You and Ivy had just came back from rum running with a boot load of whiskey. She held a couple bottles in her arms, insisting she’d be alright holding all of them whilst you carried a case down to the speakeasy with her. You were thinking of having a sip of some yourself, but she happened to clock you before you tried cracking one open.

“Hey—! Cmon’ you doofus, we gotta put this booze away! It’s for the party! Hopefully, this’ll be enough in stock...” She murmured and began stocking up the bottles.

“We’ll have to get the rest from the trunk, but for now let’s just stock these while we can.” She smiled.