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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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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?"

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."

Stephen took another drink, eyeing the solids and considering his best plan of attack. He then handed the glass to Tony and moved to the other side of the table, leaning in and going for two balls in one. He pocketed them both.

"That's a sound explanation," he said, eyeing the table for his next turn. He glanced up, giving Tony a significant look. "Speaking of opportunity, how's your arm?"

He wasn't wearing his sling, though Stephen couldn't be sure if it was because he no longer needed it or he just wanted to play pool.