Before I went to work this morning, I made the mistake of dropping into the TAG Discord chatroom, where we managed to segue onto the drinking habits of the boys and drinking games played. It's all thebaconsandwichofregret 's fault. Because she wrote this which mentions Scott drinking like a fighter pilot and John drinking like a Russian fighter pilot.

And so - because my brain isn't braining properly, I wrote this in my lunch hour.

"God… could this evening be more awful?" Scott settled at the bar next to John and shuddered. "At least we've managed to escape dancing for the rest of the evening."

John leaned morosely on the bar. "What I want to know is how the hell Virgil managed to win staying at home and looking after Alan tonight." He signalled the bartender for a drink – any drink – and knocked it back when it arrived, before requesting another one.

Scott indicted to make it two and looked just as morose. "He cheated. I'm sure of it. I just don't know how."

A tall, elegant black woman in a grey gown stalked to the bar and sat next to Scott. "I'm sure we're in at least the third circle of hell," she muttered. "Remind me again why I agreed to attend this little get-together."

John looked sharply at her. "Because, Aunt Val, you seem to be unable to say "no" when Dad suggests something. It's a serious failing both you and Uncle Lee have, if you ask me."

"Oh funny boy," Val Casey replied. "He promised it would be fun – good food, booze, dancing, good company. That he needed a date for it. AND then he made me pay for my own ticket! So far, the food has been only a small step up from your grandmother's burnt offerings; the booze has been severly lacking so far, the dancing has involve me trying to avoid sweaty hands on my arse and boobs. As for the company – the less I say about that the better. Your father owes me big time for this one. I've managed to persuade four companies to use Tracy Industries to project manage and build their latest offerings."

"Which is why Dad probably wanted you to come," John said dryly. "He can't guarantee Scott will flirt them into agreeing to use TI – but he knows that you will."

"I don't flirt, John. I am charming. There's a big difference."

Scott nodded. "Absolutely. But Auntie, dear, you flirt. You're an absolutely outrageous flirt."

"Says the person who, when he was born – according to your mother – was giving the midwife the glad eye. Oh god… the speeches… Your father's about to talk. Bartender! Line 'em up!" Casey indicated for three lots of shots. "Make mine scotch. Scott? John? Let's get this set up and the rules sorted."

"Vodka for me," John said.

"Anything for me," put in Scott. "As long as it's alcohol." He looked at the Bartender. "Actually, give us each 3 shot glasses, and two bottles each. That should do it." He looked at the other two. "Rules… right… One shot for when he mentions "my son" or "my sons". Two if he mentions one or more of us by name. Two if he mentions his military career. Three if it's building Shadow Alpha. A swig from the bottle if he mentions International Rescue."

"Two if he mentions vision," Casey put in. "It's bound to come up. He's been rambling about vision all evening."

"Oh lord… he's about to start." Scott sighed and took a shot. "Just to get started."

Forty five minutes later

Jeff Tracy entered the bar area and found his two oldest sons and one of his two best friends at the bar. All three rather pink cheeked and giggling. He sighed. All three had an enormous capacity for alcohol, so to find them like this meant only one thing.

"It was that predictable?"

Val Casey looked at him and nodded. "Absolutely," she said, managing to get the word out without slurring it at all. "But you might have warned us that you were going to be talking about International Rescue and what it would be doing."

She hiccupped and took a sip from her drink.

Jeff looked at John and turned to the barman. "A triple of what he's had, and a double scotch," he said. "I need to catch up with this lot." He looked at the three of them. "Didn't any of you actually read what the invitations said?" he asked.

"We never do, Dad," Scott explained. "We just turn up."

Jeff took the vodka and downed most of it in one swig, coughing after it. "Bloody hell, John. What the hell are you drinking?"

"Awful, isn't it," John said studying his glass. "But what can you expect when it's not a proper Ice Bar."

"But what the hell is it?"

"It's a gin and tonic – but instead of tonic it's vodka. Plain vodka was making me depressed."

He sighed and drank the rest of the drink. "Tonight was all about launching the IR Foundation which would be the basis of how International Rescue would operate." He turned to Casey. "It's one of the reasons I was so insistent on you coming. You are one of the Directors of the Foundation."

Casey sighed. "No – you didn't mention it. Now pass me that bottle. I think I need another drink."

Scott studied the bottle he had in front of him. "And so say all of us," he chorused – loudly and very off key.