This idea came from Cambridge University in England, where they actually do this bridge-jumping thing. The whole bet thing, though, came from Raider1472, who mentioned it in her story and gave me permission to elaborate on it :D.

WARNING: Rating went to T for drunk-ness, and I suppose I should tell you not to try this at home, people.

Of Bridge Jumping and Drunken Antics

Part 1

It was dark. They had a small boat, canoe really. The end of the river could not be spotted, but Halt knew that by the time they reached it he'd have gotten over all the little bridge connected the two shores and still be sober enough to gloat.

The boat was filled with bottles of wine, by the way.

Because Crowley had come up with this wonderful idea that, for their last night in Gallica, he and Halt should get drunk. And have to perform a near impossible physical task.

Well, Halt did, anyway. Crowley was content to use the excuse that he had to row the boat, while Halt did all the climbing over the little bridges crossing over the narrow river. This was called bridge jumping, and each time Halt successfully clambered over one of the bridges, he had to gulp down one bottle before the next one came.

The only way Halt agreed to this madness was by Crowley making it a bet.

Halt never turned down a bet.

The first few bridges went without trouble, as Halt was strong from three years of Ranger training, and found he could hold his liquor moderately well. Perhaps it came from wine being the only respite in those long and dreaded noble meetings.

"You are so going to lose."

Halt turned, more dizzily looked around, at Crowley's voice, glaring at some point around the other boy's shoulder. "Nope," he slurred. "I could do this with my eyes closed."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "You can barely see with your eyes open, anyway," he retorted.

The battle of wills continued.

It was by the fifth bottle that Halt started to get a little woozy, staggering around and threatening to tip the small rowboat over. Crowley attempted to get him to settle down by snapping his fingers, an action that seemed to make Halt suddenly alert as to where it was coming from.

"Come on, boy," Crowley coaxed, feeling quite like he was talking to a dog that had jut smelled food. He snapped his fingers again as a bridge came into view, expecting his friend to try to steady himself.

But then Halt began to sing.

"I am going to win this bet, win this – hiccup- bet, win this bet
Crowley – hiccup – will lose this bet, lose this bet, lose this bet.
And then he'll have a pig to pet. Hiccup."

It was, quite certainly, the most hilarious thing Crowley had ever seen. He wished he had some way to capture it forever and show to people.

Ah well. Halt would never live it down anyway.

"Bridge ahoy, Halt old buddy!" Crowley said gleefully, certain that, after the recent performance of Halt's, there was no way the Hibernian would make it over this one successfully and down another beer.

Crowley picked up speed as Halt staggered to his feet again. He had half a mind not to climb this one, but the alternative was too humiliating and dreadful to bear. So, he rose to his feet, beer bottle in one hand, and attempting a sort of jump to reach the paved stone on top.

The small Hibernian's direction was very misjudged, and he seemed to purposefully jump out the side of the boat instead, hitting the icy cold water with a shock and unable to flounder enough to make a difference.

A second later the boat was drifting by pure momentum as Crowley abandoned the oar and hauled Halt back onto the wooden vessel and shook him roughly, mildly surprised that the other boy's hold on the alcohol had not loosened.

"Halt! Halt, are you alright?" Crowley repeatedly slapped the drooling boy's face until Halt opened his mouth and came close to biting the finger.

It took a moment for Halt to muster enough brainpower to ask hopefully, "Did I win?"

Crowley's wicked grin melted Halt's willpower and he knew what the other apprentice would say before it happened. All the same, the Hibernian followed Crowley's finger as he pointed to a single bridge approaching, one Halt most certainly did not have the energy to climb over. Past it, a dock was growing clearer. Relatively clearer, as Halt was quite drunk. He could make out Crowley's next words though:

"So, Halt. What size pig do you wear?"

Yeah, that was fun to write :D Oh dear, what will Halt have to do now?

Review?

-Dodo