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This, he thinks, has to be a decent bachelorette party.

Maybe not for the average bride, maybe other people out there want strippers and sashes that read BRIDE-TO-BE and phallic decorations, but Peggy had made it very clear to John that she wanted none of that.

So he'd rented out a bar. An entire bar. The guest list isn't particularly extensive, they don't need the entire bar, but he'd seen no reason not to do it anyway. It means they have the entire place to themselves, they can control the music, and the bartender has only them to serve. And John has paid a flat fee for the bartender and the serving staff, plus given them a significant tip, so they're attending the party perfectly.

The bar is nice, with comfortable chairs and several pool tables, as well as a well stocked jukebox that he thinks has just about anything someone might think to play. Maybe not Dutch, she probably knows songs none of them have ever heard before, but there's probably plenty on the jukebox she'll still enjoy.

There are appetizers, lots of them, covering just about any option a person could want. The same goes for alcohol.

All in all, for someone not all that inclined toward attending parties, he thinks he's done a fairly good job capturing something Peggy will enjoy. And that's the point of tonight, giving her a party to celebrate her future and everything that's to come with people she enjoys spending time with.

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"I hadn't expected that to be the case," John answers mildly. Getting married might have once been a reason to settle down, as it were, and it might be considered the same still for some, but he doubts very much Peggy was ever a woman to settle down and stop doing what she wants to. Marriage won't change that. Daniel isn't marrying her because he expects her to just drop everything and become a housewife.

"And I hope you didn't think I had assumed you would," he answers with a faint smile. "What kind of feminist would I be if I worked like that?"

"I don't know," John answers thoughtfully. "I thought so once."

But Jessica has been dead for a very long time now, longer than he likes to think about, and the urge has never really struck him since then. Which isn't to say he doesn't want to be with Karen in the long term, because he very much does. Living with her is a bigger step than he's taken with anyone before. Even he and Jessica had never gotten that far, despite how badly he'd wanted to marry her at the time, and he feels like sharing his space with someone, sharing his secrets, is a more intimate gesture for a man like him.

"Karen and I moved in together," he says. "And what about you? Do you think you'll get married?"

"I don't think so," Dutch says after a moment of thought. "That's not to say I don't love those I'm with but marriage is -- "

She'd been married once and it had ended so, so badly. She doesn't think she's scared to try again but she doesn't think it's needed to be connected and attached to someone.

"Marriage is good for some people. I just don't think it's really for me."

At some level, the marriage traditions of Midgardians who lived in the West had not changed all that much. Oh, there seemed to be more of choice in the matter than there may have been before, but the traditions themselves? Many of them seemed to have hung on.

A feast or celebration for the bride before her marriage day? Oh, that one he was familiar with. There were variations of it across worlds as well as across time. With as long as his people lived, Thor had attended more of these celebrations outside of Asgard than among the warriors and artisans of his home. They were (without exception) always a good time.

Even that time he was the bride and it had ended in mass murder.

Thor drinks deeply from his glass and beams out at the party, relaxed as anything in his Midgardian clothes.

Edited 2018-09-11 19:53 (UTC)

"Unfortunately, I've known enough men and seen their expectations to know that I shouldn't have too much faith," she says in a way that's cynical and a bit dismal, but it's the truth of the matter. She gives John a brief smile, though, in thanks for what he says.

"You're one of the very best, you know. I could never have expected anything like that at home," she shares. "I'd probably have been fired the moment I got pregnant, honestly."

Peggy's been drinking steadily enough that she's in the midst of a pleasant haze, which she's positively brimming with by the time she gets to Dutch, holding darts and ready for a new game and challenger. "Come on, then," she says, trying to tug Dutch towards the board with her. "It's my night and I've decided I want a face off to see your skills put to the test."

Lucky for Peggy, she's sober. She doesn't plan to be the whole evening, but she's glad that she is when she comes across Tony because there are some embarrassing situations that she doesn't want to put herself in and one of them so happens to be getting drunk in front of your friends' son.

She settles on the pool table, perching with her drink and tugging the straw towards her, eyeing Tony and the lack of a challenger. "I'm not sure this is much fun, playing by yourself," she notes. "Care for someone to keep you occupied while you win?"

Peggy might be a fan of scotch and whiskeys, but whatever Wanda is drinking looks positively delightful and she thinks that perhaps she might have to break from her steady rules to try it. "I'll have one of that," she says to the bartender, taking up the stool beside Wanda to give her a warm smile.

"I haven't made a critical error, have I? It is good?" she prods, hoping that the answer is yes and she's not wasting her drinks on something she'll regret.

Peggy is rather pleased to see Stephen here, not only because he'd been so handy in disposing of the contraband party material, but because she's come to appreciate his company. In a way, he reminds her a bit of Mr. Jarvis in the steadiness of his approaching situations and the humour that threads within it.

Approaching, she sees him pick a new song, but she's clueless as to what it is when it starts to play. "Is this a popular song choice, where you're from?" she asks curiously, having missed out on catching up on plenty of decades of music.

Peggy beams when she sees Thor there, because she knows that even a calm party could use someone to lift the mood and with him there, she doesn't doubt that will happen. She leans over to buy a beer so that she can bring it over to Thor, giving him a grateful smile. "I didn't actually expect you to come," she admits, handing the glass over.

"I am glad you did, though," she shares. "Have you often gone to bachelorette parties, where you come from?"

"What's not fun about proving yourself right?" Tony asked, playing the egotist, even though Peggy was too canny not to see right through him. It was habit. It was also at least partially in earnest. He liked playing himself almost as much as playing someone else.

He was also a few drinks in, but only enough to feel pliable and, for once, relaxed.

"But I don't mind the company, no. You look good under the drop lights, Peg. Throw a little hazy cigar smoke in and you'd be right out of some hardboiled detective flick. Maybe we'll rent you an old Lincoln Cosmo and tie some cans to it so I can take photos and add hilarious old timey filters to them. "

"Better than playing with myself. They frown on that in the majority of public establishments."

Tony offered a look of droll irritation. What had the point of that been except to rob him of satisfaction? Maybe that had been the point. He sighed and started working to rack the balls back up.

"For the record, I'm still counting that as a win. I don't make bad calculations. I had that eyeballed and it was going in."

He stared for a little too long, before picking up his drink and taking a very long sip very slowly. He was wondering, in fifty different directions, whether he ought to simply come clean that there was something going on with the two of them, or keep it between them, just a little while longer.

He left it up to Stephen in the end.

"Wow, that outfit looks fantastic on you. I wonder why. You have to tell me the name of your personal shopper."

Stephen rolled the eight ball back to Tony.

"Hm," was all he said, a faint smirk playing at his mouth. He watched Tony rack up the balls, and then watched Tony drink, and then he realized he should probably do something besides stare at Tony across the table.

"Thanks." He set his own drink on the side of the table, walked over to the wall and picked up a pool stick, since it looked like no one else was interested in playing. "Just this guy. Short, dark, and handsome. You know the type," he said with a wink, chalking up the tip. He returned to the table.

"Wanna play me? You've got nothing to lose."

Stephen put his hand out to demonstrate, fingers spread. The shaking was visible, he was probably going to be terrible.

"Short? Now you're just trying to get me worked up on purpose so I'll miss some of my shots."

He snorted, but it was a friendly one. He was game. He'd even take it easy, provided he didn't smell he was being lured into a trap. They weren't making bets yet, so it seemed safe.

Tony hefted his pool cue and waggled it in Stephen's direction. He had the blue chalk.

"Just the tip, if you please."

Edited 2018-09-12 02:53 (UTC)

Stephen smiles over at Peggy. "It's a classic. Van Morrison, 1967."

He's been waiting until she has a free moment to approach her, so he hopes she doesn't think him rude that he's over at the jukebox when he hasn't even greeted her yet.

"Thank you for inviting me, by the way. This is very nice, just like you described. My first bachelorette party," he says with a grin. Men at a bachelorette party is more modern than even his time, so he's a little impressed.

"I need every upper hand I can get."

Stephen knew he could use his magic, but that didn't seem fair, even with his hands. At best he would focus his magic there to steady them some. It shouldn't matter, so long as nothing turned into a disaster.

He caught the cue in his hand without taking his eyes off Tony, raising an eyebrow as he chalked it up.

Finally he looked at the tip, blowing away the excess. He let go.

"I guess that's enough. For now."

"Minx," Tony accused, finishing the rest of his drink and clearing his throat before moving away to unrack the balls with a snap of his head.

"Stripes," he called for himself. "You break 'em, Strange."

He pushed his sleeves up over his elbows and leaned on the table's rail, looking too casual. He was about four drinks in, and feeling a little too at ease.

Stephen looked pleased with the endearment, but his expression went serious when he approached the balls. He ignored the fact that Tony had just called his ball color and leaned forward, lining up his stick. Focusing his magic in his hands to steady them, he smacked the cue ball, sending the balls across the table.

A stripe went in, but no solids.

"Luck's on your side tonight, your turn," he said, stepping back and taking a drink of his remaining whiskey.

Tony pointedly decided on a shot that would line him up right next to Strange. He popped him with a hip to move him aside, before taking Stephen's whiskey tumbler directly out of his hand and tipping it back. He handed it back empty before taking his shot, sending some of the balls scattering and pocketing one of his own.

"It's not luck, sweetheart. It's just entropy."

Stephen stepped aside with ease as though he hadn't been jostled, and refilled his glass without taking his eyes off the pool table. He took a thoughtful sip and gave no outward reaction at Tony's reply. His head was swimming a little.

"You don't believe in luck, then?"

He tilts his head and Wanda returns the gesture, faintly amused at whatever breakdown in communication has occurred. For once, she's not sure whose misunderstanding is the cause. "I think I'm on the groom's officially. As one of his groomsmen. Grooms people?" It doesn't roll particularly well off the tongue.

"I don't know, the cape would be nice and dramatic for a bachelorette party."

"Are you having human emotions?" Wanda teases. "I always thought that Vis got those from Thor." She doesn't like the idea, at least, of saying that he got them from Ultron. He'd been an impudent, arrogant child. So had she and Pietro. It isn't a good look.

The drink he hands her is purple and ostentatious and Wanda takes a careful sip. It's better than she expects, though it tastes faintly of perfume.

"I was a little afraid of her, the first time we met," she says, following Tony's gaze.

"It's sweet," Wanda says. "Not too sweet, I think. I can't tell you if it's strong or not." Just like Steve and just like her brother, it takes a hell of a lot these days for her to make her feel even buzzed. Even before they'd become enhanced, she and Pietro had spent their high school nights and weekends passing around bottles of clear grain alcohol with friends, building up a rather unfortunate level of tolerance.

"I'm happy for you."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I'm not in the actual wedding party. I thought you were asking who I knew." Stephen feels a little more out of place here upon realization, though he had been invited, so he doesn't think he's unwelcome. He used to be so good at social engagements, but he's rusty after having been secluded away at the Sanctum for so long.

"Cloak," he corrects automatically, and smiles. "I wouldn't want to pull focus."

"A groomsperson, though, hm? It seems Peggy's creating her own traditions," he adds, motioning to the room at large, which is attended by more men than women.

Tony laughed at first, at the way the whiskey glass filled again, at Stephen's question.

"If luck can be quantified, is it luck at all? No. Honestly. I don't believe in luck. I believe that something good tends to happen when preparation intersects with opportunity."

Picking up his cue again, Tony managed to sink another ball, but the third try sent a green ball to the edge of a pocket. It didn't fall in.

"See? If I'd practice more, I'd have made that."

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