Vivamus, Moriendum est (Rorschach x oc)

20. A Bar Full of Lotus (Part 2)

Content Warning: Mary is going to start going off the rails in this chapter. Just a warning.

Mary's P.O.V.

"I've never even been to Ireland! I am not Irish, and even if I were that wouldn't be something I'd be ashamed of!" I protest.

James Oliver and Roger Moore continued on with their sniggering regardless. I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my chair.

"Right, so what'll you be drinking, love?" James asked as the laughter faded out.

"Water." I answered with a shrug.

James and Roger shared a look and burst into hysterics once again.

"Water, she says!" Roger wheezed.

"I don't see how that's amusing."

James calmed himself a bit before answering, "oi. You are funny. Right then seriously what'll you have?"

"I told you. Water."

Now James and Roger shared a look of alarm.

"Don't tell us you don't drink." Roger asked appearing incredulous.

"Not really. I mean I've only just turned eighteen a few months ago."

James eyes narrowed and Roger looked afraid and confused.

"Whot do you mean you've just turned eighteen?" James demanded.

I raised an eyebrow of my own, "the legal drinking age?"

"The legal, wot-" Roger started.

James pounded his hand on the table, "you're telling me you've never drank before?!"

"Well, I've had sips before. I didn't really like it though. Especially not champagne that stuff is absolutely horrendous."

"This just won't do. We have to change this." James insisted.

"I'm not sure-"

"Right well you lot don't have Newcastle, but we'll see what we can do." James interrupted.

"I'm fine with just water." No one heard me. James and Roger loudly called to the two bartenders. The weasel-like one came over to the table.

"Say, what have you got here? Yuengling is it?" James asked him.

The weasel-like bartender made an unpleasant noise with his mouth, like he was choking on phlegm. Roger frowned and scooted away.

"Nah, we ain't got that here." The bartender finally said.

James nodded, "that's fine. Then three of the I believe it's called Ballantine?"

The weaseled bartender stared blankly at him.

"It's like an IPA sort of thing. Supposed to be big on this side of the pond." James tried.

"Nah."

"Rheingold? I know that one. The place is around here. I saw advertisements."

"Nope."

"Alright, what do you have?" James demanded.

"Schaefer."

James leaned into me, "Schaefer, is that good?"

I could only shrug. I had no idea. Irene hardly ever drank and when she did it was wine.

James nodded and turned back to the weasel. "Anything else?"

"Schaefer."

"Is that the only kind you have?"