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The cork shot off somewhere in the Bucket’s main hull room. Foam fizzed out of the bottle’s mouth, Shrike laughed, the cheap champagne trickled over his hands and onto the floor.
Shrike turned around with a grin, “Do we have more of these? I want to pop another one!”
“That’s enough for tonight,” Beebs chuckled, quickly taking the bottle from Shrike’s grasp. He lifted the champagne to swirl around its contents, then looked at the puddle on the floor. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to open another bottle.”
“Is that the only one you have?” Scratch asked, a grin crept onto his face. He took the plastic cup Scritch offered him, admiring it in his paw. “I can getcha another sparkler and add it to your tab.”
The hull room was mostly empty, aside from some scattered trash and machinery stains tinting the walls and floors. The four party members and takeout leftovers stood alone on the floor.
“No—No, thank you, that’s not necessary. I—we have another bottle,” Beebs waved his hand. He walked over to the spare champagne and picked it up. “And you’re our guests; we wouldn’t be here if it weren't for you.”
“Don’t stroke his ego!” Shrike barked, as he plucked a cup from Scritch. He began to pour the champagne into his cup. “We would’ve been fine celebrating by ourselves.”
”It’s called being polite,” Scratch extended his arm so Beebs could pour the wine into his cup. He tilted his head with a grin. “You should try it sometime.”
Shrike pulled the cup from his lips and threw it down. He stomped forward, “I’ve been polite,“ holding the bottle by the neck, champagne poured onto the floor. He pointed the glass at Scratch with a laugh, “I’ll show you manners, pendejo.”
“Shrike!” Beebs yelled, as he tugged Shrike back by his collar. “Be nice and stop wasting champagne!” He took the empty bottle and put it to aside, “Twelve hundred pixels! This stuff isn’t cheap—we still need to toast.”
Shrike picked his cup from the floor, joining the group as they stood close. Beebs took a cup and topped off everyone's drinks.
He looked at the party. Beebs raised his cup at his shoulder, still above the other members’ heights.
“Well, I appreciate having you all here.” Beebs trailed as he studied his cup. “Even if it’s just the four of us. Our company wouldn’t even be an idea if we didn’t have any help, so, thank you—“
“—I’ll say something, too.” Scratch raised his cup, looking at Shrike, “I don’t like you too much.”
“Hey!”
“So listen! You’ll hear this everywhere you go: Merc work ain’t easy, clean, or smooth sailing. People don’t stay long. They don’t live long either.” Scratch stated, he stopped lowering his cup and searching the floor. Scritch patted his shoulder and a beat passed, before he started again. “But I hope this company works out for the both of you. Get good jobs, clients, money—Whatever you want out of this life. So, uh, best to both of ya.“
Beebs nodded.
Shrike looked at Scratch, then Beebs, then his ruined cup and shrugged. “To Monkey Wrench?” He raised his cup.
“To Monkey Wrench!” The three exclaimed as the party clinked their plastic cups together.