Jack had just finished a quiet, lonely meal of canned beans and stale bread when the doorbell rang—three sharp, frantic knocks that sounded like a hammer against the wood.
"Help! Jack! Help!" Kenlil's voice came through the door, high-pitched and bordering on a panic attack.
Jack lunged for the door, his heart hammering against his ribs. He threw it open to find Kenlil and Tavros standing in the dim hallway. Jack's eyes darted between them, looking for blood or pursuers. "What?! What happened?!"
Kenlil's expression shifted instantly. The terror vanished, replaced by a wide, crooked grin. "Help us, Jack! Help us finish these drinks!"
He and Tavros hoisted their hands, revealing four condensation-slicked bottles of beer.
Jack let out a long, ragged sigh, his shoulders dropping as he leaned against the doorframe. "For fuck's sake, you two. I thought the Grendheich had actually made it to the city limits."
"Something did happen," Tavros said, stepping past Jack into the apartment. "This happened." He said, pointing at the drinks they brought.
Jack glanced down the stairs to make sure they hadn't startled Mrs. Shallenbaum or the other neighbors. "Come in, come in," he muttered, ushering them inside and closing the door. "Where did you two get these, anyway? I thought we were all broke."
"After I went home, I told my dad about our plans for tomorrow," Tavros explained, his tail giving a proud flick. "I expected him to get mad, maybe try to lock me in the cellar. But he actually looked... happy. Surprised me. He gave me a whole case of beers. My mom went absolutely furious."
Kenlil laughed, popping a cap off a bottle with his teeth. "Well, Sir Mason still gave 4 bottles to us anyway. He told us to leave all the beatings to him and focus on the drinking."
Jack snickered, the tension finally leaving his body. "Haha, poor Mr. Mason. Well, let's not let his sacrifice be in vain. We'd better drink all of this." He took a bottle from Tavros, the glass cold against his palm. "This might be our last real drink. Once we're in the military, I doubt they'll let us touch a drop."
"Yeah," Tavros agreed, taking a massive swig. "It'll be a miracle if we see a bottle again before the war ends."
Kenlil looked down at the remaining bottles and frowned. "I also doubt this is going to be enough for the three of us."
Jack nodded, leaning back against the kitchen counter. "Yeah, I think all of this wouldn't even be enough for Tavros alone."
"Hey! I'm not that heavy of a drinker!" Tavros protested.
"Yeah, right," Jack and Kenlil said in perfect unison.
"Alright, fine," Tavros grumbled. "But where are we even going to get more booze? Everything is closing up."
"I have an idea!" Kenlil said, his eyes gleaming with elven mischief. "Why don't we grab a case of beer at Smith's and put it on our tab?"
Tavros stared at him like he'd suggested jumping off a zeppelin without a parachute. "Are you asking to get beat up by Christine, Ken?"
"No, no, no, hear me out," Kenlil said, waving his hands. "I saw Mr. Smith giving free drinks to the Macon Boys from 54th Street after they told him they were signing up. The old man is a pure military nut. He likes young guys taking up arms. He even lets veterans drink for free."
"Are you sure that would work?" Tavros asked, his brow furrowed. "I mean, everyone in this neighborhood knows our reputation. We aren't exactly the Macon Boys. Smith might not believe us."
"It's not like it isn't true," Kenlil insisted. "We're signing up tomorrow, right?"
"Of course we are," Tavros said.
Jack tilted his head, considering it. "It could work. Mr. Smith is a patriot. And it's not like we can escape his fury if we lie—he'd find us before the bus even left the city. But if it doesn't work on its own, we bring Philip. He needs the help anyway."
Tavros and Kenlil looked puzzled. "What do you mean?" Tavros asked.
"I heard from Mrs. Shallenbaum downstairs," Jack said, a smirk playing on his lips. "Her grandson, Philip... he's got a massive crush on Christine."
Tavros and Kenlil turned pale, their eyes wide.
"I-is that true?" Tavros stammered.
"Yeah. But I think Philip has a problem with words," Jack continued. "I mean, have you ever actually seen him talk to any of his admirers? He just stands there looking handsome and silent."
Tavros thought for a moment. "Now that you mention it... I don't really see him talking at all. I thought he was just being a 'gentleman' or something. Honestly, I thought he might be gay. Now that you say it, that isn't the case?"
Kenlil was trembling slightly. "Still, it's Christine. Are you sure he's not going to die the moment her fist lands on his face?"
"I mean, maybe not?" Jack said, though he sounded hesitant even to himself. "Have you ever actually seen one of Christine's suitors die?"
"Well, no," Tavros admitted. "But I pity those guys. If it wasn't for the humiliating fact that they got beaten up by a woman, they'd probably be in the hospital for weeks."
"To be honest," Kenlil added, "Philip has a good face, but my bet is not on him surviving a date with her."
Jack straightened up, his mind working through the tactical possibilities. "Come on, Philip is going to appreciate this. He likes her, and we need beer. We'll make a deal: we help him get acquainted with Christine, and he buys us a case. As the saying goes, love conquers all."
Tavros sighed, looking at the 1st bottle, already half-finished. "Alright, we have no choice. Hopefully, the begging is successful. Otherwise, may the Gods help Philip survive that woman's fist."
Kenlil stood up, a look of grim determination on his face. "Yeah, love conquers all, but a fist breaks love? I just hope he's spent some time training himself to withstand a four-thousand-ton punch."