(1939-09-06) Niamh's Present
Details for Niamh's Present
Date: 6 September, 1939
Location: Keenan's Flat

Veruca has gone to spend the eve of her wedding at the cottage in Cornwall, going through those final preparations that are expressly for women with her soon to be mother-in-law. As such, Keenan has been left alone in the flat that now has been subtly changed over the past few weeks. It's not just the extra shoes by the door, or cloaks on the hooks… there's something almost intangible in the air that makes the place feel like a home for two people, rather than the bachelor pad it's been for the past twenty years.
However, one thing that hasn't changed, is the ginger Irish man sitting on the couch in the living room with his wool stockinged feet up on the coffee table. He listens to the wizard wireless turned low, and one hand, loosely wrapped, keeps the tumbler of Bushmills on ice balanced on his lap. For the moment, his head leans back, eyes closed, free arm along the back of the couch.

What is the night before a wedding without tradition? And, to that end, there's a pop! And a Sorcha appears, apparating in to surprise her brother. Conveniently… he's sleeping! All the better! She's obviously coming from her flat downstairs, no cloak or hat to speak of despite the fall chill that's started to come up in the evenings. Her hair is braided for bed, though she's still wearing her day dress. And her shoes are… somewhere. Not on her feet, though.

Keenan is /not/ asleep, he's just resting his eyes. If he fell asleep, he might spill his good Irish whiskey, which he wouldn't dream of doing. Scotch, he wouldn't hesitate to fall asleep and spill, but not whiskey. At the 'pop', his lips curve into a grin, creasing dimples into his cheeks. "I wondered when ye'd be poppin' in," he greets, lifting the glass to his mouth for a swallow.

"Well, since I knew I wasn't going to be interrupting anything important." Sorcha replies with a smile before she comes along to sit down on the open side of the couch, crossing her legs and tucking her feet up in her skirt, "And, I was right, it seems. Aren't you supposed to be out on a stag night or some such? Running about with blokes out and about and getting into trouble?"

"Already did that," Keenan replies, that grin turning smug. Without opening his eyes, that hand along the back of the couch seems to be able to find the top of Sorcha's head to give it a little tousle before he lifts his head and straightens, turning to look at his little sister. "Aren't ye supposed teh be at the cottage, gossipin' with the ladies in the last, wee hours?"

"That's the beauty of being a witch." Sorcha reminds him, "I can pop about nigh anywhere as I please, even in my bare feet." She sticks her toes out to wiggle them at him before pulling them under her skirts again. So maybe she wasn't upstairs, exactly. "But, I brought you something anyway."

There's a glance at the toes, and an urge to tickle the bare feet presented to him that is only restrained by the glass he holds. "Aye, the beauty of bein' a witch." Pulling his feet from the coffee table, he leans forward as he plants them on the floor to lower his glass to the coffee table. Folding his hands loosely, joined at the first knuckles only, he raises an eyebrow to his younger sister. "An what is it that ye're bringin' me?"

Sorcha's mood gets oddly serious for a moment given its initial levity as she reaches into the pocket of her skirts, "I found this a few days back and thought it would make a good pin for your boutonnier tomorrow." She extends her hand out for him to take the simple brooch she's holding. It's a familiar one, made of Cornish tin. Old celtic swirls decorate it in symmetry with a simplicity that makes it none too feminine for the eldest of the O'Shea children to take on, even though until recently it had belonged to their sister instead.


One eyebrow raises, and there's an odd moment of almost panic from Keenan when his baby sister seems serious about something. He looks down as she extends her hand, and for a moment, only stares at what she offers. Finally, his fingers close over the metal and pull it into his own two hands to balance it by the points, then twist it in his fingers. He closes his right hand around the pin, his left reaching out to gather Sorcha into a hug. It's a silent embrace, as there aren't words for the depth of the feeling, remembering that day long ago when he managed to save enough extra to give Niamh a graduation present when she finished her NEWTs.
Finally, he draws in a breath, one that has a tinge of a sniffle to it, and turns to press a kiss onto Sorcha's forehead. "Thank ye," he murmurs quietly, squeezing her shoulders in a hug once more.

Watching her brother with the pin, Sorcha's oddly silent. She doesn't interrupt as he takes his moment with the brooch. She knows what it likely means to him. What he did to try and get it, even as small as she was at the time. And more importantly, what it meant to Niamh when she graduated and got something he'd picked out especially for her with everything else going on. She leans into the hug, putting her arms around her brother in return, leaning her head against him in her own return of the emotion. Nodding she gives a teary smile in return, "Of course."

Keenan sighs, and with his last two fingers still curled around the pin, he raises his hand, thumb braced at one temple while is middle finger swipes across his eyes. "I canna believe she won't… she should be there tomorrow. She was so happy when I found Rue… when Rue came back an' all tha plannin'…" He wraps both arms tightly around the baby sister that is even more precious to him than ever, tucking her head under his chin.

Staying in her spot as he holds onto her, Sorcha lets her head rest against her brother's shoulder, "She should." Her voice is more soft than usual, keeping its abnormally serious tone from a moment before, "And, she is, Keen. We can't see her… but she's still happy for you. And for Rue. And she's still there. Just not the same way as before."

Finally letting her go, Keenan nods, leaning his elbows on his knees as he turns the simple, tin brooch in his fingers once more. "Ye're right, lass," he finally agrees. "She will still be there, an be happy for us." He watches the light on the metal as it twists, then he looks up. "An' ye're gettin' wise in yer tender years." The tease is accompanied with a wink, and he reaches out a hand for one more tousle of the hair. "An' ye'd better scoot, or I'll have Rue sendin' a floo askin' me where in blazes ye are." Which is a complete lie, but it's his story and he's sticking to it.

"I know." She gives him a saucy smile, sniffling a little and wiping her own eyes, "I've always been wise. You just haven't seen it." Sorcha nods, "Oh… I'm sure she's paying quite a lot of attention to something besides where I am. But, I'm also sure that you probably have quite a few things to take care of too. So I'll leave you to it and see you tomorrow." She leans over and drops a kiss on his cheek, "Get some sleep."

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