Whiskey in the Jar

"Hey, what's going on?" Pyro yelped as the Acolytes appeared under a tall, spiny hawthorn tree on the edge of a small village. "I thought you said there was a barbecue pit for me to man."

"I lied," Mastermind snapped disorientedly. "It was a lure to get you away from the stove so we could leave."

"No! We can't have left yet!" Remy howled in denial. "I haven't found the sauna or gazed upon my chérie's bare form and those of all the other femmes!"

"No…no more females," A traumatized Piotr twitched wearing only his underwear. "Females are scary…women are all lips and hands and hips and trouble! No more women…no more women…"

"I wish I had your troubles," Remy's voice was filled with desire.

"You aren't the only one," Mastermind admitted.

"Aw, no worries, Colossus. Your shelia problems will eventually work themselves out," Pyro said soothingly. "Here, have some cake!"

"Cake?" Mastermind blinked as Pyro popped a bite-sized frosted cake into Piotr's mouth. "Where did you get that?"

"I swiped it from the dessert table before we left," Pyro smiled holding up a linen sack filled with cakes, cookies and other sweet confectioneries. "Want a bikkie? They're great! Extra sugary!"

"Get rid of that stuff!" Mastermind ordered. "The last thing we need is for you maniacs to get hyped up on sugar! You fools are crazy enough without it!"

"Whaddya talking about, Masty?" Pyro asked. "Sugar makes everything feel better!"

"Oh, what happened?" Piotr blinked dazedly while absently munching on the cake. "Are the scary women gone? And what is this sweet taste in my mouth?"

"See? Told ya!" Pyro grinned patting Piotr on the back and held out his pants. "Put your clothes back on Colossus before you freeze to death."

"Yes, clothes are good, clothes are safe," Piotr chanted as Pyro quickly helped him get dressed. "I am never taking my clothes off again! Ever!"

"Might want to reconsider that the next time laundry day rolls around," Mastermind snorted. "You don't want to end up looking and smelling like Sabertooth."

"Shut up, Bonzo!" Sabertooth snapped. "I'm more appealing than you could ever hope to be. You're still wearing those duds the Cajun picked up for you in Korea."

"Don't remind me," Mastermind groaned.

"And where's that bottle of scotch you said you had?" Sabertooth growled.

"That was another lie," Mastermind admitted. "It was the only way to pry you away from your drunken opera troop. You smell like a vodka distillery."

"Vodka doesn't even have a scent," Sabertooth growled pointing over his shoulder. "Besides, if anyone reeks of booze it's him."

"Huh?" The mutants turned to see a disheveled, shabbily dressed man staring at them.

"Cé nó céard atá tú?" The man blinked in shock having stumbled around the corner of one of the plain, thatched roof buildings. "An bhfuil tú mar bhaill den Aos Sí?"

"What did he say?" A semi-recovered Piotr poked at his ear. "My translator was not on."

"Neither was mine," Remy did the same.

"Where did you come from?" The stunned man gaped at the Acolytes. "You appeared out of thin air!"

"Well…uh…you see…" Mastermind fumbled for an explanation.

"G'day mate!" Pyro waved cheerfully. "Know any good barbecue pits around here?"

"AGGGHHH!" The man screamed and ran off. "HELP! I JUST MET A BAND OF THE AOS SÍ! OF FAIRIES!"

"What?" Sabertooth yelped. "Hey, watch your mouth, punk!"

"We're not fairies, mate!" Pyro called after the man. "We're mutants!"

"There is a difference?" Piotr blinked in confusion.

"Fairies?" Remy gazed around at the village surrounded by fields and bogs. "Oh boy, three guesses where we ended up."

"Where else?" Mastermind glanced down and read aloud the latest display on one of the screens:

March 6, 1656 A.D.
County Galway, Ireland

"Are you serious?" Sabertooth blinked at the news. "Alright! 'Bout time we landed someplace decent."

"Huh?" Mastermind stared at him in surprise. "You really consider early modern Ireland to be a preferred, acceptable locale?"

"No, I consider it a good place to get a drink," Sabertooth grinned heading into the village. "Let's hit the pub!"

"I should have known," Mastermind groaned.

"Eh, c'mon Masty," Remy and Pyro helped a still shaken Piotr trail after Sabertooth. "For once Sabes has the right idea. A pub's a good place to hang out and wait for the machine to cool down."

"And a place where we can warm up," Pyro agreed as a brisk wind blew across the fields. "It's cold out here!"

"Sounds like a great reason for you to stay out and try to catch pneumonia," Mastermind grumbled following his teammates into one the village's larger buildings. "Though with my luck you'd only end up passing it along to me."

"Hello, strangers!" A thin, middle-aged man stood behind the bar bearing an uncanny resemblance to a certain future Bayville High principal. "Welcome to Ó Ceallaigh's Public House! I'm the owner and operator Éibhear Ó Ceallaigh!"

"Agggh! Look out! It's the fairies!" The disheveled man from earlier yelped huddling at one end of the bar.

"Be quiet, Oscar," Ó Ceallaigh (aka O'Kelly) rolled his eyes. "These men aren't fairies no matter how strangely dressed they are."

"But I saw them appear out of thin air right under a hawthorn tree!" Oscar insisted. "They're fairies I tell you!"

"That's it. No more drinks for you," Ó Ceallaigh took Oscar's mug away and shoved him away from the bar. "Go home and try to stay sober for once!"

"But I know what I saw," Oscar cringed slinking into a corner. "The fairies are among us! Beware! Beware!"

"Forgive Oscar, stranger," Ó Ceallaigh addressed the mutants. "He's the village drunk. So, what can I get you?"

"A mug of Guinness," Sabertooth ordered. "And make it snappy!"

"Guinness?" Ó Ceallaigh blinked. "Never heard of it."

"Fine, gimme a Smithwick's," Sabertooth grunted.

"A what?" Ó Ceallaigh's eyes narrowed in contempt. "That sounds English. You're not English, are you?"

"I'm Canadian ya little punk!" Sabertooth roared looming over him. "NOW GET ME A BEER!"

"Yes sir!" Ó Ceallaigh gulped and quickly poured him a mug.

"That's better," Sabertooth growled taking a swig only to spit it out. "Yuck! You call this beer? I've tasted stronger mugs of decaf tea! This junk doesn't have any hops at all!"

"Hops?" Ó Ceallaigh blinked in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about what makes beer, beer!" Sabertooth roared dangerously. "NOW GET ME SOME ALREADY!"

"Ahhh! Do not hurt me!" Ó Ceallaigh cringed in fear. "Perhaps you would like something else! We have ale, cider, mead, whiskey…"

"Well why didn't you say so?" Sabertooth grinned. "One whiskey on the double!"

"Y-y-yes sir," Ó Ceallaigh gulped moving to a nearby firkin.

"Aw, forget the mug," Sabertooth grabbed the firkin, lifted it over his head and drank straight from the spout. "Ah, now that's what I'm talking about!"

"Uh, that firkin will be a hundred and twenty groat…" Ó Ceallaigh began. A warning growl and glare from Sabertooth quickly cut him off. "…I mean, all your drinks are on the house!"

"Nice to see you getting our usual discount, Sabes," Remy smirked pulling up to the bar. "Three mulled ciders and loaf of soda bread."

"Here you are," A trembling Ó Ceallaigh quickly served their drinks. "Though I have never heard of soda bread. But the kitchen does have a nice leek and celery stew today."

"No thanks," Mastermind muttered ordering a shot of whiskey for himself. "These lunatic's brains are stewed enough already." He gingerly sipped his drink. "GAAAHHH!"

"You okay, Masty?" Remy asked in amusement.

"Whoa!" Mastermind gasped doubled over. "It feels like having a berserk Sabertooth dragged down my throat!"

"Yeah, it's pretty good," Sabertooth grunted smacking his lips. "Though it could use a bit more kick."

"Mmmm, this is great!" Pyro chirped slurping his cider. "And this place has a big stone fireplace too." He happily moved next to it. "Ahhh, nice and warm at last."

"Get away from me, you cursed English," A young man sitting near the fireplace scowled while tuning a fiddle. "Your kind are not welcome here."

"I'm not English, mate," Pyro puffed up with pride. "I'm Australian!"

"Oh, well that's different," The young man's demeanor immediately became much friendlier. "Wait, what is an Australian?"

"The next best thing to being a mutant," Pyro smiled. "Lucky for me I'm both! How about you? You a musician?"

"If only," The young man sighed staring at an empty collection bowl while idly plucking his fiddle. "I used to dream of being a famous court musician in Cork or Dublin. Instead I barely eke out a living playing for scraps in taverns and public houses."

"Aw, don't fret, mate. All aspiring entertainers have some kind of restaurant experience," Pyro waved. "Imagine what it's like for us writers."

"I am working on a new song," The young man pulled out a frayed piece of paper. "I have worked out most of the lyrics, but it still lacks a good chorus line. Without it my work will not even make it into a broadsheet, much less into an audience's hearts."

"Speaking of hearts, I gotta practice on winning over the one belonging to my lovely, fair chérie," Remy declared headed for the back of the pub. "Think I'll go introduce myself to the young femme I spotted in the kitchen."

"Really?" Mastermind drawled. "And I thought flirting with barmaids was the stereotype."

"Professional tip, homme: you get better benefits being friendly with the cooks instead of the servers," Remy winked sneaking away.

"Hey, what are you doing in here?" Ó Ceallaigh shouted at a group of raggedy kids loitering near the pub's entrance. "I told you before to keep out!"

"Please sir, do you have any food to spare?" The kids begged, none of whom was older than nine. "We will take anything…"

"You will taste the end of my boot if I catch you around here again," Ó Ceallaigh snapped threateningly. "Now get out!"

"Hey, there's no reason to yell at a mob of ankle-biters like that," Pyro scolded waving at the kids. "Over here, ya little tackers!"

The group of kids quickly scuttled next to him. "Bloody strewth, you Billy Lids are nothing but skin and bones," Pyro tut-tutted at their appearances. "Have, have some bikkies!"

"Thank you, sir," The kids hungrily accepted the offer. "Mmmm, these are good!"

"They sure are!" Pyro grinned munching on a particularly sugary confection. "Bet I can eat more than you lot combined!"

"Really?" The pack of kids goggled as Pyro flung open his sack of sweets. "You're on!"

"Ready? Set? GO!" Pyro shouted.

"Yay!" The kids cheered.

"This can not be good," The young fiddle player gulped nervously watching Pyro and the kids rapidly devour the pile of cakes and sweets. "Why do I suddenly feel the fiery hand of doom?"

"Lazy kids," A group of hard, weathered men spat at the sight in disgust. "Wandering around expecting to get everything in life handed to them for free. They ought to be home helping their parents work the lands."

"Some lands," One of the men grunted. "Nothing but rocky soil and bogs. Last fall's cabbage harvest was the worst one in ten years."

"So was the barley crop," Another man grumbled. "And that was after spreading the whole tract with cattle manure. Maybe I should try planting onions this year instead."

"Um, excuse me," Piotr approached them. "I did not mean to listen in, but it sounds like you need to introduce more nitrogen into the soil."

"Huh?" The group of men stared at him warily. "What are you talking about, stranger? Are you a farmer too?"

"Yes. I grew up on a farm," Piotr said. "Your fertilizer options are probably limited, but perhaps you could try a crop that provides more calories per acre, such as beets or potatoes…"

"POTATOES?!" The group of farmers gasped in shock. "Are you crazy?"

"Do you really have to ask?" Sabertooth grunted.

"Huh?" Piotr blinked in confusion. "What is wrong with potatoes?"

"Everyone knows potatoes are poisonous!" The farmers roared. "They are heathen food! Devil's apples!"

"The stranger must be in league with the devil!" One farmer pointed at Piotr. "He is trying to kill us!"

"Get him!" Another farmer yelled.

"Wait! There is no need for this…" Piotr protested as the group of farmers tackled him.

"Oh goodie, drinks and show," Mastermind slurred slightly raising his glass to the brawl. "This pub might not be so bad after all!"

"Watch it, punks!" Sabertooth snapped as one farmer fell against his firkin. "You almost spilled my booze!"

"Ooo, sounds like people are having fun now!" Pyro chirped at the noise. "Hey, mate! Play us a tune!"

"Why not?" The young fiddle player struck up a jig. "I will play anything as long as I get paid."

"Hey, stop it you idiots!" Ó Ceallaigh vainly attempted to break up the fight. "If you lot want to beat on each other, do it outside!"

"Come, petite. Let us dance the day away!" Remy swept into the room leading a giggling young woman in a Cajun jitterbug.

"What the?" Ó Ceallaigh yelped. "Hey, that's my sister!"

"Sister?" Remy winked at his dancing partner. "She looks young enough to be your daughter."

"Actually, I'm his niece," The young woman smiled. "Uncle Éibhear never can tell Mother and I apart. Everyone says we look so much alike."

"Really?" Remy's grin grew even wider. "Let's find her and get her to join in!"

"Please stop!" Piotr shouted tossing the stubborn farmers aside. "I do not want to hurt you!"

CRASH!

"Ahhh, my public house!" Ó Ceallaigh yelped as chairs and tables were quickly smashed to smithereens. "Stop throwing mugs everywhere! Don't use stool legs as hurling sticks! Watch out for the cider casks! Agggh, I swear you strangers are the second most destructive group of maniacs I have ever met!"

"Second?" Mastermind blinked drunkenly. "Who's the first?"

"AHAHAHAHA!" A rowdy band of men bearing broadswords, battle axes, bonnets and belted plaids swaggered into the pub. "Bring forth some beer! The Scotsmen are here!"

"Me and my big mouth," Ó Ceallaigh groaned. "I told you gallowglasses to stay out!"

"Oigh there, Ó Ceallaigh!" The leader of the new arrivals smiled bellying up to the bar. He had dark hair, blue eyes and looked strangely familiar. "A round of pints of your best scotch for us Scots!"

"Forget it, McCoy!" Ó Ceallaigh snapped. "You still haven't paid for all the damage your men caused the last time! Not to mention the mound of surgeon bills you cost me. My back still has the scars!"

"Ah, lighten up, Ó Ceallaigh. You'll get your money," The man who bore a striking resemblance to a future pre-blue-and-furry Hank McCoy grinned patting his purse. "It's payday. Drinks are on me!"

"Drinks were all over the walls the last time I served you gallowglasses," Ó Ceallaigh muttered. "Along with bowls of hot stew and splatters of fresh blood!"

"AAAHHHHHH!"

SMASH!

CRUNCH!

"Speaking of which," Ó Ceallaigh moaned as Piotr tossed an angry farmer out a shuttered window.

"Hey, a fight! Let's stick in!" Half the gallowglasses cheered throwing themselves into the mix. "Scotland forever!"

"Oh no, not again," Piotr groaned as the new arrivals eagerly set upon him and the remaining farmers. "Please, can't we all just get along?"

"Looks like you finally hired out some decent entertainment, Ó Ceallaigh," McCoy grinned flashing him a gold coin. "Now get us our scotch!"

"Fine," Ó Ceallaigh grumbled serving the remaining gallowglasses. "Filthy mercenaries. Nothing but thugs and attack dogs for the cursed English."

"Hands off, punk!" Sabertooth swiped at one of the gallowglasses attempting to fill a mug from his firkin. "Or I'll rip 'em off and make you eat 'em!"

"Ooo, aren't you a bold one," McCoy noted as Sabertooth hovered protectively over the firkin. "Think you can drain a whole keg by yourself? Better men than you have tried."

"Listen punk, there's no better man at drinking booze than me," Sabertooth growled.

"Let's find out," McCoy grinned grabbing his mug. "Last man standing wins! Loser pays for all!"

"You're on!" Sabertooth roared as he and McCoy began chugging scotch like mad.

"WHEEEEEEEEE!" The pack of sugar-fueled kids ran wild throughout the public house.

"Get off the ceiling!" Ó Ceallaigh yelled at them. "Stop rolling out the beer barrels! No, don't go in the kitchen!"

"Both of your husbands were recently killed by the English?" Remy twirled around now embracing Kelly's giggling niece and sister. "How tragic! Is there any way I can console and help you forget your losses?"

"We have a few ideas," Both women leered at him.

"Stop! I have no quarrel with you!" Piotr shouted fending off the brawling Scotsmen while the remaining conscious farmers fled the pub in terror. "Fighting is not a good form of entertainment!"

"I can't hear ya, mate!" Pyro laughed dancing around. "You gotta pick up the pace!"

"Whatever you say," The young musician gulped fiddling like mad. "I better get one heck of a tip for this performance!"

"You little urchins! Stop eating everything in sight!" Ó Ceallaigh's wails rang from the kitchen. "Quit having target practice with the dishes! Spit that celery stalk out at once! Give me those mutton shanks…NO, DON'T START A FOOD FIGHT! GAAAHHH, FINE! YOU CAN GO BACK TO EATING IT…WATCH OUT FOR THE STEW POT! YEEEOOOWWW! HOT! HOT! HOT!"

"Gee, looks like things have turned into yet another unforgettable bar brawl," Mastermind sloshed stumbling behind the bar. "Guess there's only one thing to do. Help myself to free booze!"

"No, petites. I don't need to see how well stuffed your straw mattress is," Remy smiled as the two women attempted to drag him up the back stairs. "Though I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have a good roll in the hay."

"Yayayayaya!" The pack of kids stormed out of the kitchen whacking everything in sight with bread loaves and drawing on the walls with clabber.

"What the…gaaah!" Several gallowglasses tried to fight them off but were easily overwhelmed. "Waaah! Get off me you little pixies! OW!"

"Those aren't pixies, mate," Pyro grinned turning toward the fireplace. "I'll show ya pixies!"

WHOOOSSSHHH!

"Ooo, pretty!" Kids and non-brawling Scotsmen marveled as Pyro created a swarm of small fire fairies and had them flirt about the pub.

"Oh, my head," Ó Ceallaigh staggered out of the kitchen covered in stew. "And I thought tarring and feathering was bad…AAAIIIEEEEEEEEE!" Ó Ceallaigh screamed as fire fairies zipped around him like a flock of flaming harpies. "YAHHH! GET THEM AWAY FROM ME!"

"See? I told you they were fairies!" Oscar shrieked huddled in a corner.

"In Kirkintilloch there's nae pubs and I'm sure you'll wonder why!" Sabertooth and McCoy roared dancing on top of the bar with arms draped around each other's shoulders. "My brother and me, we went on a spree! We drank the pubs all dry, all dry! Drank the pubs all dry!"

"Ewww, those are the ugliest barmaids I have ever seen," Mastermind drunkenly winced at the sight. "Guess Gambit made the right choice after all. Ugggh, quit it with the high kicks!"

"AAAHHHHHH! FIRE! HELP! WAUUUGGGH!" Ó Ceallaigh shrieked as one fire fairy accidentally set his hair alight. He frantically dunked his head into a nearby water bucket before wildly tossing its contents all over the pub.

"Yahooo…accck!" Pyro yelped as the fireplace's flames were extinguished. "My friends! Nooo!"

"Hey, watch it!" Remy shielded Ó Ceallaigh's sister and niece with his trench coat. "You're killing the mood!"

"WATER! WATER!" Ó Ceallaigh shrieked refilling his bucket from a large open barrel.

"Yuck!" Several gallowglasses yelped as Ó Ceallaigh doused them. "Hey, this isn't water. It's beer!"

"How can you tell?" Mastermind slurred. "They taste the same to me."

"Aw, where have all the fairies gone?" The pack of kids watched as Pyro directed the remaining fire fairies to seek shelter outside. "Wait! Come back!"

"YEAH, THAT'S IT! RUN AWAY YOU LITTLE DEMONS!" Ó Ceallaigh cackled maniacally chasing the swarm of fire fairies and kids out the door. "KILL THE FAIRIES! KILL THE FAIRIES!"

"Hey, look out…!"

SPLOOSSH!

"AGGGHHH!"

"Hahaha…huh?" Ó Ceallaigh blinked returning to his senses. He found himself standing outside the pub in front of a soaked, well-dressed man. "What the…?"

"Ó CEALLAIGH!" The man screamed. "Have you lost your mind? What the devil is going on here?"

"Mayor Mac Cárthaigh?" Ó Ceallaigh blinked in surprise. "Where did you come from? What happened to the fairies?"

"Fairies?" Mayor Mac Cárthaigh gave him a look. "Have you been sampling your own stock again, Ó Ceallaigh?"

"I am not drunk!" Ó Ceallaigh shouted. "Fairies invaded my public house along with McCoy's band of gallowglasses and a group of crazy strangers!"

"You are the one acting crazy and strange today, Ó Ceallaigh!" Mayor Mac Cárthaigh snapped wringing out his clothes. "Why did you dump a bucket of water on me? Or is it beer? And is that leek and celery stew in your hair?"

"It's not my fault! I was defending myself," Ó Ceallaigh cried. "Those lousy kids did this to me! Them and the evil flock of fire fairies!"

"Great, you are drunk," Mayor Mac Cárthaigh grumbled. "You better not have insulted any of McCoy's gallowglasses. If word gets back to their English paymasters they will sack the village and turn it into a plantation!"

"Don't worry about them," Ó Ceallaigh groaned. "I served those filthy mercenaries everything they wanted and more. They have nothing to complain about."

CRASH!

SMASH!

THUD!

"You were saying?" Mayor Mac Cárthaigh glared as all the gallowglasses except McCoy were tossed out through the pub's door and walls.

"Gahhh, now that's what I call a good brawl," One battered gallowglass blinked dazedly. "Ooo, look at the pretty birdies…"

"See? He is not complaining," Ó Ceallaigh defended weakly. "Though I insist they pay for the damages."

"You are one who will end up paying for this, Ó Ceallaigh," Mayor Mac Cárthaigh hissed. "Speaking of which, I am here to collect this month's taxes."

"What?" Ó Ceallaigh yelped. "But I paid them already!"

"You forgot the whiskey tax again," Mayor Mac Cárthaigh told him. "You can't avoid paying it forever. This is the third time this year."

"Fine," Ó Ceallaigh grumbled. "I'll pay. How much is it?"

"Hey, what happened to all the money in the cash box?" Ó Ceallaigh's sister was heard shouting. "It's gone!"

"So is Uncle's life savings he has been hiding under his bed!" His niece yelled.

"WHAT?!" Ó Ceallaigh shrieked.

"Aha!" Mayor Mac Cárthaigh pointed accusingly. "I knew you were in debt from betting on the village hurling and bowling games!"

"Hey, my money belt is missing," One of the gallowglasses patted his belted plaid.

"So is my purse," Another gallowglass realized. "I have been robbed!"

"Ó Ceallaigh must have took them!" A third gallowglass pointed angrily. "We all had three month's pay before entering his public house, but not when we came out!"

"Get him!" The band of gallowglasses roared.

"No! Stay away from me!" Ó Ceallaigh gulped backing away from the angry band of moneyless mercenaries. "I am not a thief! I just run a public house!"

"Not anymore," Mayor Mac Cárthaigh snapped. "I hereby confiscate your public house and all associated property as payment for unpaid taxes."

"WHAT?! NO!" Ó Ceallaigh cried. "This public house is all I have! You can not just take it and…"

FA-WHOOOOOOSSSHHH!

The entire public house suddenly erupted into flames. "On second thought, it's all yours!" Ó Ceallaigh yelled running away. "Goodbye!"

"COME BACK HERE!" Mayor Mac Cárthaigh screamed jumping up and down. "YOU CAN NOT LET YOUR PUBLIC HOUSE BURN TO THE GROUND BEFORE I TAKE POSSESSION OF IT! Ó CEALLAIGH!" He turned to the gallowglasses. "WHAT ARE YOU FOOLS JUST STANDING AROUND FOR? PUT OUT THE FIRE BEFORE IT CONSUMES THE ENTIRE VILLAGE!"

"Oh, I can never go back there again," Ó Ceallaigh moaned as he quickly fled the conflagration. "Mayor Mac Cárthaigh and the gallowglasses will kill me! I will have to flee the county. At least until my sister and niece realize I abandoned them and left them absolutely nothing. Then I will have to flee the country! Oh crud, what happened to my life? I am doomed! Doomed! Wait, maybe I can hide out by booking passage to one of the American colonies. I will only have to work there as an indentured servant for the next thirty or forty years…"

KA-CRUNCH!

"NEEEIIIGGGHHH!"

"AAAGGGHHH! LOOK OUT! IT'S THE BLAZING CARRIAGE OF THE UNDERWORLD!" Mayor Mac Cárthaigh was heard screaming in terror.

"Huh?" Ó Ceallaigh turned to see his own beer wagon pulled by a team of flaming fire horses burst out from behind the pub and thunder straight towards him. "YAAAHHHHHH!"

WHAM!

"Aaauuuggghhh!" Ó Ceallaigh wailed as he was clipped and sent flying into a large mud puddle. "Oh, I hate my life…"

"Wheeeeee! That was fun!" Pyro giggled insanely skipping out the burning pub's newly made back door. "What a hoot!"

"What a mess," Piotr groaned carrying a pair of unconscious farmers. "Did you really have to add fire horses and rockets to that wagon?"

"Hey, you're the one who said to create a distraction to mask our presence from the authorities," Pyro pointed out.

"I was taking to Mastermind," Piotr moaned. "He was supposed to hide us within one of his illusions."

"Infusion? Good idea!" Mastermind hiccupped waving a half-empty mug. "Time for another drink!"

"Adieu, petites," Remy waved at Ó Ceallaigh's departing niece and sister both smiling and loaded down with "borrowed" gallowglass money belts. "Good luck on making a new start."

"You gave the money you stole to those women?" Piotr blinked in surprise.

"Half of it," Remy shrugged. "The coins weren't that nice. I gave the rest away to the kids. Wild, quick fingered, scorned by society. They reminded me of me."

"Yeah, they were a cute bunch of tackers," Pyro smiled. "Hungry mob though. They ate all my snacks!"

"Oh dear," Piotr groaned. "What have you unleashed upon Ireland?"

"Who cares?" Sabertooth growled toting his salvaged firkin of scotch. "I got what I wanted right here."

"Me too," McCoy smiled lugging his own keg. "You're a braw drinker, mannie. You beat me this time, but I'll get the better of you someday."

"Don't count on it," Sabertooth grunted as McCoy headed out to share the keg's contents with his men. "Crazy Scot. I like him. Though he smells kinda familiar…"

"You people are mad," The young musician coughed having been dragged along by Pyro. "I barely made it out of that public house alive! My fiddle has been burned to ashes! How am I supposed to make a living now?"

"Eh, don't sweat it, kid," Sabertooth grunted pouring some scotch into the young man's collection dish. "You'll be fine as long as there's whiskey in your jar."

"Whiskey in the jar?" The young musician blinked staring at the dish. "Hmmm, that is kind of catchy. I may have found a good chorus line for my song after all."

"I know what kind of chorus line I'd like to see," Remy smirked. "Hmmm, wonder if there are any female stepdancing troupes around here. If not, those two femmes I was dancing with should start one."

"Yeah, everybody dance!" Pyro cackled and began swinging Mastermind around. "Get down, Masty! Wohoo!"

"Yay!" Mastermind giggled drunkenly.

"Well, this tale should be worth an extra copper or two the next time I am in a public house," The young musician said sipping from his dish. "Hmmm, maybe I should compose a song or ballad involving all of you."

"Please don't," Piotr groaned holding his head. "The stories some people write about us are bad enough!"


Historical notes: "Whiskey in the Jar" is a traditional Irish song about a highwayman robbing a military officer who is later betrayed by his female companion. It is believed to have originated sometime during the 17th century A.D. and has consisted of various versions involving different names and locations. While many theories have been proposed over the years, the exact origin of the line "There's whiskey in the jar" has never "officially" been determined.

The Guinness beer brand was first brewed in 1759 A.D.

The Smithwick's beer brand was first brewed in 1710 A.D.

Hops were not widely used in Irish brewing until the 18th century A.D.

Irish soda bread was first introduced during the early 19th century A.D.

Disclaimer: I do not own the song "There Are No Pubs in Kirkintilloch".