The day started off with Scott giving his wife a pinch. Barda barely registered it.

"What was that for?" she asked, nonchalantly.

"You're not wearing green." Scott responded, with his Green Lantern t-shirt (not officially licensed), "you're supposed to wear green on Saint Patrick's Day."

"Saint Patrick's Day?"

"It's the celebration of when the patron saint of Ireland drove the snakes from his homeland."

"There are no snakes in Ireland."

Scott smiled, "Exactly."

Barda didn't catch on, "they can't handle that climate."

Her husband ignored that and pulled out a green bead necklace and put it around Barda's neck, "there you go." He muttered, "Now you're all festive."

She fiddled with the necklace a bit and just let out a grunt of contentment, "cute."

She pulled up a chair at the dining table, "so, aside from wearing green, what else do we do for this holiday?" she asked, leaning an arm on the table.

Scott beamed, "We drink and feast like royalty!"

"Oh?" Barda raised a brow, "So is this Saint Patrick a renowned warrior?"

Her husband paused, "I don't… think so," he hesitated, "but he was venerated."

Barda pursed her lips. She wasn't used to the idea of celebrating something without a triumphant cause. On Apokolips, feasts weren't commonplace and even when they did happen, she was rarely invited. Only when the Furies helped ensure a major victory happened were she and her team welcomed to the feast. Even then, it was just as likely Granny Goodness would bar them because of her ever shifting standards of perfection.

She could probably count the number of times where she actually sat down at that table and ate actual good food in that hellhole of a world with one hand. And with all those times, she could vividly remember Kalibak messily gorging his gullet down, DeSaad sneering at her every time she looked in his direction, and Grail always trying to take credit from her success to please her father.

Scott, on the other hand, never received such pleasantries. Being stuck in the orphanage for Source knows how long meant that eating actual food and not tasteless rations and scraps on a good day was even rarer than Barda celebrating victories with a feast. He could vividly remember the times when Barda was invited and how she always snuck in as much food as she possibly could.

Oh, the joys of eating real food, even if it was leftovers. Ever since escaping, Scott vowed he would never take food for granted.

Scott carried on, "anyways, I think it would be nice to partake in some of this.."

Barda smiled, "you really think this town has good options? If it isn't some crappy fast food joint, it's some high-end nonsense that's too expensive and classy to have these kinds of celebrations."

"Well, that's why we go to local bars." Scott beamed, unfolding a brochure map in front of the former Fury, "this is a little challenge those university frat boys do every year."

The map showed the locations of every bar in the city, the line was making some vague upside down 'U' shape. "And what is this challenge, exactly?"

"Go to every bar in town and order a pint. It's some stupid rite of passage for those guys, but it sounds like fun!"

"... This sounds like something you watched in a movie."

Scott stammered, "n-no!"

"I'm pretty sure it is…"

Despite her sneaking suspicions, Barda accepted the challenge. She was looking for an excuse to get out of the house, anyways.

Besides, this challenge would be a piece of cake thanks to their physiology; getting drunk wasn't an easy feat. The only thing that could get them buzzed or beyond would be something from their world.

They left right before happy hour and the first bar was packed to the brim with people conversing amongst themselves and holding glasses of various sizes, all the while themed to green holiday decor like shamrocks and hats.

Of course, everyone was wearing green. Either a hat, necklace, or shirt, it was all fair game.

Barda and Scott went to the bartender, a few patrons intimidated by the former's size, and ordered a pint of their strongest drink. The bartender did so with haste and slid the glasses towards them, which they caught with ease.

Scott lifted the glass and gave the liquid a sniff, his nose twitching a bit. "That's certainly fermented… something in there." he muttered before he looked at Barda chugging it all down in one swig, "wasting no time, I see."

She finally gulped down the last of the drink and put her glass to the bar with a slight exhale, "I now know human alcohol has no taste."

"Well, you don't drink it in one gulp," Scott responded, "you gotta take it in small swigs."

"And how are we supposed to finish this glass in time?"

"We've got plenty of time!" Scott beamed, sitting down on one of the now free barstools, "relax a bit!"

She pursed her lips and idly watched her husband drink from his glass. From her side, a guy wearing a green hat who was barely halfway though his mug and already drunk approached her, "Hey, baby…" he slurred, holding onto the bar so as to not fall over, "you look like a real knockout."

Barda snorted in amusement, "No, that would be a different Fury."

He clearly didn't get it as he leaned forward to her, though considering how tall she was, he barely reached up to her chest, "look… babe… how about you and I-"

Barda held up her hand which had a ring on her finger and then pointed to Scott, who sipped his pint while staring at him with a look that screamed "try it and find out."

The guy was then lifted by the collar by the Apokoliptian, "Here's a word of advice, hotshot," she said, sternly, "if you're gonna try and fail to pick up women at a bar, at least have the courtesy to do it when you're sober and not a drunken fool."

She then set him down like a sack of potatoes and he nearly fell flat on his ass. A few onlookers giggled at the display. "Ugh, fine!" He hissed, "don't have to be a bitch about it."

Scott nearly crushed the glass in his hands hearing that. He downed the rest in a swig just as the guy returned to his group of friends. He put the glass down and went up to him, tapping his shoulder to get his attention.

"I heard what you called her," he intoned, a barely contained rage leaking with every word, "apologize to my wife this instant."

The drunk man smiled as his friends began to back him up and rise from their seats, cracking their knuckles and necks. "Or what, pal?"

Scott smirked.

An instant later, all of them were outside, surrounded by broken glass. One was leaning against a now indented car door (their own), its alarm blaring at full blast with no one to turn it off.

Every patron looked at the shattered window and Scott dusting his hands with a smile. He went up to the bartender and pulled out a few bills, "for the drinks and window." He said to him as he escorted Barda out of the place.

"Well that was something." Barda commented with a smile.

Scott only nodded but his smile soon faded. He turned to his wife, "Hey, uh, if you don't wanna do this little thing anymore-"

"Scott." Barda interrupted, "I am now a hundred percent committed to this if the other bars are even half as fun as that."

Scott smiled.

By the end of the day, both completed the challenge with pretty much zero hurdles beyond that. At the last bar, they watched drunkards outside fall flat on their asses and faces, drunkenly ordering a taxi to take them home, or wobbling away from the bar.

Scott looked away from the window and sipped the last of his pint. He put the glass on the table, "Barda."

His wife looked at him, "Yes?"

"I did get this idea from a movie."

She smirked and downed the last of her drink, "Knew it."

Challenge completed. They clinked their empty glasses together.

"Happy Saint Patrick's Day, love."

"You too, darling."