I have a nameplate on my desk at work now. Or a placard if you want to say it fancy. Thank you loads, Claire, I don't know how anyone would ever know my name if it wasn't for your tasteful and caring gift
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Private || unhackableeiremagicMarch 23 2009, 08:01:23 UTC
Yeah, well...it's not...it's worse, but I don't want to talk about me da. I just want to curl up with someone who I feel safe with and in the City now that number's gone fucking into the pits, and if I could, if you really don't mind....
Eden opens the door, and lets herself in. There's a brown bag full of Irish soda bread, which she's been making because it's easy, and because it's comforting; a taste of her mother, probably. She spots Ric on the couch and presents him with the bag - it's still warm.
"Thanks. Yeh know, I didn' think invitin' yeh to stay with us back in the day would result in this."
She doesn't smile, but she does look a little pensive.
He's laying on the couch like he's trying to become part of it, and it's not very polite the way he's doing it, so he sis up straight and runs a hand through his hair before taking the bag with a grateful raise of his eyebrows.
"I grow on people. Like fungus. It's a skill. I should get you an extra pillow from somewhere."
She doesn't even comment on his position, and she plops down next to him. It's something she used to, either way. In the Provo she would find anywhere she could to sleep, anyway.
"It's not a terrible one," she tells him. "I like yeh well enough."
The truth is that with Matt and John both gone, he's probably one of the few people she's willing to be a little more open with.
He digs a piece of the bread out of the bag, glancing back over at Eden once or twice. Eventually, he leans forward on his knees and tugs the robe over his pajamas a little tighter.
"If it's worth anything, I'm glad I met you. Even if it was under really, really stupid sets of circumstances. You're a good thing. Not too happy all the time, because fuck, happy people are irritating."
She takes it, and munches it, and nods at the explanation, and crosses her legs up onto the couch. "Happy people," she says with the satisfaction of a good bit of bread, "Are mostly fuckin' liars, anyway."
She pauses. "I want to ask yeh somethin', but it's because I want to know, not because I want to upset yeh."
He's busy stuffing half of the piece of bread down his throat in an approving sort of way, because hey, he remembers this stuff from Terry and (God rest his soul) Sean. When she speaks again, he coughs a little on it but then swallows.
"I'm not easy to upset. Actually, that's a lie. But I promise to try to hear you out and give you an answer as well as I would anyone else I trust."
He coughs a little again, and pulls a face, not because he's upset with Eden or upset in general, but because he's feeling the same melancholic bitterness he always does when he's reminded of the position he's in.
The bread gets set down on the coffee table.
"It's complicated. But I could talk to the earth, and she would listened to me. I could make her move. And feel her. Like I was a baby, and she was my mama."
She pauses and thinks about that, for a minute. To be able to make the earth move; that was something special. Especially in Ireland, especially to someone as intrinsically connected to the land as Eden was.
"Me gran used to say that the ground shook when her granda would call the blood. That the blood of the land was tied to our blood."
He considers what to do for a moment, sitting awkwardly on the couch and trying not to seem too angry at the world. Eventually he decides to slip one arm around Eden's shoulders and press the palm of his open hand over the area where her heart was below her ribs.
"It makes sense to me. I felt connected before. Whatever she felt like, I knew it. If she was happy or restless. Whatever was flowing through her was like it was flowing through me. Now I just feel like I have my eyes sewn shut and my ears stuffed with cotton. It's lonely."
Eden's felt that; nothing so intense, but something very similar, a binding to the island that she was born on, like she could sense it breathe, or move, or shift. She couldn't make it shake, and she highly suspected that the sensation of binding wasn't directly hers.
Rictor's hand is still over her heart - over a spot where there is a scar, from a spell her father cast, once, and it opens. Her eyes darken. "Don' move," she warns him, and the blood is soaked through her shirt and is on his palm in a second. It glows, faintly, and calls his blood to hear her blood's memory.
Maybe it's cruel, to give him her one memory, of that sensation of the earth, the memory of being tied to the land. But it's the only gift she can offer him.
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...I'd like that. A lot.
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You're always welcome. The door's unlocked. I'm gonna make some hot cocoa and wait on the couch.
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"Thanks. Yeh know, I didn' think invitin' yeh to stay with us back in the day would result in this."
She doesn't smile, but she does look a little pensive.
"But I'm glad it did, either way."
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"I grow on people. Like fungus. It's a skill. I should get you an extra pillow from somewhere."
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"It's not a terrible one," she tells him. "I like yeh well enough."
The truth is that with Matt and John both gone, he's probably one of the few people she's willing to be a little more open with.
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"If it's worth anything, I'm glad I met you. Even if it was under really, really stupid sets of circumstances. You're a good thing. Not too happy all the time, because fuck, happy people are irritating."
He holds a piece out to Eden. Bread?
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She pauses. "I want to ask yeh somethin', but it's because I want to know, not because I want to upset yeh."
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"I'm not easy to upset. Actually, that's a lie. But I promise to try to hear you out and give you an answer as well as I would anyone else I trust."
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"...so, uh. What exactly did yeh do before yeh know." You lost your metaphysical hard-on, she wants to add, but she doesn't. "Yeh lost it."
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The bread gets set down on the coffee table.
"It's complicated. But I could talk to the earth, and she would listened to me. I could make her move. And feel her. Like I was a baby, and she was my mama."
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"Me gran used to say that the ground shook when her granda would call the blood. That the blood of the land was tied to our blood."
She sighs. "I'm sorry yeh lost that."
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"It makes sense to me. I felt connected before. Whatever she felt like, I knew it. If she was happy or restless. Whatever was flowing through her was like it was flowing through me. Now I just feel like I have my eyes sewn shut and my ears stuffed with cotton. It's lonely."
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Rictor's hand is still over her heart - over a spot where there is a scar, from a spell her father cast, once, and it opens. Her eyes darken. "Don' move," she warns him, and the blood is soaked through her shirt and is on his palm in a second. It glows, faintly, and calls his blood to hear her blood's memory.
Maybe it's cruel, to give him her one memory, of that sensation of the earth, the memory of being tied to the land. But it's the only gift she can offer him.
"Do yeh feel that?"
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