"I am made of class," Spike declared, tipping the bottle toward his mouth. The whiskey wasn't the best, but it was suitable enough for a drinking match. Spike swallowed a mouthful and dropped it onto the table carelessly. He wasn't like little Claire over there, all invulnerable to the effects, but the burn didn't seem to be much of an issue on his part. He actually enjoyed it.
"Oh yeah?" Spike handed her the bottle. She'd sip it down like water, the lucky bitch. "I'll have you know that I'm not one to be pitied. It doesn't go well with this shirt." He smirked and glanced out toward the ring, watching as the fights continued on. "Aw, bloody hell, c'mon. I didn't put money on you for nothing, nimrod!" Swearing, Spike peered off at the battle and irritably waved a hand at the cage. "Stupid...good for nothing..." He picked up his money bit by bit and shoved it into his jacket. "You can't count on people these days, I swear. Good for nothing."