Drink Talkin
"...I'm just so sodding board. Only two vamps that have dared show fang in the last five nights. And there's no wind of anything going down, or anything. Thought it'd be more interesting then this, living on the mouth of hell, with a Slayer under wing."
Giles poured himself another drink, and knocked it back with a highly practiced ease. The bottle was now almost quarter empty. And here he was, wasting his time, talking away to a bleedin' answering machine like it was his best friend. He wasn't even certain that he'd managed to put the right number in, with the way the buttons danced all around the hand-piece. Showed how long it had been since the last time he'd gotten properly sloshed. Sighing, he twisted the phone cord around his fingers and started talking again.
"Sloshed and sozzled." He finished his thought out loud, "Completely sozzled."
"You'd thing I'd be grateful for the break. Been a busy moth or so, you know? But all I bloody think about is a way to get something to happen. Something. Anything."
Laughing, Giles took the next mouthful straight from the bottle. He wasn't entirely sure that he would actually be able to pour properly into the cup at the moment, anyway.
"You know I never could handle boredom. Always hated standing around with my finger up my ass."
Another mouthful.
"Look. Don't bother calling me back."
Giles wondered if he could get away with taking another drink. He was already well aware that he was in for one hell of a hangover in the morning. Ah well, if he was going to do this he may as well do it properly. Lifting the bottle he attempted to pour out another shot. It was truly amazing, that most of it actually went in the glass.
"At lease things were interesting with you around. Sure, you near bloody drove me mad a few times, but at least things happened. None of this standing around."
This time he only took a small sip to lubricate his throat. It was definitely time to take it easy, or, if not easy, then easier, at any rate. Probably, he should have knocked the drinking on the head when making this phone call actually started to sound like a good idea.
"If something doesn't happen soon, I'm beginning to fear I might have to make it happen myself."
Giles raised a hand, and massaged his temples, as though the simple action could prevent the pain that he was going to be in for, come morning.
"Like I said before. Or at least I think I said (Shit. Was he really that sloshed?) Don't bother calling back. I ah, I opened that bottle of absinthe you left behind for me last time. This is just the drink talking. Probably won't even remember this in the morning. With any luck."
He finished off the glass, and winced. That last drink had certainly not been the most intelligent idea he'd ever had.
"Thanks for listening, old friend. Good night. Or morning. Or whatever bloody time frame it is that you're in."
Giles hung the receiver up, and sank back into his chair with a sigh. Not much point in trying to climb the stairs. The state he was in, he'd probably wind up going over onto his arse, or his face. He'd be head over heels, the whole way down.
Closing his eyes, he drifted off into a deep sleep.
It was late afternoon, of the next day when Giles awoke. The first thing he saw was the red light, blinking away threateningly, on the answering machine. With a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, which didn't come entirely from last night, he pressed the playback button. The message was a brief one.
"Catch you soon, Ripper old mate."
Oh, God. He needed another drink, before he had to tell Buffy what he'd just done.