(1939-08-13) Tipsy Sister
Details for Tipsy Sister
Summary: On a quiet evening in, Keenan and Veruca are unexpectedly joined (and subsequently serenaded) by a sloshed Sorcha.
Date: 13 August, 1939
Location: Keenan's Flat, Diagon Alley
Related: The Search for That One Ring

In the past, it was an entire bottle after dinner to kill the pain. Sometimes, it was an entire bottle for dinner. Now, it's one glass, and the brunette at his side on the couch. For now, his charts lay on the coffee table next to his feet. He'll get to them in a bit. For now, Keenan is leaning his head back on the couch, hands cradling a glass in his lap.

With the wizarding wireless playing softly, Veruca has also postponed the paperwork she was going to review after dinner. It's much nicer to sit, leaned comfortably against Keenan's arm, her own feet tucked up under her. She lets the music go on for a minute, before she shifts, her hand coming up so fingers can gently rake through somewhat scruffy red hair. It's such a quietly domestic scene, something neither of them ever really expected to enjoy.

Lifting one arm, balancing the cup with one hand, Keenan wraps it around Veruca's shoulders, pulling her closer. His head lifts from the couch so he can turn, and press his lips to the top of her head. He rests his head against hers long moments after the 'kiss' has ended, and then he takes a deep breath, which he sighs against her temple.

Veruca can't help but smile at the gentle show of affection. It's all the more sweet for the time spent without. When she finally speaks, her voice is soft. "Are you very sure you have to go over those charts tonight?" she asks, twisting her head to look up at him. "I could put my own work off until tomorrow."

Meanwhile… in the hallway… There's a sound on the stairs like… clomp clomp clomp.

Smiling against the brunette hair, Keenan considers his answer. His consideration is cut short by the loud noise on the stairs. Balancing his cup on one leg, he reaches for his wand… just in case.

The frown that pulls at Veruca's lips at the noise is more annoyance than fear or caution. There was a point that she was going to make, and now there's clomping and wands. She drops her hand to gently take the cup away from Keenan, freeing him up, just in case. Her eyes shift, scanning for her own wand, but she's left it in the kitchen. Drat.

And then… the clomping stops… and there's a sound… it's… singing… mostly… "Fare thee well my own true love; And farewell for a while. ; Im going away, but Ill be back ; If I go ten thousand miles." It's a woman's voice, rather good all things considered. Particularly since it sounds like whoever it is may be a bit into their cups.

As the voice is heard, Keenan relaxes, and waves his wand to open the door, so that she doesn't risk smashing her nose into it. "Sorcha," his exasperation it more than a little tinged with concern and compassion as he invites the youngest O'Shea to enter.

Even Veruca can recognize the voice, and her frown eases immediately. At least they aren't being ambushed from the ceiling this time. "Oh dear," she says simply, "Seems that someone has been doing a bit of tippling." She shifts, putting just a tiny bit of space between herself and Keenan before his sister comes through the door.

Ever the mimic, Sorcha replies to her brother from where she sits on the landing in front of his door in his same exasperated tone, "Keenan." She lifts a hand and gives a wave to Veruca, "Hullo, Rue. Iiiiii brought some if you want to?" She lifts up her bottle with the other hand and wiggles it in her direction, "You probably need a chaser with it. It's not your fault that you're English."

Keenan will take back his drink from Rue now, and toss back a good half of it, before he lowers his feet to the ground. Leaning forward to set his glass on the coffee table, he raises an eyebrow to Sorcha. "Why don't ye come in?" His elbows rest on his knees, hands falling between and clasping lightly as his bemused gaze takes in the sight of his little sister.

Veruca doesn't laugh out loud at Sorcha's comment, but it takes thought not to. She smiles, rising to her feet, then padding lightly across to the open door, noting as she walks, "But, I've been exposed to the ways of an Irishman. One that could likely put you under the table, dear. One learns to hold their own." She offers a hand out, should Sorcha want a boost getting up.

"Yes, but he doesn't sing as well when he's under the table. I've seen it." Sorcha replies to Veruca when she comes over, looking up to her from the floor with a confident expression. She does reach up and take the hand, wobbling to her feet and seeming quite proud of it when she gets there.

Keenan says, "I never sing as well as ye, Sorcha," Keenan replies with a grin. "An' well ye know it." Despite the melancholy that rests in the lines on his face, there's a certain warmth in his eyes as he watches his betrothed and sister together."

There's a moment taken to help Sorcha steady as Veruca laughs. Her other hand lifts, smoothing down Sorcha's hair before there's any attempt at movement. Then there's a cautious step, meant to lead Sorcha toward the couch to sit. "He is more of a whistler, yes," she says agreeably, casting an amused glance to the ginger Healer.

Linking her arm with Veruca's, Sorcha is easily led in the direction of the couch. "It's true. Sometimes he sounds like a frog." Following that she sticks her tongue out at him, followed by a solid plop onto the couch. Followed by another swig from her very own bottle.

Green eyes follow the progress of the two women, and Keenan makes sure there's plenty of room when Sorcha flops, leaning slightly to keep from being drawn over by the sag before she settles. "Please tell me ye at least have Irish Whiskey in there, an' not that abominable scotch…" he teases lightly, waiting to see whether it's comfort his sister has come seeking, or something else.

Veruca helps Sorcha settle, before she slips around to the other side of Keenan, putting him in the middle. She sits close, but almost tucked behind him, attention focused on the younger O'Shea. She's felt her own measure of pain in these sad times, and cannot even begin to imagine what the siblings must be feeling. Her silence holds, humor sobering a measure, also wondering that cause behind this evening of indulgence.

Sorcha turns the label of her bottle so that her brother can see the Bushmills logo and be properly reassured that she hasn't shamed the family that far. "Don't worry your pretty head about that." She tilts the bottle in his direction in invitation, "Seeee anything down there? I didn't find anything either. Nor in the cupboards nor in the floorboards. Nor under the counter tops or in the… something else that rhymes with boards."

"Cords?" Keenan offers lazily, not that cords can be searched. "An' what're ye seekin' in tha bottle or cupboards and such?" He grins slightly for the Bushmills label, and the hand towards Veruca finds its way to rest on her knee once she's rejoined them on the couch.

A hand comes to rest warmly over Keenan's, and Veruca holds her silence a moment. Then she leans closer to Keenan, asking in a low tone, "Should she perhaps have coffee, or a potion, rather than more of the bottle?" Of course, she'd go fetch either if that were what the healer and big brother thought best. Other than these quiet words, she lets the pair get to the point in their way and time.

"There aren't any cords downstairs to search." Sorcha says, shaking her head at Keenan's attempt, "No cords." She pulls her bottle back when there aren't any takers and gets another swig despite Veruca's concerns, "The bloody ring. Graham says it's not going to be there, and of course he's /always/ right. Well. Almost always."

Squeezing Rue's fingers lightly, Keenan gives a barely perceptible shake of his head at the offer. He decides that it's best to let Sorcha do her own thing for now, rather than upset her by trying to take the bottle just yet. "What ring're ye talkin' of, Sorcha?" he asks. "Graham?"

Veruca's thumb rubs gently against Keenan's hand, a nod to his words more felt by her movement than might be seen. She falls silent again, paying keen attention but offering no further input yet.

"Graham. Graham says all of it burned up. But, we're all looking anyway." Sorcha says, setting the bottle down on the table before she leans back against the sofa in a bit of a flop, "Hide and seek. I look in the store. Graham and Elijah look in the shops. Gid… looks somewhere. I dunno."

Patience is a virtue, one that healers and big brothers have in spades. "Which ring?" Keenan asks once more, this time not befuddling the question with asking about the further names Sorcha drops. However, when Elijah and Gideon are mentioned, he looks over to Veruca with upraised brows, asking if she has any ideas without words.

There's a slight shake of her head, indicating to Keenan that Veruca has no more inkling than he himself does. But then she puts together ring and burned up, and she frowns lightly. She gives Keenan an intent look, then drops her eyes to the hand on top of his, her left hand, engagement ring nestled around her finger, and when blue eyes come up again, they're questioning. But surely Sorcha will clear it up if Keenan doesn't come up with the same question.

Sorcha sighs in exasperation at her brother who apparently can't keep up, "Niamh's ring." It very well may be the first time she's said her sister's name in weeks. Ever since the discovery itself. "Poor Gid. I wonder if they found his last wife's ring? Maybe that's why he has to have this one back?" She looks over to Keenan to see if he knows the answer to that one, "But, we couldn't find it for him."

At about the same time that Rue's indication towards her own ring makes it into Keenan's brain, Sorcha's exasperation comes out, and he raises his head on the intake of his breath, letting it fall again with the exhale. "I see." He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "He's not really lookin' fer tha ring. He's lookin' fer Niamh." He leans his head back on the couch again. "Graham has a point… tha heat… tha amount of heat when tha patients in tha ward… it could melt gold." His jaw tightens at the memory of the patients that they lost, that he saw die first hand.

Veruca frowns in concern, knowing well enough what that muscle flex means. She shifts to get her hand up, resting it on Keenan's shoulder, giving a soft squeeze. "Not finding it is likely the straw he's got hold of to keep hope in his heart that she wasn't there after all," she says, actual sympathy in her tone.

At Keenan's answer she shakes her head and shakes her head and shakes her head, "No, now he's looking for the ring." She nods at Veruca's explanation, "Elijah said that she's gone. I said that she's gone. But he won't believe us until he has to." She leans forward and reaches for the bottle again and brings it over to her but doesn't drink yet, "I think he knows… really… but he doesn't want to know."

"An' he won't have teh, until he finds tha ring," Keenan affirms. Lifting his head, he gives it a shake. "But tha longer he denies, tha harder it'll be on him when he finally gives up." He raises the hand not holding Rue's to rub at the back of his neck. "He knows. He knew in his bones tha day we told him, jus' like I knew when I first saw tha ashes."

"He doesn't want to know," Veruca says gently. If she were to put herself in Gideon's place, she wouldn't be all that willing to admit, even if she knew it in the depths of her soul. "Keenan… perhaps you should talk to him? As a brother would?"

"I'll tell him." Sorcha says, "I'm his sister, I know where it isn't." She takes another drink of whiskey and then hands the bottle towards her brother before she starts to stand up, "But first… I think… I'll go to bed."

"None of us want teh know, Rue-love," Keenan sighs quietly, but he understands her meaning. "I could try, but… we've never been close, I don't know that he'd appreciate me tryin' teh help him, now." He looks to Sorcha when she offers and nods, taking the bottle as it's handed to him and handing it over to Veruca. Standing, he leans down, his arm going underneath his little sister's arm and around her back to help her stand. "Goin' teh bed is likely a good idea," he encourages gently.

Veruca takes the bottle as it's passed over, holding onto it rather than setting it aside on the table. "Give her something before she's out, love," she notes softly, "So she doesn't wake with her head splitting open tomorrow." Raising her voice a bare notch, she addresses the young witch. "Sleep well, love." Or, pass out well. Either way.

"Not to mention you're still bent out of shape about the row with Da." Sorcha says, letting him help her up and getting on her feet with a little wobble before she's steady again, "You'll probably be an arse about the whole thing." She leans over and kises her brother on the cheek and then somewhat clumsily starts for the door, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." She doesn't specify what that is… "I could apparate home… no stairs…" She keeps walking anyway, though hopefully she doesn't think that's a good idea given… everything, "I've got them all, Rue, don't be silly. I make all of his so they don't taste like eye of newt." She continues walking and starts down the stairs, listing off the ingredients for the headache tonic, "And Myxaltine gives it quite a nice kick." At that point while they likely can hear that she's still talking she isn't coming in clearly enough for it to make any sense. Well. Any more sense than before.

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