3. Drunk on the job

When Errol had bought the bottle of wine, he'd only intended to take a few sips of it. It was late evening, it was his turn to keep watch at the gates, and he thought a little bit of wine would help keep him awake. It was good stuff, too; imported from Italy, just how he liked it. The fact that such stuff gave him a lousy headache and tended to make him depressed had, as always, conveniently slipped his mind.

The old guard glanced down the road. It was empty; had, in fact, been empty for several hours. No citizen would be dumb enough to be out here at midnight. No thief would, either, what with the weather being so cold. It was going to be a long night, and Errol knew it.

He leant against the enormous archway, took a quick glance at the bridge (empty; what a surprise) and took another sip of wine.

Drinking while on duty was strictly prohibited. No one knew this better than Errol. He'd been a guard for well over thirty years, had devoted his life to the job, and had taken the time to memorize every single rule. Normally, he'd have flinched at the thought of bringing alcohol with him when he had to work the night shift. He'd certainly have berated the younger men for doing such things. But he'd had a rough day, and he felt he needed to treat himself. Besides, he could handle his drink. At least, he couldn't remember not being able to. A smile spread over Errol's wrinkled face at the thought of this amazing ability. He'd just love to boast about it. He'd relish the thought of walking right up to the Captain and saying; "still doubt my capability, sir? I was up all night with this bottle and I didn't so much as close my eyes! What do you make of that, Roddy-boy? Eh?"

The thought of Captain Rusthaven made Errol take an enormous gulp of wine. That was another reason he'd brought it; to spite him. To show that upstart that orders meant nothing if the soldier giving them was incompetent. He took another gulp as he remembered what Rusthaven had said to him that day. He'd suggested that Errol should consider retiring. Retiring! He was only 52! Alright, he was no spring chicken and he'd gained a few pounds, but he was in much better shape than the rest of those-

What was that?

Errol straightened up and reached for his spear, glancing around again. Nope; there was nothing there. It was the shadows; they were playing tricks on him, messing with his nerves. Another sip of wine should clear that right up.

What really got to Errol was that he should've been the Captain. He'd had years of experience, and he was good at training the new recruits. He had no family, no one to distract him from his duty. When old Winters had retired, Errol had been so sure of his upcoming promotion that he'd bought himself a new coat. But that was not to be. The title Errol had coveted had gone to Roderick Rusthaven, and look what he'd done with it! Look at the scrawny whelps he'd recruited! Why, if Errol had been in charge, he'd have hired only the best! He'd have caught the likes of that Rider boy long ago!

But, he realised as he took a long sip from his bottle, that was not the way things worked out. He was stuck at the bottom, languishing alongside men who could barely classify as soldiers. He'd been there for thirty years, and he wasn't going any higher. His entire life had been a waste.

"Need a little help?"

Errol hadn't even known he was about to fall over until the young man had grabbed his arm. Where he'd come from, Errol couldn't tell, but he was heading for the bridge and the old guard had almost fallen right in his path. He staggered to his feet immediately, feeling more than a little embarrassed.

"Thank you, boy... don't know what came over me..."

For a moment, he thought he recognised the man who'd helped him. He was dressed in simple, scruffy clothes and was wearing a large hat which hid most of his face, but what Errol did see looked strangely familiar to him. By the time he registered this, however, the young man was already on the bridge, his back to the guard.

"Hey!" Errol yelled, suddenly aware of how slurred his speech sounded. "Who are you?"

The young man just kept walking; in fact, when he heard Errol's voice, he broke into a run. Whoever he was, he was obviously anxious to get home; and who could blame him, on a night like this? Errol was in no mood to race after him. It wasn't that important, anyway.

"Thank the Lord for people like that," he muttered, taking another sip of wine (the last one, he told himself). "People like that... they make this job worthwhile..."

It wasn't until many hours later, when the Captain told him about Flynn Rider's latest robbery, that he realised just who that young man had been. By then, he had more important things to worry about; like, for instance, how to explain why he'd been found asleep at his post, a half-empty bottle of wine in his hand.

A/N: What you've just seen was my first attempt at writing for Eugene. Let me know if he was too OOC.