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the_siobhanIt's so gloriously windy outside that Axel & I went and stood on the front lawn for a while. I remember once having a conversation with a friend who said, "I don't care how goth you are, you need to go out in the sun once in a while." I maintain that I can live without ever seeing the sun for the rest of my life, but I would die if I never felt the wind.
I have now had two more glasses of wine and two more gin & tonics. I am, what the professionals call, potted.
My prompt for this one is a combination pf![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
baratron's Were you inspired by anything in Ireland? and sabotabby's Why do you sometimes see just a single shoe by the side of the road?
“From the gentleman in the corner with the long hair,” said the bartender as he slid the glass across the bar. “Made it myself.”
I knew exactly who the bartender was talking about even before I turned to look. Tall, wide shoulders, long black hair, cheekbones you could shave your legs with. Pretty sure most of the straight women in the room had given him a second look at the very least, and here he was buying me a drink. I raised the glass towards him and smiled. As I had hoped, he started making his way towards me.
Tìr na nÒg had once been a quiet Irish pub where old men nursed their drinks and moaned about how the new smoking rules signaled the downfall of civilization. This was my first time in the bar since they had brought in the new management and started hosting dance DJs on weekends. Normally I hated both crowds and pop music but when my roommates found out I had just broken up with my fiance, they insisted on dragging me out here. I had originally come along just to humour them, but I was definitely starting to see their point.
They say the best way to get over somebody is to get under somebody. And this guy was gorgeous.
He finally made it to my section of the bar after struggling through the packed crowd. He leaned down and said something in the general direction of my ear, but with the loud music and the people shouting their orders at the bartender I had no idea what it was. I shook my head.
“Let’s go towards the back, so we can hear each other.” I shouted into his hair and he nodded and caught my hand.
The place was packed, but he weaved through the crowd easily. I flattered myself that the women in the bar were sending me envious glances as we passed by. I spotted one of my roommates at the edge of the dance floor and she gave me a thumbs up.
The back of the bar had a pool table and a bunch of overstuffed armchairs and couches. The music wasn’t as loud here and when he let go of my hand and turned to speak to me I could actually hear him.
“That’s better,” he said. “My name is Dubhlainn. I hope you don’t mind me taking you away from your friends for a few minutes.” His voice was a deep bass that sent a shiver down my spine.
“Dove-layne?” I repeated his name. “That’s unusual. Where is that from?”
“Ireland,” he told me. He sat down on one of the free couches and took a sip of his drink. “My parents were Irish and they wanted to give me a Gaelic name. You can just imagine what High School was like.”
“I’ll bet.” I sat down next to him. “My name is Claire.”
“Now that’s much more civilized.” He smiled.
“I like your name,” I assured him. “It’s unique. I think Claire is Irish too.”
“French. It means ‘bright and clear’”.
“Oh,” I felt oddly deflated by that. “My parents are Irish too, I guess I had just assumed…”
“It’s a very pretty name. And I bet it didn’t get you beat up at recess.” He waved at the waitress. I looked at my glass and realized to my surprise that it was already empty. I must have been nervous or something, I didn’t even remember drinking it.
“Have you ever been back to Ireland?” he asked me once our empty glasses had been taken away.
“Oh yes! I went back with my parents last year.”
“Really? I’ve never been.” He leaned towards me. His eyes were an incredibly bright green. “What did you think of it?”
“Oh, I loved it. It’s so green and pretty. And so much history.”
“Hmm.” He settled back on the couch and I felt vaguely as if my answer had disappointed him. I wracked my brain for something else to say.
“The best part was watching how my parents react to being home - I mean, I was born here, but they grew up in Ireland. I always think of them as being modern Canadians but that all changed when they went back to their home town.”
I had his attention now. Then the waitress showed up with our drinks and there were a few minutes where we went back and forth on who was going to pay. I finally let him take care of it on the condition that I would get the next round.
“So tell me about your parents in Ireland,” he said. “That sounds intriguing.”
“Well… It’s hard to explain. It just seems like no matter how modern people are they still act like their parents did. And they don’t even realize it.”
He tilted his head without saying anything. I wanted to impress this guy, I wanted to convince him I was interesting. I rummaged through my memory looking for a story I could tell him.
“OK, so here’s one thing. Like my dad doesn’t believe in ghosts, right? Like, at all. Thinks religion, spirituality, anything like that is garbage. When I’m making fun of him, I always say I’m surprised he believes in electricity.”
I took a sip of my drink. “But when he’s in Ireland, all that goes out the window. Suddenly he’s all about, ‘I can’t go there because of things I’ve seen’ blah blah blah.”
“Oh? Do you remember where those places were? Was there anything special about them?” His tone was casual and I waved off him off.
“That’s the thing. There wasn’t anything special. Like, we visited some village where my grandparents had grown up. And everybody there says they don’t believe in fairies or ghosts or any of that stuff. But there are these… mounds. Like just piles of dirt or rocks. In the middle of some farmers field and they just… plow around them. They’ll swear a hole through a pot - that’s something my parents always say - that they don’t believe in fairies, but they still won’t disturb a pile of rocks.”
He laughed. His laugh sounded forced, but I couldn’t imagine why. I looked at my glass and it was empty again, although I couldn’t remember drinking it. I was so thirsty. I waved at the waitress to get another one.
“And another thing,” I said. “Like you know how everywhere you go there are these random shoes in teh road?”
His body went rigid so suddenly I felt it through the coahch. I looked at him in surprise.
“What’s up? Do you have like PTSD aroudn abandoned footwear?” I asked him. He shook his head.
“No I’m sorry, I just… I thought I saw somebody I knew but it was a mistake. Keep talking. It’s verfy interesting.”
“Right. So you know how everywhere you go thjere are always abandoned shoes and nobody knows why?” The waitress appeared and I took the glass out of her hand. I fished my wallet out of my pocket, but when I looked up she was already gone. I hadn’t seen him pay, and I clutched my wallet for a few minutes, unsure what to do.
“Go on,” he prompted me. I looked into his eyes and thought, Wow, do I ever not want to be talking about my parents right now, but I contineud my story.
“OK, so here, when we see a shoe in the road, we assume somebody was drunk or they were carrying a bag and one shoe fell out. in Ireland, people go out of their way to avoid it. Like cross the road levels of avoidance. And when I asked why, they said the faeries must have taken them. This is like in the middle of the city and peopel with cell phones and pacemakers are talking about fearies.”
“And what do you think of that explanation?” he asked me.
I put my glass down on the table. I leaned over and put my hand on his knee.
“I think,” I said. “Thjat we can find things to tak about that are much more intersting than my holdiy in Ireland.”
He smiled and took my hand. We stood up and he guided me towards the door.
“You have a good night now,” said the bouncer. Dubhlainn turned his head and grinned and for a split second I saw the street light relfecting in his eyes like a cat’s, two silver disks in the dark. I also fancied there was somethign wrong with his teeth, but that must have been my imagination.
Outside on teh sidwalk he caught me and pulled me against him. We kissed until my head swam. When he finally let go of me I setpped back and stumbled slightly, my heels catching in the soft grass.
He steadyed me while I pulled my fancy shoes off, one at a time. The grass felt cool on my feet and sighed with happieness as I squirmed by toes in o the earth. He laughed and caught my hand and suddenly we were running between the trees, my shoes still cluthced in my free hand. I felt a strap slide between my fingers and I didnt care.
I had other shoes.
It's almost 2. I may not make it through another story.
I have now had two more glasses of wine and two more gin & tonics. I am, what the professionals call, potted.
My prompt for this one is a combination pf
baratron's Were you inspired by anything in Ireland? and sabotabby's Why do you sometimes see just a single shoe by the side of the road?“From the gentleman in the corner with the long hair,” said the bartender as he slid the glass across the bar. “Made it myself.”
I knew exactly who the bartender was talking about even before I turned to look. Tall, wide shoulders, long black hair, cheekbones you could shave your legs with. Pretty sure most of the straight women in the room had given him a second look at the very least, and here he was buying me a drink. I raised the glass towards him and smiled. As I had hoped, he started making his way towards me.
Tìr na nÒg had once been a quiet Irish pub where old men nursed their drinks and moaned about how the new smoking rules signaled the downfall of civilization. This was my first time in the bar since they had brought in the new management and started hosting dance DJs on weekends. Normally I hated both crowds and pop music but when my roommates found out I had just broken up with my fiance, they insisted on dragging me out here. I had originally come along just to humour them, but I was definitely starting to see their point.
They say the best way to get over somebody is to get under somebody. And this guy was gorgeous.
He finally made it to my section of the bar after struggling through the packed crowd. He leaned down and said something in the general direction of my ear, but with the loud music and the people shouting their orders at the bartender I had no idea what it was. I shook my head.
“Let’s go towards the back, so we can hear each other.” I shouted into his hair and he nodded and caught my hand.
The place was packed, but he weaved through the crowd easily. I flattered myself that the women in the bar were sending me envious glances as we passed by. I spotted one of my roommates at the edge of the dance floor and she gave me a thumbs up.
The back of the bar had a pool table and a bunch of overstuffed armchairs and couches. The music wasn’t as loud here and when he let go of my hand and turned to speak to me I could actually hear him.
“That’s better,” he said. “My name is Dubhlainn. I hope you don’t mind me taking you away from your friends for a few minutes.” His voice was a deep bass that sent a shiver down my spine.
“Dove-layne?” I repeated his name. “That’s unusual. Where is that from?”
“Ireland,” he told me. He sat down on one of the free couches and took a sip of his drink. “My parents were Irish and they wanted to give me a Gaelic name. You can just imagine what High School was like.”
“I’ll bet.” I sat down next to him. “My name is Claire.”
“Now that’s much more civilized.” He smiled.
“I like your name,” I assured him. “It’s unique. I think Claire is Irish too.”
“French. It means ‘bright and clear’”.
“Oh,” I felt oddly deflated by that. “My parents are Irish too, I guess I had just assumed…”
“It’s a very pretty name. And I bet it didn’t get you beat up at recess.” He waved at the waitress. I looked at my glass and realized to my surprise that it was already empty. I must have been nervous or something, I didn’t even remember drinking it.
“Have you ever been back to Ireland?” he asked me once our empty glasses had been taken away.
“Oh yes! I went back with my parents last year.”
“Really? I’ve never been.” He leaned towards me. His eyes were an incredibly bright green. “What did you think of it?”
“Oh, I loved it. It’s so green and pretty. And so much history.”
“Hmm.” He settled back on the couch and I felt vaguely as if my answer had disappointed him. I wracked my brain for something else to say.
“The best part was watching how my parents react to being home - I mean, I was born here, but they grew up in Ireland. I always think of them as being modern Canadians but that all changed when they went back to their home town.”
I had his attention now. Then the waitress showed up with our drinks and there were a few minutes where we went back and forth on who was going to pay. I finally let him take care of it on the condition that I would get the next round.
“So tell me about your parents in Ireland,” he said. “That sounds intriguing.”
“Well… It’s hard to explain. It just seems like no matter how modern people are they still act like their parents did. And they don’t even realize it.”
He tilted his head without saying anything. I wanted to impress this guy, I wanted to convince him I was interesting. I rummaged through my memory looking for a story I could tell him.
“OK, so here’s one thing. Like my dad doesn’t believe in ghosts, right? Like, at all. Thinks religion, spirituality, anything like that is garbage. When I’m making fun of him, I always say I’m surprised he believes in electricity.”
I took a sip of my drink. “But when he’s in Ireland, all that goes out the window. Suddenly he’s all about, ‘I can’t go there because of things I’ve seen’ blah blah blah.”
“Oh? Do you remember where those places were? Was there anything special about them?” His tone was casual and I waved off him off.
“That’s the thing. There wasn’t anything special. Like, we visited some village where my grandparents had grown up. And everybody there says they don’t believe in fairies or ghosts or any of that stuff. But there are these… mounds. Like just piles of dirt or rocks. In the middle of some farmers field and they just… plow around them. They’ll swear a hole through a pot - that’s something my parents always say - that they don’t believe in fairies, but they still won’t disturb a pile of rocks.”
He laughed. His laugh sounded forced, but I couldn’t imagine why. I looked at my glass and it was empty again, although I couldn’t remember drinking it. I was so thirsty. I waved at the waitress to get another one.
“And another thing,” I said. “Like you know how everywhere you go there are these random shoes in teh road?”
His body went rigid so suddenly I felt it through the coahch. I looked at him in surprise.
“What’s up? Do you have like PTSD aroudn abandoned footwear?” I asked him. He shook his head.
“No I’m sorry, I just… I thought I saw somebody I knew but it was a mistake. Keep talking. It’s verfy interesting.”
“Right. So you know how everywhere you go thjere are always abandoned shoes and nobody knows why?” The waitress appeared and I took the glass out of her hand. I fished my wallet out of my pocket, but when I looked up she was already gone. I hadn’t seen him pay, and I clutched my wallet for a few minutes, unsure what to do.
“Go on,” he prompted me. I looked into his eyes and thought, Wow, do I ever not want to be talking about my parents right now, but I contineud my story.
“OK, so here, when we see a shoe in the road, we assume somebody was drunk or they were carrying a bag and one shoe fell out. in Ireland, people go out of their way to avoid it. Like cross the road levels of avoidance. And when I asked why, they said the faeries must have taken them. This is like in the middle of the city and peopel with cell phones and pacemakers are talking about fearies.”
“And what do you think of that explanation?” he asked me.
I put my glass down on the table. I leaned over and put my hand on his knee.
“I think,” I said. “Thjat we can find things to tak about that are much more intersting than my holdiy in Ireland.”
He smiled and took my hand. We stood up and he guided me towards the door.
“You have a good night now,” said the bouncer. Dubhlainn turned his head and grinned and for a split second I saw the street light relfecting in his eyes like a cat’s, two silver disks in the dark. I also fancied there was somethign wrong with his teeth, but that must have been my imagination.
Outside on teh sidwalk he caught me and pulled me against him. We kissed until my head swam. When he finally let go of me I setpped back and stumbled slightly, my heels catching in the soft grass.
He steadyed me while I pulled my fancy shoes off, one at a time. The grass felt cool on my feet and sighed with happieness as I squirmed by toes in o the earth. He laughed and caught my hand and suddenly we were running between the trees, my shoes still cluthced in my free hand. I felt a strap slide between my fingers and I didnt care.
I had other shoes.
It's almost 2. I may not make it through another story.