vocab_drabbles | 50: Noisome - Angel - Lorne/Groo

Title: The Warrior and the Bodyguard
Fandom: Angel
Author: Apache Firecat
Rating: PG/K+
Word Count: 1,139
Characters/Pairings: Lorne/Groo, past Groo/Cordelia and Lorne/Angel
Warnings: None, but I can definitely see this twisting off into an AU...
Summary: Lorne makes the heartbroken Groosalugg an offer he might be foolish to refuse.

"You should come with me, cupcake," he says, soulful, red eyes glancing cautiously up at the warrior from another world, from his world. He pauses to give the Groosalugg a chance to deny his claim, but when he doesn't, not because he thinks Lorne is mistaken but because he does not yet know the Earth words to gently decline his invitation, Lorne hurries on. "We're two of a kind here, sweetheart."

"We are from the same world," Groo agrees, struggling, "but we are very different."

"No more different than you and the Princess."

"Yes, and look at how well that has turned out. I was a fool to come here, Krevlornswath."

The green-skinned Demon made a truly hideous face. "Now, if you are coming to come with me, sweetcakes, we've got to get some things straight. First of all, the name is Lorne, not Krevlornswatch, not Krev, not Swath, Lorne. Secondly, it wasn't a mistake. You didn't belong there any more than I did." The bracelet he was wearing jangled as he lifted his glass. He tipped it in the warrior's direction before taking a sip.

"I am not... like you."

"Didn't say you were, sweetheart," Lorne replied with a shake of his head. His perfectly manicured nails clasped his goblet like a true queen as he lowered the drink, not spilling a single splash on his designer, yellow suit despite the fact that his temper was slowly rising. (He wasn't thrilled about this particular suit, and he was going to have to talk to the designer about its mustard shade, but he was still and always going to take care of his threads.) "Look, sweetheart, Groo, baby, I'm trying to do you a favor here. You didn't belong on Pylea, no more than I did. So maybe you are a warrior, but you're also a big hunk of sweetheart. You're not the type of fighter to glory in the battle. You care more about righting wrongs and all that happy horseshit. So come with me. Be the..." He waved his empty hand in the air. "Be the hero, the champion, the Angel even for Las Vegas."

"I am not Angel."

"Again, sweetcheeks, didn't say you are. I'm not looking for you to be or become anybody but yourself, but you and I," he tipped his glass to him again and took another sip. "We are two of a kind, rather you want to admit it or not. We're both from the same world, even though we were never cut out for it. We shouldn't have been born there, but we were. The Fates have smiled on us though, darling. They're giving us another chance. Don't waste it." He frowned, even his red horns drawing downward in dismay. "There's nothing more uncool than a wasted chance, especially a wasted second, third, or fourteenth chance."

"You seem to speak from experience," Groo hesitantly remarked.

"That's because I am, cupcake." Lorne waved his drink in the air. "I tried and tried and tried to make it work here in LA, and for what? Every time I thought I was going to be good, business was going to swell, Angel and co would show up again and destroy my place again. I owed them, don't get me wrong, and Angel is a fine drink of water -- "

"So I've heard," Groo put in sourly.

"Yeah, well," Lorne swirled his drink, "I could have told you that, but you weren't ready to hear it. Sometimes I have to let you kiddies make your own mistakes, as much as it pains me, but I'm pleading with you, big guy. Don't make this mistake. Don't go out into that big, bad world all on your lonesome. Come with me. Let me show you the ropes of Las Vegas. Let me get some money in your pocket, and some better clothes on your back, and then you can go live in the streets or whatever."

Groosalugg made a face. "The streets are very different here than they were in Pylea. They are... noisome and dangerous, and that... that smog, I believe you call it, is everywhere."

"As are guys and gals both, honey, who are going to take advantage of you if you let them. I can show you the ropes. I can set you up to be good on your own, if that's what you want."

Trouble and disgust contorted the warrior's face, but Lorne could tell he was considering his words, considering his offer. He also knew that, if he didn't take the kid with him, it would be a month, two or three tops, before he was sleeping on park benches and digging food out of garbage cans. He was not going to let one of the kindest souls he'd ever known be resorted to that, especially not because he'd made the wrong decision and falling in love with the wrong person. After all, Lorne himself knew far too well what that was like. His beloved Caritas was a decaying but prime example of that very flaw.

"Come with me, kid," he tried once more, his plea a breathy whisper over his glass. He finished his drink and turned to search for another one. He'd just finished pouring it when the warrior spoke a tentative question from behind him.

"Will I... Will I have to sing and dance?"

"And put on a show in your fancy pants?" Lorne asked, smiling, as he turned back to face him. "Sweetheart, that's what I'm trying to keep you from having to do! No, you won't have to do any of it. You can be my bodyguard though." Sipping his drink, Lorne raked his red eyes over Groo's barely concealed muscles. The Princess could have Angelcakes -- that Vamp didn't have half the muscles this warrior did! "You can be my top bodyguard. I'm sure to need one, at least for a little while."

Groo felt heat rise within him from the way Lorne was surveying him. "Is there," he asked, "something wrong with my clothes?"

Lorne waved his drink through the air again. "Honey, there's a whole list of what's wrong with your clothes! But we'll work on your fashion sense another day. Go pack, and then our life begins anew." Groo nodded and left the room, unaware of the eyes that feasted on his bottom. The warrior was as utterly, deliciously vanilla as they came, and he was leaving behind a tall drink of fine water that he knew was no better for him than the Princess had been for Groo but who he had hoped to never have to leave, but suddenly, Lorne was truthfully, wholly looking forward to his casino. Grinning, he finished his drink, and then turned to finish packing for his new life, with his new warrior, or, at least, bodyguard.

The End