Disclaimer: I don't own Bill, Meowth, Team Rocket... Well, basically anything having to do with Pokémon. And the liquor. I'm not twenty-one yet. (Dammit.)
Foreword: First off, woo for pathetic attempts at humor! =D
Anywho, this is another fic dedicated to Meowthgal, but that's not just because she's been extremely nice to me (and the rest of the MFC)... It's because I told her I'd write something like this. XD
There's actually a joke involved with the fact that Meowth and Bill are featured in this fic. Put it this way: this is my idea of a tribute to Maddie Blaustein, my favorite voice actress and the provider of the voice of Bill and Meowth, among other characters. (Yes, actress. Maddie is a woman.) Just how is this a tribute? Well, okay, it's not so much a tribute as it is a random, blurby idea that came to the minds of a chatroom of insane fangirls (myself included). Someone (I don't remember who it was -- probably me.) thought it would be funny if Bill and Meowth got together in a bar and, well, you'll see the rest. ^_-
Also, to those who are wondering, I've tried my best at imitating Meowth's accent. Please don't kill me if you think it's THAT bad... i_i
That said, enjoy this... thing... ^_^;
------
A certain young Englishman sighed as he stood on the street in New York. It was just his luck that his car broke down on the way to the Pokémon researchers' convention a few miles away, that his cell phone chose that moment to die, and that there was no way in the fiery depths of Hell that he'd make it to the convention on time on foot. He sighed, ran his fingers through his hair, and checked the engine again. What a time to fry! And what a place to do it in, too...!
He straightened up and looked around him at the rough neighborhood; it was most definitely not a place he'd want to be in at night. He dug through his pockets before coming across what he was looking for, several smooth, metallic disks.
"Maybe you're not as lucky as you think you are, Bill, old boy," he murmured to himself before turning to the nearest business establishment, a pub right in front of him.
He walked over and pushed open the door, entering a smoky, dark world. Odd characters were nearly crawling in the bar like cockroaches crawling all over the opened jar of pickled eggs (Well, that analogy only came to Bill's mind as he glanced over at the bar to see the said jar of pickled eggs and cockroaches. It was then when he felt his stomach slowly turn.), even though it was only two in the afternoon. With a deep breath (that smelled oddly of alcohol, vomit, cigarettes, and... urine?), Bill walked up to the bar to address the bartender.
"Excuse me!" the youth called over the loud racket of drunken chattering and jukebox music.
The bartender, a hefty, bald man with a tattoo of a dagger on his left forearm and a thick, black mustache, turned around and gazed at the well-dressed young man suspiciously.
"What can I get yeh?" the bartender finally asked with a shrug. "Scotch? Martini? Maybe a low-class beer?"
Bill backed away from the bar slightly and shook his head. "Oh, no, sir! You don't understand! I just wish to use a payphone of some sort!"
With a gruff snort, the bartender pointed to a corner where a black payphone was nailed to the wall. Bill nodded and gave his thanks before walking over to the phone and picking up the receiver. The young researcher looked around at the quality of the bar before whipping the handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiping off the receiver. He stuffed the piece of cloth back into his pocket before taking coins out of another pocket and inserting them through the slot, one by one. After this, he took from yet another pocket a AAA membership card, complete with a phone number to call in case one's vehicle broke down. (Well, that's convenient, no?) With this number in mind, he pressed the silver buttons on the phone's keypad and waited for someone to answer.
"Oh god," Bill murmured to himself with a groan as a boozehound passed out, spilling from the barstool onto the tiled floor in a drunken, vomit-scented heap.
Beyond this boozehound, a Meowth stumbled into the bar and skulked up to an empty stool in front of the bartender.
"Gimme a milk spiced with catnip -- shaken, not stirred," the cat-like Pokémon ordered.
"Hey, furball," the bartender snapped. "We don't serve Pokémon here."
The Meowth ejected his claws, allowing the bartender to see them. "I've had a rough day so far. Ya wanna complain!?"
Recoiling slightly, the bartender got to work behind the counter, taking items left and right, shaking up a martini shaker, and pouring the milky-green contents into a martini glass which he promptly served to the scratchcat.
"Dat's more like it," the Meowth said as he took the glass in a paw. "Put it on Team Rocket's tab!"
The bartender opened his mouth, about to say that Team Rocket didn't have one at that particular bar. However, the thought of the Meowth's claws ran through his mind again, and with that, he closed his mouth and continued to clean a nearby glass.
Meanwhile, Bill hung up the phone and groaned. Due to traffic and the fact that, well, it was New York City ('nuff said), it would take somewhere near three hours to get to his car. (So much for that convention.) Suddenly, alcohol seemed appealing, despite the fact that he was one year underage.
Reluctantly, Bill slinked out of the corner of the bar and up to the counter, on an empty stool next to a Meowth.
"Um... Excuse me," Bill said nervously.
The bartender only gave him a look, as if Bill were a vile rodent that had to be shoved out of the bar.
"C-could I have a... erm, a soda?" Bill requested.
The bartender only rolled his eyes before preparing and serving a glass of soda to Bill. The researcher took it graciously and sipped thoughtfully until he at last noticed the cat next to him. At first, he only glanced at the Pokémon, then back at his soda, and finally back at the cat with wide eyes.
"I tell youse! Dey're gonna be da end o' me!" he complained. "Dat Jess beats me wit everyt'ing ya can t'ink of, an' dat Jim... Well, he ain't da brightest bulb in da bunch, dat's for sure!"
Bill glanced at his soda, trying to determine which of the carbonated sugar water's ingredients was triggering these hallucinations. The Meowth noticed that he was being watched and so looked over at Bill.
"What're YOU lookin' at, ya freak!?" Meowth demanded.
"Nothing," Bill muttered with a dazed tone. "Just a hallucination."
"Yeah, well, I ain't a hallucination!" Meowth snapped before sipping his catnip-laced milk.
"I'm sorry..." Bill hesitated a bit. "...Sir. I just don't usually see a talking Pokémon..."
"Yeah, well, I'm one o' a kind, and don't ya forget it!" Meowth paused before adding (under his breath), "Ya freak."
"I don't mean to be rude, sir, but why are you putting up an attitude against me?" the human asked. "I didn't do anything to you, did I not?"
"Yeah? Well, yer a human, and dat's all da reason I need!" The scratchcat finished off his milk and raised a paw. "Bartender! Another milk! Keep 'em comin'!"
The bartender rolled his eyes again and presented Meowth with another glass of milk spiked with catnip.
"So, what's YER problem?" Meowth asked bluntly. "Yer boyfriend break up wit you or somet'ing?"
Bill nearly choked on the gulp of soda he had just taken. "Boyfriend!? What on earth makes you think I'm ho--"
He stopped short, long enough to notice Meowth eye his... flamboyant attire.
"No, you don't understand!" Bill sighed. "I'm not a homosexual, though I don't have a problem with people who are. This is just how I ALWAYS dress."
Meowth squinted one eye, almost to show that he was raising an eyebrow.
"What?" Bill inquired as he tilted his head.
At that point, Meowth muttered yet something else under his breath. Bill had a hunch that it was something along the lines of, "Ya freak."
Bill sat patiently as the hours passed, listening to Meowth suck down spiked milk and complain about "Jess" and "Jim" and how he keeps on getting replaced as "top cat" by "dem damn Persians." And as time went on, the Meowth got drunker and rowdier (despite the fact that the milk was laced with CATNIP) than Bill was comfortable with. And surely enough, evidence that this would become a problem waltzed in through the bar door.
She was a twenty-something blonde with a ruffian on her arm. Her black, leather mini-skirt and red tube top hardly covered her tanned skin, as did the black, high-heeled shoes she wore. Her golden hair framed her smiling face as her blue eyes were glued to the rapper-like man holding her arm.
"I'm gonna shoot some pool while you order us some drinks, 'kay, babe?" her boyfriend half stated, half inquired.
"Sure, hon," the woman replied before giving him a kiss and letting go.
As the man stalked towards the pool table on the other side of the room (with his blue jeans pretty much to his knees), the woman walked towards the empty stool next to the Meowth. Bill (who had no interest in skanky people like the aforementioned woman) paid no attention to her until he heard a sharp shriek coming from her. Bill looked up to see the woman's pale face staring down at the Meowth.
"That Meowth just pinched my butt!" she exclaimed before looking straight at Bill (who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time). "Is that thing yours!?"
Bill's eyes widened like saucers before he answered. "Oh, no, Miss! I don't know whose--"
The woman didn't pay the slightest attention to him as she flung her hand across his cheek. As she walked away in a huff, Bill steadied himself on the stool, still shocked by the force of the slap. Meowth, however (and to Bill's horror), swiveled the stool around and raised his glass into the air.
"Come back, toots!" the furball called, incredibly drunk.
'No good can come out of this at all,' Bill thought with a groan as he bent over his drink.
Before long, the young man felt someone grab him, turn him around, and shove him into the bar. He felt his glass of soda tip over as its liquid contents covered the wood and drenched his back. He tried not to look at the dark, menacing eyes set into the dark, hard face of the woman's boyfriend.
"Have you been hittin' on my girl!?" the man demanded.
Bill's fear took the words from his mouth, rendering him unable to speak. He could only shake his head in response.
"How about your Meowth?" the thug hissed, motioning his head towards the Pokémon sitting next to Bill.
Bill could only look over to see Meowth fall off his stool in drunken laughter. At this, the researcher shook his head again, still unable to speak. In disbelief, the hooligan pulled back a fist aimed right at Bill's head.
---
When Bill came to (painfully enough to ignore the ragged state of his clothing and the fact that one of his eyes was nearly swollen shut), he was lying on his back in a gutter just outside the bar. The sun over New York had set, and it was apparent that the worst of the crowds were out (judging by the sounds of gunshots and police sirens in the distance). Bill sat up and noticed two additional things. The first was that his car was gone (presumably towed or stolen). The second, however, was that his wallet was gone (presumably due to the latter possible fate of the car).
As he sat on the curb, contemplating what to do next, a furry form next to him groaned and sat up. Bill looked over to see Meowth sitting next to him, holding his head.
"Oooh... Hangover," the cat groaned before noticing that Bill was staring at him. "Whadda ya lookin' at, ya freak!?"
With that, Bill stood up, took the Meowth by the neck, and walked down the street until he found a mailbox sitting on the corner, waiting for citizens to insert letters to be sent around the world. The Meowth screamed, struggled, and attempted to claw the young man, but a firm grip was still kept on the skin on the back of his neck.
"Whadda ya doin'!?" Meowth screeched, trying to reach up and scratch Bill with long, sharp claws.
Bill didn't say a word as he opened the mailbox and dropped the cat inside. With a blank look on his face, Bill kept going in the direction of the hotel he was staying at, straight into the Manhattan night.
------
Final A/N: Yeah. I know Bill was somewhat out of character at that last bit. ^_^;
Anywho, happy holidays to MG-san and everyone else! =D
Foreword: First off, woo for pathetic attempts at humor! =D
Anywho, this is another fic dedicated to Meowthgal, but that's not just because she's been extremely nice to me (and the rest of the MFC)... It's because I told her I'd write something like this. XD
There's actually a joke involved with the fact that Meowth and Bill are featured in this fic. Put it this way: this is my idea of a tribute to Maddie Blaustein, my favorite voice actress and the provider of the voice of Bill and Meowth, among other characters. (Yes, actress. Maddie is a woman.) Just how is this a tribute? Well, okay, it's not so much a tribute as it is a random, blurby idea that came to the minds of a chatroom of insane fangirls (myself included). Someone (I don't remember who it was -- probably me.) thought it would be funny if Bill and Meowth got together in a bar and, well, you'll see the rest. ^_-
Also, to those who are wondering, I've tried my best at imitating Meowth's accent. Please don't kill me if you think it's THAT bad... i_i
That said, enjoy this... thing... ^_^;
------
A certain young Englishman sighed as he stood on the street in New York. It was just his luck that his car broke down on the way to the Pokémon researchers' convention a few miles away, that his cell phone chose that moment to die, and that there was no way in the fiery depths of Hell that he'd make it to the convention on time on foot. He sighed, ran his fingers through his hair, and checked the engine again. What a time to fry! And what a place to do it in, too...!
He straightened up and looked around him at the rough neighborhood; it was most definitely not a place he'd want to be in at night. He dug through his pockets before coming across what he was looking for, several smooth, metallic disks.
"Maybe you're not as lucky as you think you are, Bill, old boy," he murmured to himself before turning to the nearest business establishment, a pub right in front of him.
He walked over and pushed open the door, entering a smoky, dark world. Odd characters were nearly crawling in the bar like cockroaches crawling all over the opened jar of pickled eggs (Well, that analogy only came to Bill's mind as he glanced over at the bar to see the said jar of pickled eggs and cockroaches. It was then when he felt his stomach slowly turn.), even though it was only two in the afternoon. With a deep breath (that smelled oddly of alcohol, vomit, cigarettes, and... urine?), Bill walked up to the bar to address the bartender.
"Excuse me!" the youth called over the loud racket of drunken chattering and jukebox music.
The bartender, a hefty, bald man with a tattoo of a dagger on his left forearm and a thick, black mustache, turned around and gazed at the well-dressed young man suspiciously.
"What can I get yeh?" the bartender finally asked with a shrug. "Scotch? Martini? Maybe a low-class beer?"
Bill backed away from the bar slightly and shook his head. "Oh, no, sir! You don't understand! I just wish to use a payphone of some sort!"
With a gruff snort, the bartender pointed to a corner where a black payphone was nailed to the wall. Bill nodded and gave his thanks before walking over to the phone and picking up the receiver. The young researcher looked around at the quality of the bar before whipping the handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiping off the receiver. He stuffed the piece of cloth back into his pocket before taking coins out of another pocket and inserting them through the slot, one by one. After this, he took from yet another pocket a AAA membership card, complete with a phone number to call in case one's vehicle broke down. (Well, that's convenient, no?) With this number in mind, he pressed the silver buttons on the phone's keypad and waited for someone to answer.
"Oh god," Bill murmured to himself with a groan as a boozehound passed out, spilling from the barstool onto the tiled floor in a drunken, vomit-scented heap.
Beyond this boozehound, a Meowth stumbled into the bar and skulked up to an empty stool in front of the bartender.
"Gimme a milk spiced with catnip -- shaken, not stirred," the cat-like Pokémon ordered.
"Hey, furball," the bartender snapped. "We don't serve Pokémon here."
The Meowth ejected his claws, allowing the bartender to see them. "I've had a rough day so far. Ya wanna complain!?"
Recoiling slightly, the bartender got to work behind the counter, taking items left and right, shaking up a martini shaker, and pouring the milky-green contents into a martini glass which he promptly served to the scratchcat.
"Dat's more like it," the Meowth said as he took the glass in a paw. "Put it on Team Rocket's tab!"
The bartender opened his mouth, about to say that Team Rocket didn't have one at that particular bar. However, the thought of the Meowth's claws ran through his mind again, and with that, he closed his mouth and continued to clean a nearby glass.
Meanwhile, Bill hung up the phone and groaned. Due to traffic and the fact that, well, it was New York City ('nuff said), it would take somewhere near three hours to get to his car. (So much for that convention.) Suddenly, alcohol seemed appealing, despite the fact that he was one year underage.
Reluctantly, Bill slinked out of the corner of the bar and up to the counter, on an empty stool next to a Meowth.
"Um... Excuse me," Bill said nervously.
The bartender only gave him a look, as if Bill were a vile rodent that had to be shoved out of the bar.
"C-could I have a... erm, a soda?" Bill requested.
The bartender only rolled his eyes before preparing and serving a glass of soda to Bill. The researcher took it graciously and sipped thoughtfully until he at last noticed the cat next to him. At first, he only glanced at the Pokémon, then back at his soda, and finally back at the cat with wide eyes.
"I tell youse! Dey're gonna be da end o' me!" he complained. "Dat Jess beats me wit everyt'ing ya can t'ink of, an' dat Jim... Well, he ain't da brightest bulb in da bunch, dat's for sure!"
Bill glanced at his soda, trying to determine which of the carbonated sugar water's ingredients was triggering these hallucinations. The Meowth noticed that he was being watched and so looked over at Bill.
"What're YOU lookin' at, ya freak!?" Meowth demanded.
"Nothing," Bill muttered with a dazed tone. "Just a hallucination."
"Yeah, well, I ain't a hallucination!" Meowth snapped before sipping his catnip-laced milk.
"I'm sorry..." Bill hesitated a bit. "...Sir. I just don't usually see a talking Pokémon..."
"Yeah, well, I'm one o' a kind, and don't ya forget it!" Meowth paused before adding (under his breath), "Ya freak."
"I don't mean to be rude, sir, but why are you putting up an attitude against me?" the human asked. "I didn't do anything to you, did I not?"
"Yeah? Well, yer a human, and dat's all da reason I need!" The scratchcat finished off his milk and raised a paw. "Bartender! Another milk! Keep 'em comin'!"
The bartender rolled his eyes again and presented Meowth with another glass of milk spiked with catnip.
"So, what's YER problem?" Meowth asked bluntly. "Yer boyfriend break up wit you or somet'ing?"
Bill nearly choked on the gulp of soda he had just taken. "Boyfriend!? What on earth makes you think I'm ho--"
He stopped short, long enough to notice Meowth eye his... flamboyant attire.
"No, you don't understand!" Bill sighed. "I'm not a homosexual, though I don't have a problem with people who are. This is just how I ALWAYS dress."
Meowth squinted one eye, almost to show that he was raising an eyebrow.
"What?" Bill inquired as he tilted his head.
At that point, Meowth muttered yet something else under his breath. Bill had a hunch that it was something along the lines of, "Ya freak."
Bill sat patiently as the hours passed, listening to Meowth suck down spiked milk and complain about "Jess" and "Jim" and how he keeps on getting replaced as "top cat" by "dem damn Persians." And as time went on, the Meowth got drunker and rowdier (despite the fact that the milk was laced with CATNIP) than Bill was comfortable with. And surely enough, evidence that this would become a problem waltzed in through the bar door.
She was a twenty-something blonde with a ruffian on her arm. Her black, leather mini-skirt and red tube top hardly covered her tanned skin, as did the black, high-heeled shoes she wore. Her golden hair framed her smiling face as her blue eyes were glued to the rapper-like man holding her arm.
"I'm gonna shoot some pool while you order us some drinks, 'kay, babe?" her boyfriend half stated, half inquired.
"Sure, hon," the woman replied before giving him a kiss and letting go.
As the man stalked towards the pool table on the other side of the room (with his blue jeans pretty much to his knees), the woman walked towards the empty stool next to the Meowth. Bill (who had no interest in skanky people like the aforementioned woman) paid no attention to her until he heard a sharp shriek coming from her. Bill looked up to see the woman's pale face staring down at the Meowth.
"That Meowth just pinched my butt!" she exclaimed before looking straight at Bill (who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time). "Is that thing yours!?"
Bill's eyes widened like saucers before he answered. "Oh, no, Miss! I don't know whose--"
The woman didn't pay the slightest attention to him as she flung her hand across his cheek. As she walked away in a huff, Bill steadied himself on the stool, still shocked by the force of the slap. Meowth, however (and to Bill's horror), swiveled the stool around and raised his glass into the air.
"Come back, toots!" the furball called, incredibly drunk.
'No good can come out of this at all,' Bill thought with a groan as he bent over his drink.
Before long, the young man felt someone grab him, turn him around, and shove him into the bar. He felt his glass of soda tip over as its liquid contents covered the wood and drenched his back. He tried not to look at the dark, menacing eyes set into the dark, hard face of the woman's boyfriend.
"Have you been hittin' on my girl!?" the man demanded.
Bill's fear took the words from his mouth, rendering him unable to speak. He could only shake his head in response.
"How about your Meowth?" the thug hissed, motioning his head towards the Pokémon sitting next to Bill.
Bill could only look over to see Meowth fall off his stool in drunken laughter. At this, the researcher shook his head again, still unable to speak. In disbelief, the hooligan pulled back a fist aimed right at Bill's head.
---
When Bill came to (painfully enough to ignore the ragged state of his clothing and the fact that one of his eyes was nearly swollen shut), he was lying on his back in a gutter just outside the bar. The sun over New York had set, and it was apparent that the worst of the crowds were out (judging by the sounds of gunshots and police sirens in the distance). Bill sat up and noticed two additional things. The first was that his car was gone (presumably towed or stolen). The second, however, was that his wallet was gone (presumably due to the latter possible fate of the car).
As he sat on the curb, contemplating what to do next, a furry form next to him groaned and sat up. Bill looked over to see Meowth sitting next to him, holding his head.
"Oooh... Hangover," the cat groaned before noticing that Bill was staring at him. "Whadda ya lookin' at, ya freak!?"
With that, Bill stood up, took the Meowth by the neck, and walked down the street until he found a mailbox sitting on the corner, waiting for citizens to insert letters to be sent around the world. The Meowth screamed, struggled, and attempted to claw the young man, but a firm grip was still kept on the skin on the back of his neck.
"Whadda ya doin'!?" Meowth screeched, trying to reach up and scratch Bill with long, sharp claws.
Bill didn't say a word as he opened the mailbox and dropped the cat inside. With a blank look on his face, Bill kept going in the direction of the hotel he was staying at, straight into the Manhattan night.
------
Final A/N: Yeah. I know Bill was somewhat out of character at that last bit. ^_^;
Anywho, happy holidays to MG-san and everyone else! =D