Post by Niamh Dunlevy on Feb 20, 2009 19:29:51 GMT
The trek to Laura O'Hannagain's wasn't all that long, although it was very wet, and the small argument between Rowan and Niamh continued on. By the time the trio was on her doorstep, Niamh was almost soaked to the bone, and her teeth were slightly chattering. Stephen seemed worse off, having been out in the cold longer, and Rowan looked like he needed to sit down. Thus, Niamh pounded on the door as hard as she could with one fist, and the patter of footsteps came from within.
Standing in the door was a short woman, not much taller then Niamh. She wore a simple pinafore dress, white in colour with a few stains from over the years. Beneath this was a short-sleeved blouse, patterned with orange and beige flowers, and her brown hair was tied back in a bun. She looked a great deal like Niamh, actually - it was because Laura O'Hannagain was the sister of Sheila O'Hannagain, young Niamh's mother.
"Bless me!" cried the woman. "Rowan! Nivvy! Waaat are ye at 'ere? An' why is yer paddy witcha? Did somethin' 'appen?"
"He's a friend, Aunth Laura," Niamh explained, somewhat breathlessly. She was freezing from the rain.... "He's...he's noth righth in t'e 'ead. Can we come in? He needs somewhere tho sleep. And he needs food, badly."
"Nivvy..." Laura began, but Rowan cut her off.
"Ma, I swear, he won't be here for long. I'm calling t'e military as soon as you let me in; he's one of my comrades. He's off his nut at t'e moment, he's havin' a fit like Pappy used to."
Laura bit her lower lip at her son's words, looking uncomfortable. Rowan winced slightly - talking about his father's "fits" around his mother was an almost taboo subject in their household. He didn't know or remember much about them, only that they had been the cause of his father's passing. Laura had been devastated by it, and even though it had been six years now, she still was sensitive about the subject....
"Guest room's empty. Go an' take 'imself, oi 'av bill skinner almost ready. Cum inside, laddies, you'll git a bleedin' cowl!"
"I swear, it'll only be for a while," said Rowan as he helped Niamh in. He didn't bother go past the entryway; Niamh knew her way around his house well enough to show Stephen to the guest room. "I don't mean any trouble, Ma..."
"You'll git in trouble, yer 'ill," said Laura sternly, looking at her only son with a heated look. "Pappy wus alwus oyt av it whaen yer man 'ad a fit, yer man did things dat were fierce...why isn't yer man at a 'ospital?"
"Ma, it was Niamh's idea," said Rowan, causing Laura to look more irritated then before. "I think he was trying to get out of there anyways. We had a lot of Blighties come in, and a lot with t'e shock, too. Stephen's been shell-shocked himself since he came in from France, and that hospital, I think, made it worse. I don't want him running out and doing something stupid if he goes back there, and besides, t'e rain made it hard to get there, since it's such a long walk."
"Rowzy..." began the older Pavee, somewhat dangerously. Rowan sighed tiredly.
"Look, Ma...I need to sit down. I couldn't win with Niamh on this one, we went at it all t'e way here. Can you make something hot? Please? I'd like that a lot...."
"Sort dis oyt, git on de dag an' bone first. Whaen yer chucker, I'll feed yer."
With that, Laura O'Hannagain retreated into the kitchen to finish the evening meal. Rowan sighed, knowing his mother would probably be...less-then-cheery for the rest of the night.
Well...best to get it over with.
Rowan then limped towards the nearby phone. While he was making the call downstairs, Niamh was showing Stephen the guest room upstairs.
"An' t'is is t'e guesth room, where you shall be sthayin'," said Niamh, sweeping her hand out in a wide arc for effect. "Feel free tho kick off yer boots, Rowzy's got spare nighthclot'es I can git for ya. Don'th mind me Aunthie; she hasn'th been really the same since something happened a while ago. She's harmless."
Niamh would then help Stephen over to the bed so he could sit down.
Standing in the door was a short woman, not much taller then Niamh. She wore a simple pinafore dress, white in colour with a few stains from over the years. Beneath this was a short-sleeved blouse, patterned with orange and beige flowers, and her brown hair was tied back in a bun. She looked a great deal like Niamh, actually - it was because Laura O'Hannagain was the sister of Sheila O'Hannagain, young Niamh's mother.
"Bless me!" cried the woman. "Rowan! Nivvy! Waaat are ye at 'ere? An' why is yer paddy witcha? Did somethin' 'appen?"
"He's a friend, Aunth Laura," Niamh explained, somewhat breathlessly. She was freezing from the rain.... "He's...he's noth righth in t'e 'ead. Can we come in? He needs somewhere tho sleep. And he needs food, badly."
"Nivvy..." Laura began, but Rowan cut her off.
"Ma, I swear, he won't be here for long. I'm calling t'e military as soon as you let me in; he's one of my comrades. He's off his nut at t'e moment, he's havin' a fit like Pappy used to."
Laura bit her lower lip at her son's words, looking uncomfortable. Rowan winced slightly - talking about his father's "fits" around his mother was an almost taboo subject in their household. He didn't know or remember much about them, only that they had been the cause of his father's passing. Laura had been devastated by it, and even though it had been six years now, she still was sensitive about the subject....
"Guest room's empty. Go an' take 'imself, oi 'av bill skinner almost ready. Cum inside, laddies, you'll git a bleedin' cowl!"
"I swear, it'll only be for a while," said Rowan as he helped Niamh in. He didn't bother go past the entryway; Niamh knew her way around his house well enough to show Stephen to the guest room. "I don't mean any trouble, Ma..."
"You'll git in trouble, yer 'ill," said Laura sternly, looking at her only son with a heated look. "Pappy wus alwus oyt av it whaen yer man 'ad a fit, yer man did things dat were fierce...why isn't yer man at a 'ospital?"
"Ma, it was Niamh's idea," said Rowan, causing Laura to look more irritated then before. "I think he was trying to get out of there anyways. We had a lot of Blighties come in, and a lot with t'e shock, too. Stephen's been shell-shocked himself since he came in from France, and that hospital, I think, made it worse. I don't want him running out and doing something stupid if he goes back there, and besides, t'e rain made it hard to get there, since it's such a long walk."
"Rowzy..." began the older Pavee, somewhat dangerously. Rowan sighed tiredly.
"Look, Ma...I need to sit down. I couldn't win with Niamh on this one, we went at it all t'e way here. Can you make something hot? Please? I'd like that a lot...."
"Sort dis oyt, git on de dag an' bone first. Whaen yer chucker, I'll feed yer."
With that, Laura O'Hannagain retreated into the kitchen to finish the evening meal. Rowan sighed, knowing his mother would probably be...less-then-cheery for the rest of the night.
Well...best to get it over with.
Rowan then limped towards the nearby phone. While he was making the call downstairs, Niamh was showing Stephen the guest room upstairs.
"An' t'is is t'e guesth room, where you shall be sthayin'," said Niamh, sweeping her hand out in a wide arc for effect. "Feel free tho kick off yer boots, Rowzy's got spare nighthclot'es I can git for ya. Don'th mind me Aunthie; she hasn'th been really the same since something happened a while ago. She's harmless."
Niamh would then help Stephen over to the bed so he could sit down.