Work Text:
The morning after the diocese cut the parish’s alcohol budget in half, Mrs. Doyle realized that someone had filed an entire tub filled with homebrewed whiskey upstairs at the parish house.
“I hope none of you need a bath,” she told Ted. “It takes a week for that stuff to brew up. My beloved mam used to make it during the Troubles. She was so cheerful, I always used to wonder why.”
Ted charged up from the dining table. “This is outrageous! I can’t show up dirty at mass! If we don’t wash, they won’t wash! Do you know what a churchful of unclean heathens in the wintertime smells like!?”
“Drink!” Jack bellowed, shooting to his feet.
“Maybe we can sell what we got leftover, Ted,” Dougal suggested, the eternal peacemaker. Ted’s eyes flew wide open and he sat back down at the breakfast table.
“Perhaps I was being a bit too hasty,” Ted said.
“Drink!” Jack grinned, and shoved an entire waffle into his mouth.