| Details for Quietus Interruptus |
| Summary: | Keenan and Veruca just can't catch a break when things start to get real. |
| Date: | 21 November 1937 |
| Location: | MacDiarmarda Apothecary |
| Related: | St. Mungo's Mayhem - Vials Unleashed, Apothecary Purchases Forgotten. |
| Characters |
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It's late enough that many of the shops on Diagon Alley have already closed, and the cool, damp evening hasn't encouraged many to linger on the streets. So it's fairly deserted, although not entirely, as a cloaked witch approaches the MacDiarmarda Apothecary. A pale hand lifts to push back the hood, revealing Veruca's dark hair and a light frown on her lips. Closed. She had hoped it would be open, perhaps to inquire with Niamh if her brother was taking visitors. Her frown doesn't lighten as she looks around, taking stock of the surroundings and seeking to locate the private entrance Keenan had mentioned before. She finds the stairs leading up, and climbs them with measured steps, that pale hand light on the banister. At the top she hesitates, glancing around, then knocks.
There's a long moment of silence. It lengthens, then the door opens slowly. On the couch, Keenan is putting his wand back down beside him, since he apparently didn't feel like getting up to open the door. His head leans back on the couch, eyes closed, and his clothes are rumpled as if they've probably been slept in. His feet, in heavy wool socks, are propped on the small apothecary chest that serves as a coffee table.
"Since when d'ye knock when ye come up tae tell me tae eat an' stop mopin' about?" he asks dryly. "Yes, I ate breakfast, an' ye can see I have some tea…" he lifts the other hand that's cradling a cup in his lap for a moment. "What's new in tha shop?" No, he's not trying to redirect the questions he's anticipating from a certain visitor.
The clear sound of steps come into the room, but the expected voice doesn't come. Veruca doesn't bother to look around yet, but her eyes fall on Keenan's reclined form, a curious softness to them. When she responds, her voice is quiet but carries clearly. "I knock because it's polite, Keenan." She waits, only those few steps in, not taking the liberty of coming further.
Keenan doesn't move. At all. Even though he wasn't really moving before, there's something even more 'frozen' about his recumbant posture. Finally, he leans forward, his feet coming down to the floor so that he can easily reach the coffee table to place his tea on the saucer. "Och, Lass," he says quietly. "I'm afraid I'm not at ma best today." The normally sparkling green eyes underscore that as an understatement, since they have a flat, almost haunted quality to them.
Clearly. She does have eyes, after all. Why do men so often state the obvious? Veruca does take the liberty now, closing the door, her steps unhurried as she crosses to where the man sits. Again there's a gentle note to her voice as she speaks softly. "Perhaps you'll accept my gift, and if you want to be alone, I'll go." There's a beat. "But maybe you'll let me stay with the gift, for a while." Stopping at the chest, her other hand comes out from under her cloak, the bottle of 1608 Bushmills is set down with a solid thunk. Her eyes never leave him, and she straightens, ready to do what he wishes.
Keenan's hand rakes through his hair that is already in disarray. At the sight of the bottle, his lips twist wryly, "ah, lass, I'd be lyin' if I didnae say a bottle an' a wench with willin' arms weren't tha first things I thought of when I left Mungo's." He doesn't make any move for the bottle. "It wouldnae last long enough, though."
There's a flicker of an emotion on Veruca's face that would be identifiable on most as hurt, but it's so brief and so foreign that Keenan likely doesn't even see it as he looks to the bottle. She tenses slightly, her first reaction the one that has served her so well from childhood to now, the urge to close off emotion and lock it away. But, looking at him, she can't quite get that door closed as easily as she usually can. It takes her a moment to not act instinctively, and she finally steps toward him, stopping when she's near enough to gently comb her fingers through his ruffled hair. "Let me stay," she says quietly. There's the implication of a 'please', although it still doesn't quite make it to her lips.
Keenan stiffens for a moment as she comes closer, and her fingers play in his hair. His instinct to not let a 'conquest' see weakness is strong. But he reaches up and takes her hand, drawing it down to kiss her palm. "I warned ye, I'm no fit company fer a lady, or anyone," he reminds her quietly, resting his cheek against her hand and staring straight ahead. "But if ye're sure ye want ta stay, I'll no say ye 'nay'," he tells her.
Veruca closes her eyes at the unexpected kiss, her swallow hopefully not audible to any ears but her own. Her hand gently cups his cheek, warm and soft, and Veruca lets her thumb drift in a light caress. She eases to sit next to Keenan, making no move to draw her hand back, instead urging softly for him to look at her. "I'm sure I want to stay, Keenan. Even if you don't want to talk. I'd just like to be here."
Keenan turns to look at Rue at her urging, and he lifts a hand to Rue's cheek. He gives a nod. "Then, stay, lass. If ye're not in a whiskey mood, there's tea in tha kitchen, an' somethin' or other tae eat in the icebox." His hand shifts from her cheek, to the hand on his cheek, and he takes her fingers in his and squeezes. Leaning back again on the couch, his feet coming up once more, he retains his hold on her hand. "I suppose ye've heard about tha dust-up the other day. Is yer cousin outta tha fire, yet?"
There's a gentleness to her eyes that hasn't quite made it to the surface before. Her fingers twine with his easily, and she makes no move to avail herself of his hospitality yet. Instead she turns and settles back next to him, her arm pressed along his. She hesitates and then toes her shoes off before she can give it too much thought, stretching her legs out closely next to him, crossing her feet at the ankles as she props them on the chest. "I have heard some about it, but I've had no word on Magnus. There was an article in the Prophet, and I spoke with Mrs. MacCurry briefly."
Keenan nods, but a moment later he gives a groan, his eyes closing as his head leans back again. "It was a mess, Rue. A mess in so many ways," he swallows, almost as if swallowing down a rise of bile. "I hope I never see tha like again. An' tha worst part is… tryin' ta figure out why, aye? Why would someone try tae… incapacitate Mungo's? If all those diseases had broken out… just two was bad enough…" and again, that swallow, and a tightening of his fingers as if he's trying to block something out.
Veruca leans in to Keenan, letting her free hand cross over to lightly rub his arm as he speaks. It's kind of awkward, but clearly attempting to be comforting. She's really not at all sure of exactly what to do, and is just hoping for the best. "If you try to figure out why, Keenan, you'll just drive yourself mad." Her voice remains quiet; if she can't find the right words at least she may get the right tone.
The Healer is quiet for a few more moments, and then he lets go of her hand. Reaching arm around her shoulders, he pulls her into a tight hug against him. "It doesnae have words, Rue," he murmurs. "What happened because of this person, or people…" he swallows. "I've never heard or seen anything like it. God hope I never in ma life do again."
Approaching the Apothecary from the street comes Sloan. Not happy talkative, merry Sloan either. this was the Sloan that regretted ever becoming an Auror, the part that railed against the rules and constraints Society and the position put on him…In short it's the Sloan approaching the door now that is exactly the reason Sloan pushed himself so hard to become an Auror. walking to Keenan's door, he pounds on it twice. the side of his balled up fist impacting so hard that ancient dust leaps from the hinges and the screws actually pull out of the doorframe ever so slightly. Not waiting for a reply, he opens said door one way or another and steps in Calling out. "Oi! Ta obair ar riachtanais a dheanamh! Ta se an Ceann Bheag."
Veruca leans comfortably in towards Keenan, the hand that had been stroking his arm coming to rest lightly on his chest. She finally finds some of her customary poise, settling next to him. She's got no idea what to say, but she's saved from that by first the harsh knocking, then the very unceremonious entry by Sloan. Reflex has her moving immediately to rise, surprise and alarm on her face. Honestly, she would probably be less caught out had Sloan burst in to interrupt them shagging rather than simply sitting and… sitting. She's three inches shorter than normal, without her heels, and looks even smaller for her surprise.
There's a shudder of Keenan's frame for a moment when Rue's hand comes to rest on his chest and she settles in. However, whatever it is, and whether he may have been willing to talk about it, will remain unknown. Sloan does his best to knock down his door, Veruca is jumping to her feet, and he's left to recover his balance by one foot sliding quickly from the table to the floor, and one hand to the side bracing himself. He rubs at his aching head, and it takes a moment for him to fight the ache the thundering caused and recognize the words. Then both feet are on the floor, although he doesn't stand, yet. "What's happened tae Niamh?" he demands. "Ye can speak English for Rue," he adds, not paying attention to the fact that he used the nickname in front of another person.
If Sloan noticed any of the above, He's not saying. Eyes almost glowing with suppressed rage, he growls out in english. "Something's happened tae 'er. 'er memory is fecked. she went tae yer par'nts in a panic. Th' Feckin Gaul is wit 'er now, as are yer ma an' Da. Ye need tae go to 'er." Knuckles cracking one by one, his muscles tense to the point that the seams in his shirt across the shoulders can be heard stretching, he turns his eyes on Veruca once more. apparently memorizing her features in that polite 'I'm not undressing you, I'm trying to decide the best way to kill you' look of his.
Veruca sits back down, bending to pull her shoes on, not looking at either man. The half finished bottle of Glenfiddich sits forgotten on the chest that serves as the coffee table. Managing to get at least that Sloan's upset and something has happened to Keenan's sister, she is already standing again, looking to Keenan. "Go." There's no disappointment or question in the simple word, she understands what his family means to him, even if she has no real basis of comparison.
Without thinking, Keenan reaches to take a hold of Rue's hand and slow her departure. "Sloan, slow down. If Gideon 'n Mum'n'Da are with her, then she's safe enough fer tha moment. What d'ye mean 'fecked' with her memory? What is she can't remember?" He gives a wry look, "an' ye can keep that look from Rue. She's all right." Letting go of the hand, he finally stands up, and walks over to the kitchen. He pulls out some food, and starts assembling a sandwich.
Watching Keenan for a second, Sloan grunts after a moment he turns towards the door. "Ta me scathan. Cuir glaoch ar nuair a bhionn tu ag deanamh seinm ag comhaireamh an cotai petti." And with that, He's out the door once more and moving down the street.
Veruca is quiet as Keenan stays her by taking her hand for a moment, but her eyes slip to Sloan and something of a wariness comes into her frown. She caught the tail end of that look. She steps back as Keenan gets up and heads for the kitchen, and then her eyes are on Sloan again as he says… something and then leaves. It's a bit of a bewildered look that goes to Keenan. What just happened here?
"Go hifreann leat!" Keenan calls after Sloan, his face turning suddenly red. "I'll mirror Gideon, an' maybe he'll give me an answer so I can know what I need ta bring tae help my sister." He finishes making the sandwich, and wraps it up. Then he turns to Rue. "I've got tae go downstairs an' grab some things from Niamh's shop. Although I'm not sure what I'm grabbin', yet." Without looking, his fingers pick up the bottle, and hands it to her. "I think yer flat may be cozier fer drinkin'. May I stop by later when things 're… not sae panicked?"
There is no objection to him going, in fact she's grateful, because that exchange? Didn't really feel so friendly. He obviously needs to be with his family and… whoever that guy was. Who was that guy? She'll ask later. She takes the bottle, and the word does come this time, when Keenan asks if he can come by later. "Please." That wasn't so hard, was it? "No matter what time." She moves to brush a kiss to his cheek before heading for the door.
In a gesture that's becoming familiar, Keenan tightens his fingers around hers to pull her closer again. He gives a half smile and lowers his head to kiss her tenderly on the lips. "Thank ye," he says quietly. "I'll walk ye down, just give me a moment tae… get dressed." He looks over his wrinkled clothing and then disappears into one of the smaller rooms towards the back of the flat. When he comes out, his hair and stubble are still disheveled, but at least the shirt and the slacks are unwrinkled and clean. He walks to the boots by the door and pulls them on, before pulling on a heavier robe against the chill. He gives Rue a smile and holds the door for her, so that she can proceed him, and he can charm it locked behind them.