Vengeance would be his.
---
Meanwhile, in the coffee shop, a young, skinny, unkempt boy sat at a table, slurping on an orange smoothie and typing viciously on his laptop, while a surly muscle-bound boy stood guard outside of the door at the far side of the cafe, glowering glumly. Inigo burst through the door, making what he thought was a fashionable entrance. The young nerd with the laptop glanced up and did a double take. His mouth dropped open as he got to his feet and he started bobbing awkwardly, gesturing wildly with his hands as if he had just made some sort of great connection...or maybe more like he was imitating a cappuchian monkey. When he finally regained his ability to speak, his voice came out in a squeaking, stuttering mess.
"Y-you're Inigo I-Inigo Montoya. Y-you – Your father was a great swordsmaker. The Jackal has several extremely detailed replicas of his worksmanship proudly displayed in his boudoir. Inconceivable!!"
"You...remind me very much of a man I used to know...a Sicialian." Spinelli gasped.
"M-my – the Jackal's own family -- the Spinellis – we're Sicilian. In fact, the Jackal's very own uncle seventeen times removed was largely considered to be the most clever and cunning of all Sicilians, maybe the most clever and cunning man in the world. H-he tragically died of Iocane powder poisoning."
"A tragedy I'm sure. Listen," the Spaniard cut in, fearing the boy would never shut up, "I am looking for a man. A 'Jason Morgan'. He works here, and he has a quirk. He blinks...like this." Inigo once again demonstrated the blink. The Jackal man blinked back in surprise, but Inigo had learned from his mistake the first time around and didn't directly attack the young man this time. Besides, he got the impression that the young pipsqueak would have great difficulty in harming a fly.
"Th-Th-The...Mr. Stone Cold? What business do you have with the Stone Cold, oh Son of the Great Bladesmaster?"
"He killed my father. I come to seek my vengeance."
The Jackal fidgeted nervously for a moment before darting under the table and pulling the chairs in close to him for protection. Realizing, with great horror, that his laptop sat unprotected on the table, he shot a hand up, and felt along the table until he reached it, and then quickly yanked it underneath with him, clutching it to his chest, while rocking himself back and forth and whispering "Inconceivable!" to himself, over and over.
Shrugging, Inigo made his way to the surly man at the door.
"Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. I come in search of Jason Morgan."
"Mr. Morgan is in a meeting right now."
"And you are?"
"Logan Hayes, valued member of the Corinthos Morgan cr—uhh...coffee house."
"Well, Senor Hayes, I must see him right away. It is a matter of honour and vengeance."
The surly man simply rolled his eyes at the Spaniard.
"I said," he drawled, giving the man a rough shove. "Mr. Morgan is in a business meeting right now. Why don't you come back at a later time?"
"I don't think that physical violence was necessary. I don't think you will like it very much if you do that to me again."
The surly man smirked cockily and gave the Spaniard another shove, challenging him with his eyes. Inigo drew his sword.
"What are you going to do with that thing? Tickle me?"
Inigo slashed quicky across his midsection, and the surly man's pants fell down to his ankles, revealing pink Carebear boxers. Embarassed, Logan gathered his pants and quickly pulled them up around his hips. From under the table came the distinct sound of snickering. The surly man glowered and knocked loudly on the door.
"Mr. Corinthos, sir. There's a man here to see Mr. Morgan. He says it's urgent.
A head popped out of the door momentarily. A small man in a black, pinstriped business suit looked indignantly at Logan.
"Logan, I told you that Jason and I were not to be disturbed."
Inigo tilted his head to see past the small man, and caught a glimpse of a tall man hurriedly shoving what appeared to be a pedicure set into the desk drawer.
"Sorry, sir. He insisted." Logan said, awkwardly bunching his pants around his hips. Sonny gave him an odd look.
"Who's he?" He said, looking appraisingly over at Inigo.
"My name is Inigo Montoya. Jason Morgan killed my father. I am here to claim my vengeance."
Sonny strutted out of his office and circled Inigo threateningly. Doing a double take at the table, which was still excitedly muttering "Inconceivable!" over and over again, he rounded again on the Spaniard.
"Mr. Morgan didn't kill anyone, and you can't prove it, so why don't you go back to wherever – or whenever – you came from and go back to your life."
"He did kill my father, and I can prove it!"
"Inconceiv –" Sonny caught himself and kicked at one of the chairs surrounding the cowering table. The table whimpered. "You can't prove anything, Montoya."
"The man who killed my father blinked – like this." Inigo blinked exaggeratedly. He marched over to Jason, standing in the doorway to the office. He stared him in the face intently. Jason blinked.
"A-ha! You see?!? It was him!" Turning to Jason, he whispered solemnly, "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." Jason blinked at him again. Enraged, Inigo circled him, once again drawing his sword. "I challenge you to a duel to defend my father's death. We will fight honourably and you will then die. I have trained intensely with the art of sword fighting for three days, and I am widely considered the best swordsman ever to only have three days of training. You will die swiftly and honourably, but first, admit to the crime you committed. Admit you killed my father. Say his name so I can kill you with honour!"
Jason blinked, "Which Montoya?" he asked simply.
"What – what do you mean?"
"Which Montoya? There were a lot of Montoyas. There was Hector, and Juan, and Miguel, and Rafael, and Pedro, and Andres, and..."
"You killed them all?"
Jason blinked.
"That's it! Now you will die! Draw your weapon."
Jason drew his gun and shot Inigo. Inigo crumpled to the ground, bleeding.
"I – I don't get it. You were supposed to die. How? Why?"
Jason blinked and shrugged as he dragged Inigo's bloody body into the office. "I'm Jason Morgan." He said simply. "I don't die."
"...Oh." Inigo offered weakly. "Inconceivable."