They mocked up band posters and came up with hypothetical band names in Mari's basement. One of her older brothers would sometimes sneak them a couple of beers, if they paid him. Sprawled out on the hardwood floor, judgement impaired by alcohol and paint fumes, they talked quietly.

"I like 'The Killers'," Mari said. "For a band name."

"No, it's too good," Moirine told her, secretly thinking it was a bit too violent. When she held her hand up in front of her face, the edges blurred. "Someone else probably has it."

"Yeah," Mari agreed, and took another swig of her cheap beer. "I like the poster, though." It was a painting of a guitar and a ukulele, their necks crossed. "Whatever name we have, has to be as good as the painting."

Moirine murmured an agreement. Mari laid her head on her shoulder and Moirine stroked her hair. "Are you going to fall asleep?"

"No."

"You look dumb when you sleep."

"I know."

"And you drool..."

"I know..."

"Especially when you drink."

"Especially," Mari agreed and then kissed her on the forehead. "I'm awful."

"I still like you," Moirine said suddenly.

"I know," Mari said. "We should go to prom together."

"I don't think anyone would be happy about that," Moirine said, her voice soft.

"Yeah," Mari admitted, voice trailing off.

"And you'd have to wear a suit."

"No."

"A nice suit."

"No."

Moirine tugged at Mari's t-shirt. "With a vest, and a tie."

"Hmmm."

"Your brother might have some. Well...one of them...you have about twenty."

"Four," Mari corrected. "Four brothers. Three sisters."

"Maybe one of them has a spare?"

"Hmmmm," Mari said. "I'll see."

"Now?"

"Ah, geez," Mari sat up and rubbed the back of her head. "Ah, geez. Owain might have one."

On the ground, Moirine giggled and rolled over. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, twenty minutes had passed and Mari was sitting next to her. "Did you put on a nice suit?"

"Open your eyes and see," Mari said, pulling Moirine's head into her lap. She was still wearing her ratty jeans, but she had on a nice blouse, and a tie borrowed from somewhere.

Moirine batted the tie. "You look nice."

"Thank you. You do too, you little lush."