trans_9 | Glory be to Paddy, but they're drinkin' it straight. [OPEN, R for Cussing]

Earlier, somewhere in the Vatican's outbuildings:
Carefully, Murphy poured a little of the precious liquid into a dish, then placed the bottle far, far away. He nodded to his brother who then, with great ceremony (and from a safe distance) lit a match and tossed it in.

The flame burnt fast, bright, and blue.

The twins grinned.

******

The next flame burnt a decidedly different color, and distinctly higher. The boys jumped back, laughed, and Murphy pointed at his twin.

"You're trying it first!"

Now, nearly everywhere:
Connor and Murphy paraded through the city, past the library, the sensoriums, through the sleeping quarters, winding their way to the cafeteria. The two, who had been strangely difficult to pin down lately, were now laughing, chanting, and banging on pots they'd scrounged from somewhere. They'd each a large jug or two slung on make-shift straps over their shoulders, and their chant seemed to go something like this:

"Two Irishmen, two Irishmen were digging in a ditch,
one called the other a dirty son of a
Peter Murphy, Peter Murphy, sitting on a dock;
along came a bumblebee and stung him on the
cocktail, ginger ale, five cents a glass.
If ya do not like it, ya can ram it up your--
Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies.
If you're hit with a pail of shit, PLEASE CLOSE YOUR EYES!"

Between rounds of it, they were sipping from flasks and shouting "Come on, it's fuckin' Saint Paddy's Day! Free drinks in the mess! Get your arses in there with yer fags put out, or we're fucking partying without ya!"

[ooc note]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Liquor?

Real liquor?

Fuck, yes, sign Leon up.

"You know, I think I'm going to like working with you guys."

"Well of course you are," Murphy told him, laughing and offering him a beaker. "But there's no fucking talk of work now. We're celebrating! Show some fucking respect."

Leon took the offered beaker, took a sip, followed by another longer chug that just about emptied the beaker.

"Shiiiiiiiiit." After he let that drink hit him, he clapped Murphy on the arm. "Not bad." Now hit him with a refill.

Murphy poured his fellow Irishman more quite happily. "Aye, our ma knew what she were fucking doing. Learned at her knee, God bless her, an' we'll be keeping the still running, don't ye fuckin' doubt it."

"Good woman. She taught you well." Leon was going to take a bit more time to enjoy this round. No sense ending up faceplanted within the next fifteen minutes.

"You from Boston?" That accent sounded horribly Beantown to him.

"Well, if you're only countin' the past couple years or so, aye, Boston. And a bit of here and there as well." Murphy took a small gulp from his flask, enjoying a breather between pouring for thirsty shipmates.

"Oh, so you travel a lot, I take it. What kind of work did you do back home?"

Connor meanders over and drapes on Murphy, own empty beaker in hand. "Worked in a meatpacking factory, actually."

He was totally close enough to hear that question, what are you talking about?

That got him to raise his eyebrows. The booze made him just a bit more expressive than usual. But he wasn't that drunk (yet) that he couldn't smell a lie.

He decided to let that pass, though, and nodded his head.

"Cool. Sounds interesting."

Murphy laughs. They're not so much lying as omitting large chunks of truth, so his face is pure mischief when he corrects Leon. "It was fucking boring. But at least the company was decent. Connor nearly got himself a girlfriend there once. Thought he was going to fucking piss his pants with excitement."

He had to laugh at that.

"Not much of a ladies man there, Connor?"

Connor smacks his brother lightly, scowling. "Oi, shut up 'bout that, would ye, I'm still achin' from her damn 'affection'."

And then he just makes a face at Leon. "Well, 'least I'm more of one than Murph here."

"What the fuck?" Murphy demands, smacking his brother right back. "I show 'em some fucking respect," he informs Leon, "that's the fucking difference right there."

If there was anything that Leon picked up from the Redfields, it was that you don't get in the middle of a sibling fight.

You pick a side. In this case, he went with Murphy's.

"Good call. You'd be surprised by the amount of chicks who want a guy who's not a total asshole."

"Oi! I'm not! 'M perfectly respectful t'women, but that was not a woman."

Murphy respectfully pats his brother on the shoulder. "Now, you only say that because she kicked harder than a race horse on steroids. If she weren't a woman, her fucking tattoo wouldn't make any sense, would it?"

"Oh, this story keeps getting more and more interesting." Do continue, gentlemen.

"She was one of them big, giant, fucking plaid-wearing, dyke feminists, see? And they put the two of us in charge of training her."

Murphy smirks. "I'm tellin' ya, it was love at first fucking sight."

It was so wrong, but he was laughing at anyway. He'd blame the booze later.

"You guys are horrible." In that awesome sort of way, really.

"Until she kicked me in the 'nads, anyway." Connor does have to laugh-- It's funny in retrospect.

It's not like he couldn't use the laugh.

"Well, speaking of women, I'm gonna go find me some prettier company." He patted Conner on his shoulder. "Hopefully I'll have better luck than you."

He started off, but paused for a second.

"Oh, listen, if any of the 'command staff'--" he didn't actually make air quotes, but it was clear in his tone. He was well aware that their titles were more symbolic than anything else, "--starts giving you shit for this, let me know. I'll handle them."

"Eh, fuck them," Murphy tells him good-naturedly. But there's a hint of steal in his voice. He glances at Connor, then back at Leon, grinning. It's not a completely nice grin, either. "If they've got a fuckin' problem with us, we've no issue handling it ourselves."

That got an eyebrow raise, but Leon didn't wasn't going to push thing at this juncture. He shrugged it off.

"Suit yourself."

He raised his beaker to them, then departed.

Glory be to Paddy, but they're drinkin' it straight. [OPEN, R for Cussing]

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