Originally posted September 4, 2011
((This is a bit of self plagiarism Aoife's Place. I started this story once before, when Siobhan was still a character in CoH. Never having spun the whole tale, I thought I would re-start it here, taking the opportunity to re-introduce her supporting cast. As always, comments, criticisms, are welcome.))
Thou Shalt Not Suffer…
Following International Rugby while living in the United States takes a certain amount of dedication. Matches occur at odd times. Not many bars will show the sport on their massive arrays of flat screens and even the pubs will close before a game will end.
A confluence of forces brought these women to Griffin's. A smile and a gentle magical push secured a 4 am permit for the pub and cash donations ensured that every match of the Scottish National Team would appear on the new, 55", high definition television hanging on the back wall of the neighborhood watering hole.
One might think they were related, two of them anyway. Those women shared a common jaw line, a similar shape of the eye, even if the color of those orbs differed. They wore their hair the same way, a simple braid, hanging to the middle of their backs. Sisters, perhaps, twenty-somethings out for a night. Nothing could betray the greater than two decade gap between them, the distance between mother and daughter.
The raccoon was a whole other matter.
Smaller than a woman, but larger than the creature she resembled, she squatted on a chair, her legs tucked up underneath her. A slightly elongated snout lapped beer from a small bowl. She shared no resemblance with the other two at the table, save for the Team Scotland rugby jerseys they all wore. They formed a family, nonetheless, settled down in the local public house to watch their native land trounce Romania in the first round of the Rugby World Cup.
The dark haired, young man hesitated, watching the three of them as they sat and chatted at their table from the safety of the bar. He had a hard time believing any of it. At first, he took it as a joke. Then he received that phone call. The contraction of his stomach added a sickening reality to the situation. Sucking what courage he could from his pint, he made his way to the table.
"Ms Warwick?" Three sets of eyes turned towards him, one pair blinking behind a set of long whiskers. The raven haired woman grinned, her lips red against pale skin. "Which one, lad?" His face reddened as he stammered, "Ms Siobhan Warwick."
"You had better use her title," chided the raccoon, her lips pulling back into a ragged grin. "The match is about to start." The black haired woman pointed at the other at the table. "M'lady Warwick?" he offered, again.
Siobhan lifted an eyebrow, turning her attention. "An what might yer name bae, lad?"
"Tristan, m… m'lady." Siobhan nodded. "Tristan, these are mae daughters, Ríobhca an Weekah. Tis a pleasure." Ríobhca offered a small wave. The television held the raccoon girls' attention too strongly for her to turn away. "What can ah di fer ye, Tristan?"
"My landlord, Mr. Laffrey, suggested I talk to you. You helped him?"
"I helped Darren with a nasty colony of rabbits in his vegetable patch," Siobhan agreed. She took account of the young man; average height, a slight paunch, an untucked button down shirt collaring an unshaven face surrounded by curls of dark brown hair. "Yer naet a gardener, ah ken."
"No," Tristan answered. "I'm a student. I go to MC Community." Siobhan watched the lump in his throat rise and fall before he spoke again. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Mr. Laffrey told me you exorcised a demon from his back yard."
"Ah nay, lad," Siobhan answered in a full voice, a grin spreading across her face. "I purged the yard of evil, wicked bunnies infected wit a spirit of decay; bunnies with big gnashing teeth!"
Ríobhca rolled her eyes. "Màthair." Weekah quietly chittered where she swatted. Her eye's looked down into her empty pint glass as she remembered fighting the spirits haunting Mr. Laffrey's garden. She suppressed a shiver. "Ye thirsty, lad?"
"Yes."
"Bae a dear then an buy us a round. We'll drink an watch some rugby. We'll 'ave a natter at the interval." Tristan stood there, mouth agape. Ríobhca took pity on her cohort and rose from her chair. She touched his arm, lightly as she led him back to the bar. "Come on, lad. Ah'll give ye a 'and."
They returned a moment later, arms full of beer, to a smiling Siobhan. Tristan tried to keep up with the game, unsure of the rules, puzzled by the pace of the action. Well versed in bringing Americans up to speed on the sport, Ríobhca and Weekah provided some commentary. At the half, the two stepped away from the table to buy another round. "Well then, lad," Siobhan turned to the mystified young man at the table. "What seems tae bae at issue?"
"M'lady Warwick," Tristan stammered, "I… I think I've sold my soul to a demon."
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