taking place Tuesday morning, open log

[torn_betweentwo]

[Connor had remained at his house in Londonderry after Bill Clinton's visit, feeling a need for a change in scenery for a bit. What he hadn't been expecting... waking up close to midnight with a splitting headache. By morning, he found the explanation on the news. So now, he's sitting in his dark kitchen with a whiskey bottle in hand. Said bottle

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[pledged_to_me]

[She had a feeling Connor had stuck around Derry, and the moment she heard on the news what had happened she rushed up, vodka in hand. She's hovering at the door now, getting up the courage to knock.

Last thing she wanted to deal with was a drunk and in pain baby brother.]

Oh hell. [Knock knock, Connor]

[torn_betweentwo]

[He draaaaaaaaaaaags himself to the front door and opens it before shuffling back slowly to the kitchen.] C'mon in.

[Poor Connor hadn't slept a wink that night, so he's sleep-deprived on top of going tipsy as he hasn't eaten at all since dinner the night before.]

[pledged_to_me]

[She sighs and closes the door behind her, hoping against hope that if Douglas decided to stop by he'd do it quietly. She follows behind him, keeping her voice low]

Heard on the news, I did. Glad no one was hurt.

[torn_betweentwo]

[Never know with Douglas, he has his quiet moments... sometimes.]

Same 'ere. Prob'ly hurt worse otherwise.

[pledged_to_me]

[She'll be believing that when she sees it, really.]

Have you had breakfast yet? I can make you something quick-like. Promise I do to not destroy your kitchen.

[torn_betweentwo]

[He takes a heavy pull from his bottle then raises it up.]

Right 'ere.

[pledged_to_me]

[...Of course.]

'Tis not what I meant, Conchobhar. I'll just go make you some toast and eggs, something simple so the hangover won't be quite so bad.

[torn_betweentwo]

Ní féidir liom a fháil tinn ó ól an iomarca. Don'need food now, anyway.

[But of course, it's bad when he's slipping into full Irish.]

((translation: I don't get sick from drinking too much.))

[pledged_to_me]

[She plants her hands firmly on her hips.] Tá, mar gheall go bhfuil an claonadh a bhíonn tú chun fanacht ar meisce. And what do ye need, then?

((Translation: "Yes, that's because you tend to stay drunk."))

[torn_betweentwo]

Níl mé ólta-am ar fad! Jus' this. [He holds up the bottle again, a stubborn expression clearly present on his face.]

((translation: "I'm not drunk all the time!"))

[pledged_to_me]

Is minic go leor chun a chomhaireamh. Goin' t'make ye those eggs an'toast, aye I am. [And off she goes into the kitchen, sorry kid.]

((translation: "Often enough to count."))

[torn_betweentwo]

[He grumbles and follows after her, mostly to make sure she doesn't make much of a mess. Or at least, attempt to in his current state.]

Buille faoi thuairim is féidir liom a dhéanamh ar roinnt caife ansin...

((translation: Guess I can make some coffee then...))

[pledged_to_me]

[She glares at him] Nach bhfuil tú ag dul in áit ar bith in aice le pota caife. And I can be stickin' bread in a toaster withou destroyin' half th'world, aye I can.

(("You are not going anywhere near a coffee pot."))

[torn_betweentwo]

[He glares right on back and takes a seat in a chair, backwards, to watch as she cooks.]

[pledged_to_me]

[And by some miracle she manages to not drop a single egg... except that one. But only one! She stands over the stove, poking at the eggs as they cook] Oh, sit properly, aye? And where's your toaster?

[torn_betweentwo]

O'er there. [He points to the counter behind her, but he doesn't move to sit properly.]