Chapter Text
Lucy stared appreciatively at her mug of beer. The case had been an easy one, albeit involving copious amounts of physical labour. The three of them had unanimously agreed to retire to a nearby bar, where they were now nursing three pints of beer. Lockwood was already on his fourth mug, and George was rapidly going through his fifth.
As a general rule, Lucy didn’t drink. However, the case had been incredibly taxing, and surely a pint couldn’t hurt. She glanced at her two boys’ rosy cheeks, and shook her head fondly. Both of them were such lightweights, she didn’t expect them to last much longer before going home hungover.
“I have an idea,” Lockwood slurred indistinctly, “Les’s play a game. Hic. I bet you two are rubbi- hic- runnish- rubbish at flying.” Lucy blinked, “Excuse me?” Lockwood waved his hands expansively, “You know, flinging.” He scratched the back of his neck, then his eyes lit up. “Flirting! I bet you’re rubbish at -hic- flirting.”
George gave him an offended look. “Just because we’re not as posh as you doesn’t mean we don’t know how to flirt,” he snapped. He turned to Lucy, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Let’s show this posh Londener how to flirt, shall we, Luce?” Lucy giggled. It was obvious that both of them was drunk beyond their limit. However, who was she to stop their silly antics?
“Alright.” Lucy shrugged. “Loser has to forfeit a week’s turn of the biscuit rotation?” The boys agreed enthusiastically.
“You’re on,” smirked Lockwood.