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

[st-aequitas.livejournal.com]

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]

Comments

[runnerwithagun.livejournal.com]

Did someone say booze? After all the crap Ronon's been put through since he popped out of a pod, he's been wanting a hard drink.

"Hit me up," says Ronon as he wanders up to the twins, ever present frown on his face. Hell, he looks like he could really do with a stiff drink and he didn't care what it was.

[st-veritas.livejournal.com]

Connor pours him a drink. "T'you and yours." He says cheerfully, handing it over.

[runnerwithagun.livejournal.com]

Ronon gruffly takes it from Connor and downs it in one shot, like it was water and he was dehydrated. Holy shit that was strong, but he could still do with stronger. After the burn passes, he grins, impressed.

"You made this? It's pretty good." He holds out his beaker as his way of asking for more.

[st-aequitas.livejournal.com]

Murphy, who's been making the rounds, fills it up on the way past. "Aye, that's right, home-made, just like Ma taught us, an' we're not stopping 'til we get off the damn ship. 'Scuse me."

And then he's away again, on a mission to make everyone very drunk.

[runnerwithagun.livejournal.com]

Ronon raises his beaker in thanks after it's been filled.

"So what's Saint Paddy's day meant to be?" He's asking anyone in general. He takes a sip of his drink, enjoying the burn and taking in the odd taste of this moonshine.

[st-aequitas.livejournal.com]

"It's a holiday, religious and fucking brilliantly international, commemorating Saint Patrick and all that's fucking brilliant about being Irish." Murphy raises his flask to Ronon, then drinks.

He wipes his mouth and grins before continuing, "Lucky for the rest of you poor arseholes, we're fucking generous and let you all be Irish for the day as well."

[runnerwithagun.livejournal.com]

Ronon raises his beaker to Murphy in return. "Don't know what Saint Patrick or being Irish is but I'll drink to that!" Then he takes a gulp. "Ahhhh. Yeah!" Ronon's really enjoying his drink and it's hitting him pretty fast. That's sure some moonshine there.