St. Murdock

Peter smirked as he entered the meeting hall, “I thought I was going to the coalition not a dance.”“MURDOCK!” He winced at the cheers and squirmed when an arm grabbed his and pulled him toward the little miniature dance floor. “We're celebrating! Want a drink?”“Whoa, dry campus, come on guys!”“Not that type... Press brought it. It's homemade grape juice. His family has a small vineyard upstate.”Peter was still wide eyed as he looked at Preston, “It's crushed grapes, with a little water and sugar, it's not even prefermented wine. It's just juice. Really good juice, not that store bought shit.”