grace become

“So, how about I take this away?” Maggie questioned, nodding to the drink.

         ❝Just because it’s you,❞ John whispered to Maggie as he handed her the glass.

“You do realize I already have one 3 year old to look after, yeah? Can’t handle you behaving like one as well.” she informed him, giving him a raise of her eyebrow.

         ❝Alfie! I could never forget. He is my favorite nephew,❞ John almost clapped when she mentioned his only nephew. He genuinely smiled for once, though.

Maggie raised an eyebrow, waiting for John’s response. When one didn’t come, she leaned in a bit closer to whisper.

          ❝I know,❞ he blurted out, but this time he didn’t wave his hands in dismissal. Out of all of them, he supposed Maggie was the one who would understand. 

“You’re drinking in my bar, and I got some pull at the Sheep.” She reminded him from behind her glass. “So unless you’re going to have a flask with the fishes, or traveling outside of Neverland. I’d quit sassin’ your mum.” Her smile was affectionate, warm despite herself. 

         ❝Are you telling me to go home? Because I don’t think I can,❞ John shrugged -- whether he was talking about going upstairs or driving to his apartment. ❝At least not by myself,❞ he clarified, feeling proud of his honesty. 

“Dibs doesn’t work on everything, big brother,” she told her brother, glancing over at his watch while he did. She would have to get home soon; some idiot would probably light off fireworks at midnight. The noise would probably wake Alfie up, and she wanted to be there if it did.

         ❝Well, I’m pretty sure I called you ‘bossy’ before any of them did,❞ he announced solemnly, nodding in approval of himself.

“Maybe physically but you don’t really know all the shit going on in the inside, do you?”

          She took him by surprise with that question. As soon as his brain processed it, John blatantly ignored her and even looked away. He didn’t look inside for a reason.

“Normal cut off was two drinks ago.” She said glancing at her first born’s face. “But you take after your mom, so I’ll let it slide. But when you start slurring, you’re done.” 

          ❝Let it slide? I really don’t need your permission, mum,❞ he snorted at her words. Still, John agreed in the inside; he actually took after her.

“Well, you’re not the only one of that opinion, if that’s any consolation,” Wendy told him lowly, rolling her eyes as he put his hand over the top of his glass.

          ❝But I met you first,❞ he offered an immediate justification of his opinion. He drank whatever was left in the glass and glanced at his watch for a few seconds. ❝Don’t worry. I promise it’s the last one of the year, Wends. Why the question?❞ 

“Not ruining it. Just making sure you, y’know, live through the festivities.”

          ❝But I am, Mags,❞ he said, finally bothering to look at Maggie. He let go of his drink, after confirming it wasn’t going to be taken away by her.

The Green Fairy was buzzing with activity, glimmering with sin and humming with the promise of being able to forget whatever it is you were running from that night. There was a drink in every hand and a girl in every lap. Resilience rimmed every glass and formed every cheeky smirk that found itself on Mary’s lips.  She’d survived, and on nights like this the losses seemed a little further from her mind. But there was one that she didn’t intend to forget tonight, one who hadn’t been a victim of war but of circumstances instead. Mary lifted her glass, tapping it with the absinthe spoon that had been housed in it previously. “To Monique Thiers.” She started, as the single lyric of french from the pop song she’d been playing rang through her speakers. “Elle peut dormir avec les poissons dans la paix.” Mary spoke, and people listened waiting for whatever came next but the only thing that did was the dark haired woman taking a long sip of her drink before pouring what was left into the sink below. “Next round’s on me.” She announced with a firm grip on her bartender’s shoulder. It was one of the few times she’d given out a free round since Dante. Her generosity having taken a hit due to the high costs of the war that raged outside her doors. 

            ❝Puis-je boire un verre à sa santé aussi ?❞ John asked Mary. He had watched as the green liquid flowed into the sink. Why did her mother waste a glass of absinthe? His mouth twisted at the simple thought. However, he could tell her actions were sincere, considering Monique had been her only competition. ❝Don’t you think that’s a very --  Italian saying to use French?❞ Mary’s orders were clear and people seemed to approach the bar in that instant; attracted like bees to honey under the promise of free alcohol.

“Anything else.” Maggie retorted, frustrated. She typically had a short fuse but it had gotten worse with years. “I don’t know. Something happy.”

               ❝Something happy,❞ John repeated, aware of the incongruity of the moment. It was difficult to get used to the bitter tone that had never accompanied Maggie’s voice.

“So, why bring it up?”

                ❝I don't know,❞ he responded. But he did. It was a bitter comfort to worry about it instead of the usual tragedies that recently seemed to surround them.