Second Tuesdays: A Collection

sweepers' punch

November 8, 1921 - Tuesday

"'Ere, Mary Poppins," one of the sweeps said, handing her a chipped mug full of a warm liquid. "It's punch, t' keep ya warm."

"Thank you," Mary said, graciously accepting the drink and taking a sip. She coughed, not expecting the heady taste of alcohol to touch her tongue. The punch was laced with significant amounts of whiskey. Apparently the temperature of the drink wasn't what was going to keep her warm.

Although, she thought as she took another tentative sip, she did like whiskey.

Mary laughed at the sweeps' antics and talked with Bert, and before she knew it, her mug was empty.

"'Ere ya go, Mary Poppins," another sweep said, and filled her cup up to the brim.

She thanked him kindly, and brought the mug to her mouth. She rarely had whiskey, and she had never had the sweepers' punch, although she had heard Bert talk about it before. She was surprised at how delicious it was; every sip tasted better than the last.

Before she knew it, her second mug was empty, and she called for another one.

"Careful, Mary mine," Bert teased with a grin. "Sweepers' punch is strong."

"I know how to handle myself, Bert," she told her husband, and promptly dissolved into a fit of giggles. Suddenly, everything was hilarious to her.

—

Bert grinned as his wife giggled profusely, her bright blue eyes shining and a tad glazed. Thomas brought her a third cup, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement at seeing the practically perfect Mary tipsy.

Mary broke out into a wide smile as she took the cup, and brought it to her mouth, taking a swig.

"Slow down, Mary mine," he laughed.

"I'm perfectly all right, Bert," she slurred slightly, and broke out into another fit of giggles. "I'm not drunk."

He raised her eyebrows at that comment, and Mary laughed. "You don't believe me?"

"Not in the slightest, my love."

Mary leaned towards him and pressed a slow kiss on his lips, which made all the sweeps whistle and holler in surprise; Mary barely showed affection in public. Bert closed his eyes and savored the kiss. She tasted like whiskey.

"Believe me now?" she murmured as she pulled apart.

"Hm, not quite yet," Bert teased.

Mary giggled and kissed him again, and when he broke apart he saw Mary's eyes were closed but the smile was permanently etched on her lips. She was swaying slightly, and he put one arm over her and pressed her close to him to steady her.

"Dance with me," she slurred slightly as she stood up. She swayed a bit but then steadied herself before tipping her mug up and swallowing the last of the punch in her cup.

"Another?" she asked, and this time it was Will who poured more punch into her mug. Bert narrowed his eyes at him, but he just shrugged. "What the lady wants, the lady gets," he grinned mischievously.

Mary spun around, her skirts swishing around her ankles, her mug sloshing punch over the sides as she turned. She would take a sip after every pirouette she did, spinning around to soundless music only she could hear, the occasional giggle leaving her lips. Her cheeks were getting rosier and rosier, and soon she finished her fourth cup, and it was replaced with her fifth.

"I think that's enough for now," Bert smiled lovingly at his wife as he tried to pluck the mug from her hand.

She simply used her magic to make the cup float above his reach, and giggled at his exasperated reaction.

"Mary mine," he started, but Mary interrupted him.

"Dance with me and I'll give it to you," she said strictly, but her words didn't exactly have their intended effect since she broke out in laughter.

And yet, Bert was unable to resist her, so he took her hand in his and placed his other hand at her waist, and they twirled around the rooftops, Mary slightly less graceful than she always was, but her bright smile never dimmed, not even when she would stumble and almost fall. If she hadn't been in Bert's strong arms she most certainly would have tripped, but he carried her through the night, dancing among the stars.

—

The next morning, Mary woke up with a groan. Her head was pounding, and she could scarcely open her eyes for more than three seconds before it seemed like the sunlight attacked her.

She moaned, covering her head with the pillow.

Bert's laugh came from beside her.

"Why on earth did you let me drink that much?" she groaned.

"Ya didn't exactly make it easy for me t' stop ya!" She could hear the grin in his voice.

Mary lowered the pillow and her squinting eyes met her husband's sparkling ones. She let out another groan as she covered her face with the pillow once more.

"I am never drinking again." Her muffled voice came, distorted underneath the pillow.

"I sincerely doubt that."

She lowered the pillow just so he could see her glare at him. She would never admit it, but he was right. She liked rum punch entirely too much to give up drinking. And now, apparently, sweepers' punch, as well.

"I have work today," Mary groaned dejectedly. "If only I had second Wednesdays off, as well."

"Sorry, my love," her husband said as he kissed her tenderly. "I wish you didn't have to go either, if only so you could spend the entire day in my arms."

"Next second Tuesday, I am not leaving this bed," Mary decreed.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Mary mine."

She rolled her eyes at him, but she was smiling. "It's a date."