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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jun 3, 2019 16:03:30 GMT
(An AU version of SAGA, set in the modern era Scéal Grá is Irish for 'love story,' so I thought it appropriate to change Saga into that )
It had been a long night, and a difficult birth. There were concerns if the mother would make it, or her unexpected twins, but as the sun’s rays began to peek out over the horizon, the mother was resting comfortably, her babies beginning their first awkward steps. Paul had said it was down to Arlan’s being the best vet in Ireland; he was simply grateful that both babies had pulled through, given how rare twins were in horses.
With mother watching carefully, Arlan smiled a little as one of the two foals nuzzled his hand, tail thrashing as it awkwardly hobbled about on stiff legs. His smile was weak not from affection, but the eleven-hour struggle to help the mare give birth. The time almost seemed stamped under the eyes of those involved, heavy grey circles that accompanied relieved glances and smiles at the success of their efforts. Paul, the mare’s owner, was particularly grateful, hugging Arlan tightly before insisting that the man get some rest. Arlan smiled and nodded, too tired to explain that he had other appointments that day that he couldn’t skip.
The morning was crisp and cool, helping to keep Arlan awake enough to keep walking, heading towards the small restaurant that served the best coffee - the best because it was the strongest, and it was open all hours. A novelty in this town. Arlan could smell the salt from the sea air being pushed into town, even though the coast was a good half hours walk from the closest shop. There were few people out this early in the day, a few elderly couples and those getting an early start on work being his only companions on the road as he walked past shuttered shops.
It took several attempts for Arlan to hear his name being called, finally turning to see who would be calling out this early in the morning. The sight of the young man running towards him from across the street, with his ruffled brown hair and exceptionally pale skin, gave Arlan a bit of a jolt, helping to wake him up even as he groaned. “Rhys, look, I’m sorry-“ he began, but the other shook his head, lifting a hand to silence the apology. “I just heard from my nan, Cassie’s had her foal!” he said, overly exuberant, Arlan thought, for this time of day. Of course, that might just be because he hadn’t slept in over 24 hours… “Yea, I had to help with the twins,” Arlan said, again thinking Rhys’ young years helped him with his energy as he perked up even more at the news. “Twins?! Wow, that’s rare… and, to your earlier point,” he added, his voice going down a little as he smiled, “It’s fine. I know you’ve been worried about Cassie, and things come up when you’re a doctor.” Arlan smiled a little more genuinely at the easy acceptance of missing their meeting, letting the nature of that meeting remain silent.
Young Rhys, barely 18 now, had finally confessed to Arlan a few months previous about his sexuality, knowing he was one of the most open-minded members of the community. He’d even studied abroad, in England and Norway, for his veterinary degrees. Few of the townsfolk ever left the town, never mind the country. Those who did live there had family lines that went back generations, so there was a distinctive line between townsfolk and outsiders. Arlan always seemed to balance precariously on that line, never quite townsfolk, but not quite an outsider. And in such a conservative place, even sleeping around was frowned upon. If anyone found out about either of their interests, it was likely to tip the scales. So, they had agreed upon a friendly way to help with certain urges, no strings, which Arlan had had to break for the mare. It was comforting to see how Rhys took that news since it showed it was as casual for him as it was for Arlan.
“Well, since you look like death warmed over, why don’t I buy you a coffee?” Rhys offered as he walked alongside Arlan, who shook his head. “No, you don’t have to,” he said, groggily, but Rhys laughed. “No, but my nan DOES own the place, so it’s fine for me to give coffee to friends,” he replied, gently prodding Arlan’s shoulder.
And quickly had to help catch him, finally fully aware of how exhausted the vet was after the gentle bump nearly knocked him over. “Shouldn’t you take a nap or something?” Rhys asked, concerned, but Arlan shook his head. “Donald’s expectin’ me by nine, his cows keep getting sick,” Arlan argued, rubbing at his eyes. “If I sleep now, I’m not waking up until tomorrow. Maybe later.” Rhys shook his head but smiled; “Fine. I’ll get you a double shot of coffee, but you gotta get some sleep.”
“How do you think I survived uni?”
“By becoming a coffee addict?”
“No, that was before that.”
The two were laughing as they walked into the shop, Rhys’ nan Adel setting out the table cloths as old Tyrell sat with his morning paper, as always, at the table by the window, his coffee steaming as he sipped distractedly from it. “Morning, loves!” Adel called out, her grey hair neatly pulled into a bun, looking as if she’d had all day to prepare rather than the few minutes she could possibly have snagged before coming in to take over from her night shift crew. “Morning,” Rhys and Arlan replied in unison, although the difference in tone earned an amused look. “So, I hear Cassie’s doing just fine,” she said as Rhys bent down to kiss her cheek, Arlan settling down at the table with his hands propping his head up. “She had twins,” Rhys said, Adel growing excited at the news. Of course, any such news in a farming community earned great excitement.
Arlan wasn’t entirely sure how the rest of their morning greeting went, as Rhys rubbed his shoulders to help bring him out of his momentary daze. “Don’t fall asleep, I’ll go make your coffee,” he said, Arlan sitting a little straighter to discourage the need for such affectionate touches. Thank god Adel was fine with their secret, and as much as she loved her gossip she knew how to keep a secret better than God. She simply glanced at Tyrell, making sure he was still so deeply engrossed in his newspaper that he hadn’t gotten a whiff of the movement. Crisis averted, Arlan finally laid his head down on the table, arms stretched out on either side, willing the exhaustion from his limbs even as he struggled to stay awake, listening to the sounds of the quiet cafe as young Amanda and Charlie left the morning shift to start new pots of coffee.
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Post by Kelathi on Jun 7, 2019 21:01:55 GMT
He was lost, of course.
It had seemed like a good idea when it had first entered his head at 4am, tired of staring at the ceiling as he waited in vain for sleep to finally claim him. He hadn’t slept well from the moment he’d moved here, largely due to the fact that the nocturnal utterances of the old house were not yet familiar to him. Each intermittent creak of floorboards or sudden gurgling of pipes above his head, noises that would have otherwise been ignored, extinguished any hope of a restful night’s sleep. In between these occasional verbalizations the place was maddeningly silent, and in the drowsy wakefulness of the early hours he had nothing to do but think and listen out for them. The quaint, cottage-like dwelling was like nothing he had ever lived in before, and was nestled in a rural landscape, surrounded by rolling, forested hills as well as open land. Although only a walk from the nearest village, he may as well be miles away from civilisation at night. Sometimes he’d crack open a window, and as a the slight chill ran through his body, the hairs on his arms rising slowly, his ears would be met with that eerie, heavy silence, only occasionally broken by the melodic twit-twoo of some unseen owl or the sharp bark of a fox in the distance. He had always lived in cities, where the continuous hum of cars, or else the tinny, distant music courtesy of inconsiderate neighbours would drown out the voice of the house. He had never thought that there might come a time when he’d miss those auditory annoyances. Whilst the lack of noise might be considered peaceful to some, for Fellbjorn, the silence not only staved away sleep, but it also paved the way for thoughts and yet-raw memories he’d rather not revisit.
As dawn began to paint the sky violet, Fellbjorn had finally decided to give up on sleep altogether and had rolled out of bed in the early hours. After a quick breakfast, he had followed the scraps of a plan that he had pieced together, picking a random direction and walking it, just to see where it took him. Serendipitously, he had ended up at the beach. With his jaunt through the streets, despite his lack of sleep, he had soon found his mood lifting and the tension in his body easing. The place really was beautiful, and as the village slowly began to awaken, he was reminded again why he had chosen this place. Afterwards spending some time on the beach, feeling the sand between his toes and listening to the soothing lap of the gentle waves on the shore, he had spied a curious back-street. The colour had caught his attention first, the walls of the little passage blanketed in blooming flowers, and as he saw a cyclist disappear down the same cobbled street he had decided to explore, moving at a relaxed pace. It was a cool morning, but the cloudless sky promised warm and pleasant weather as the hours stretched on, and besides, he was in no rush to be anywhere. He reasoned that he’d make his way back to his house eventually if he continued in that general direction… right?
Turns out it wasn’t going to be as easy as that. Two hours later, and he still had no idea where he was; having lost himself in the winding streets to the extent that he no longer even knew the direction he had come from. What had started as an enjoyable stroll had steadily become a source of concern. At any other time, finding himself lost would not cause such a reaction. Easy-going by nature, normally Fell wouldn’t be concerned about accepting defeat and sinking money into a taxi ride home if needs be. But in a country where his grasp of the language was not the best… there was more reason to be concerned, especially as he soon found that people were less than forthcoming when he tried to speak to them. This was not the first time Fellbjorn had visited Ireland, and his memories had always been fond, he had found the people to be welcoming and warm. However, the village, as isolated as it was, clearly had an extremely close-knit community, so although people seemed generally upbeat with one another, when it came to engaging with him, the majority became suddenly cagey or dismissive. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was his butchering of the language that was causing this animosity towards himself, or the aforementioned reason, but either way it was clear he was very much so considered an outsider. He had done his research, of course, or at least… what little he could in the short amount of time between spontaneously deciding to move here and actually arriving, but clearly it had not been enough time to fully get a grasp on the language. He had, it appeared now quite wrongly, assumed that he would learn the language best after living there, with practice and time, but it had soon become clear that this was going to be more challenging than he had thought, as people seemed loathe to engage in conversation with him. Those that were polite enough to allow him to blunder his way through a sentence would offer patient, encouraging smiles and try their best to guess at his meaning, which, although this was better than being alienated, still did not help him in terms of understanding where he was going wrong with the language.
After trying, and failing to ask for directions a few times, he’d gone down a pathway that had seemed promisingly familiar. He had stumbled upon a quiet street with a few brightly-coloured shop fronts, and none of it he recognized. With a sigh of exasperation, he lifted his arms and laced his fingers together at the back of his head, and rotated slowly, looking about himself at all the possible routes he could take and appearing completely at a loss. Facing the shops again, he had paused, his gaze settling on what appeared to be a pleasant-looking café. His arms fell to his sides, a small flare of relief alighting in his mind as he approached the place with a look of purpose. A place to sit down, drink a coffee, maybe grab a bite to eat and allow himself to gather his bearings seemed like just what he needed. With a clearer head, he would be more likely to find his way back again.
There were very few people in the café, and as he glanced at an elderly woman still setting up tables, Fell was reminded that it was still early yet. Behind the counter was a young man, his back to Fell for the moment as he kicked the coffee machine into life. “Dia dhuit…” he greeted, garnering the individual’s attention. This was the only phrase he could say with any confidence, and despite his accent clearly not being Irish, the man seemed unperturbed, answering him with the expected response. So far, so good. “An féidir liom...” Fell had begun, encouraged… only to trail off, looking blank for a moment as he realized halfway through the sentence that he couldn’t actually remember the rest. Pausing, a lopsided, but hopefully accidentally endearing smile slipped onto his lips as he apologized. “I’m sorry, I mean, uh, leithscéal…” he tried again, eyes flickering up to the board on the wall above the man’s head, his face a picture of concentration as he scanned the wall as he tried to remember how to order the drink he wanted, finding himself gesticulating with his hands, as if that would help the man understand. For some reason, the word for coffee was escaping him, and that was supposed to be the easy part! “Um, an féidir liom... Deoch? No, what’s the word for coffee?... er...”
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jun 9, 2019 4:20:11 GMT
“Cofaidh.”
The voice was slightly muffled due to Arlan’s face being less than an inch from the table, losing the energy to keep his head up any longer and resting his forehead against the tablecloth. He sounded incredibly hungover, which didn’t help with the muffling of his voice, almost as if the sound of the stranger struggling with his Gaelic was enough to make his head pound. Arlan hadn’t even set eyes on the man yet, only hearing the new voice cut through his exhausted consciousness.
Rhys had turned initially to greet the stranger, momentarily taken aback by the appearance of a stranger… and an attractive one at that. He tried to understand the man’s words, but it didn’t take long before it was clear that there was a language barrier beyond the basic greeting. Able to at least guess that he wanted something to drink, by his gestures and where on the menu he looked, but Rhys wasn’t sure if he was asking for coffee or tea, or something else entirely. He looked over at Arlan at hearing him, for a moment wondering if he was asking for his coffee already… then he turned back to the stranger, nodding with a smile.
“Ah, cofaidh,” he said, grabbing a mug and setting it beside the one waiting for Arlan’s own order. Using his fingers to indicate the cost of the coffee, Rhys quickly handed the man back his change, half turning to watch the coffee pot as it was nearing the end of its brewing cycle. “Bidh beagan mhionaidean ann,” he said in rapid fire Gaelic, paused, then tapped on his watch and held up a finger to indicate waiting for a bit, along with a wide, genuine smile that seemed to disarm instantly and completely innocently. “Feuch gun suidh thu,” he added, gesturing to the tables that Adel was finishing up, smoothing out the last wrinkle with a look of unquestionable pride. She turned and threw a winning smile at the stranger, and in that instant, it was clear where young Rhys had inherited his own smile.
Arlan only groaned a little as Adel patted his back with a look of sympathy, heading into the back kitchen to check on the food prep for that morning.
*It’ll be a few minutes *Please, sit
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Post by Kelathi on Jun 10, 2019 15:28:19 GMT
Fell’s expression lit up with a mixture of both pleasant surprise and relief at receiving the helping hand. Cofaidh! That was the word, and it was so easy, and yet for some reason it had completely fled his mind. He nodded eagerly to the man serving him in confirmation of the stranger’s words, yet to turn around to see who had helped but pleased to see that the young man serving him offered a kind smile of understanding instead of appearing irritated. Money exchanged, when he spoke again, a brief look of panic overcame Fell’s features as he quickly tried to translate the words, but he settled as the man seemed to catch himself, motioning to his watch and gesturing to the tables in a clear motion that signified for Fell to wait. Thankful, and a touch embarrassed, Fell thanked the man and turned away, seeking out an empty table. He caught another smile from the woman setting the tables, and Fell was flushed with a rush of gladness that he’d chosen this place. The warmth they’d shown in just this brief exchange reminded him of coming to Ireland all those years ago, when he was young, and it had felt like the country had embraced him. Here, was the feeling of belonging he had been seeking out since he’d arrived. As he seated himself, his gaze finally fell on the individual that had helped him.
He was surprised to see the position the man was in, which was comical at first glance. The man’s vibrant red hair splayed across the table about his head, and with his arms stretched out like they were, he looked for all the world like a shipwrecked man, caught in the throes of crawling up the beach to safety. “Uh, go raibh maith agat.” Fell thanked him, softly, as it crossed his mind that the man’s position might be due to a roaring hangover, and he had no intent to make it worse. The woman passed by, patting the shipwrecked man fondly on the shoulder before she disappeared into the kitchen, and as the young man from behind the counter turned to grab a saucer, Fell caught his eye and motioned with a tip of his head towards the man on the next table, another half-smile on his face, this one tinged with good-natured humour. “Maith*?” He wasn’t sure how to ask if the man was okay, but the questioning way he spoke this word made his meaning clear. Context did the rest, for all appearances from the outside, the man appeared hungover.
*good?
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jun 11, 2019 4:28:30 GMT
Rhys watched the stranger walk away with a bit of a wry smile before returning his attention to the coffee, curious how such an imposing figure could have such an open face… and be so easy to embarrass.
He did, however, hesitate at hearing the word of thanks, turning to see him talking to Arlan. A flash of relief hit him when Arlan didn’t even stir in response, quite possibly having lost the battle to his exhaustion. Staring at the two with saucer in hand, Rhys’ gaze was caught by the stranger, who asked an odd question. Good? What on earth -
“Fhuair e càraid a-raoir,” he noted with that same winning smile, turning back to the coffee, completely and fully aware of the stranger’s difficulty with the language. Something had bothered him about the stranger approaching Arlan, something Rhys didn’t want to admit… but knowing the vet had studied abroad, and his inclinations… He was just being over protective, he told himself silently, repeatedly, hoping he wasn’t becoming jealous of his best friend in the village. He knew this was friends with benefits, and that had been all he had wanted… but Arlan was his friend, after all.
“Agus crodh tinn,” Arlan mumbled, lifting one hand towards Rhys, showing he hadn’t died on the table after all. The accidental dual meaning nearly made Rhys drop the coffee, biting his lip to keep his laugh under control. He managed to keep his hands steady as he brought the coffees over, setting the stranger’s down before going over to Arlan, tapping his skull with a finger in a more playful manner than his earlier affectionate touch. Arlan’s head jumped up, eyes squinted shut as he turned towards the laugh, able to make a face even without seeing Rhys’ reaction. Both hands rose to rub at his eyes as Rhys walked away, Arlan blearily opening his eyes and retaking in the light from the window. Oh, that was bright for morning…
His gaze finally landed on the stranger, eyebrows knitting together for a moment. The expression was otherwise unreadable; wasn’t he familiar? Arlan’s mind ran through the catalog of the villagers, not making a match, but too tired to go further. And the scent of the extra strong coffee in front of him was too inviting, finally pulling his attention like a subtle seduction. Both hands steadied the cup as he took a sip, careful of the steaming liquid at first, but nodding as he took in the steam against his face.
“Oh lord that’s good,” he murmured in English, mimicking a university friend.
Tyrell by the window merely snorted a little at all of the distractions, shuffling his paper to the next page and taking another drink of his coffee.
*He got twins last night *And sick cows
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Post by Kelathi on Jun 11, 2019 22:42:27 GMT
Rhys’s response only served to leave Fell even more at a loss, but the man’s friendly smile won him over, so even with the language barrier he still felt relaxed and welcome. The reply from the red-headed man only served to confuse things more though, he thought he recognised the word for cow, and sick… well, that definitely couldn’t be right, perhaps the way the words were mumbled had distorted them. Fell thanked the man as he brought over his coffee, taking a sip and savouring the sweet taste, just as the stranger on the next table began to stir. Glancing over, their eyes met… and Fell found himself being taken aback by what he saw. An awkward pause passed between the two before Fell finally broke eye contact, turning his attention away to look outside the window instead. In that split moment he’d been hit by a curious feeling. Something that had felt like a sense of recognition, although he could not immediately place the man’s face. But what had been strange had been the sudden rush of warmth through his body in response. Something about the red-head was not only familiar, but also drew out a spontaneous wave of affection. Clearly, if only subconsciously, Fell recognised the man.
Fell was quick to dismiss this thought, however, reasoning that maybe he was just overcomplicating things in his mind, and it had merely been a wave of desire that had overcome him. The man was handsome, even if he did appear a little worse for wear at the moment, clearly exhausted for… whatever reason that had to do with cows. Taking another sip of his coffee, Fell almost choked on the liquid as he heard the man utter the unmistakeable phrase, spoken, no less, in English! Swallowing quickly, his expression could be taken for one of alarm, but in truth he was incredulous. “You speak English?” He heard the eagerness in his voice, and made a face at himself, clearly not aware of how his emotions were currently being read as easily as a book, and forced himself to sit back in his seat (he had leant forwards in his excitement). It wasn’t that big of a deal, but still, hearing the language evoked sense of familiarity he had clearly been missing, a fact that he hadn't been so starkly aware of until this moment.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jun 15, 2019 2:29:42 GMT
The stranger’s apparent difficulty in drinking coffee quietly only earned a snort and another annoyed shuffling of Tyrell’s newspaper, a disdainful look shot with deadly accuracy before returning to his news. Rhys hadn’t ever seen what had happened when someone managed to completely throw off the elder man’s focus with his morning papers, but some of the fights were legendary.
While preparing the kitchen for the coming rush, Rhys watched the goings on out of the corner of his eye, greatly disliking the disconnect he was feeling as Arlan’s bilingual experience was brought out, distancing him from Rhys… or, so it felt, anyway. The man’s eagerness at… whatever he was excited about didn’t help either. Almost ironically, Arlan was completely unaware of anything unusual about the stranger’s response, in spite of being the focus of attention.
Arlan only looked back at the other in groggy confusion at his unusual response, only part of him recognizing the other as attractive in this exhausted state. With a good night’s rest behind him, he’d have been more than happy to engage the stranger in some friendly conversation, but he was having enough difficulty in Gaelic at the moment.
“Yea, I bruidhinn Beurl-ish,” he mumbled, seeming momentarily confused by his own mashup of Gaelic and English. “Uh. I was up fad na h-oidhche… uh, all night… with a horse… delivery,” he started to explain, the hand that had been trying to help express himself finally going to his face to rub at it absentmindedly, yawning before making another attempt at his cup of coffee. Which was more difficult, as he had been slowly sliding forward on the table, dragging the edge of the tablecloth with his elbows. He’d almost fallen asleep when Rhys had brought the coffee, and it was proving difficult to come back from that.
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Post by Kelathi on Jun 19, 2019 18:00:03 GMT
Tyrell’s rising irritability, so eloquently made known by a ruffling of his papers and a well-placed disdainful glare, could hardly be missed. Not wanting to piss off the locals any more than he already had, Fell collected himself, attempting to drop his voice a notch, the tone taking on more of an inoffensive lulling rumble. Delivering a horse… so was the man a farmer or a vet? Considering how he seemed tired enough to drop pretty much at any moment, Fell took a guess on the latter. That’s why he had mentioned cows… A light-bulb seemed to light up in his mind as he put two and two together, context filling the gaps where his knowledge of the language had initially failed him.
“Trinn… that’s ill, right? Sick… Sick cows!” The words were uttered, clearly meant just for himself as he worked it all out, gaze drifting outside as he murmured. As understanding dawned on his face, he redirected his attention back to the stranger. “So you’re a vet?” he pressed, pretty sure he was correct but wanting to double-check that his grasp on what had been said was accurate. “And the horse, the delivery, it… maith?”
What was the word for horse…?
“Capall… maith?” He attempted, clearly clinging on to the fact that this was the first English-speaking person he had come across here, yet also still willing to give the language a good go. Despite the negative reactions he had had thus far, he was clearly eager to learn.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jun 21, 2019 3:58:52 GMT
Arlan had managed finally to take a long, needed drink from his coffee cup, and was beginning to wake up enough to swallow in earnest. The stranger had used that same time to come to what felt like an obvious conclusion, Arlan making a bit of a face as his exhaustion clouded his confusion at the man’s words, slowly beginning to understand what was going on, in spite of the fact that he had already helped the man with the language.
“Yea, I’m the vet,” he began, eyebrows rising at the attempts at Irish. It was a very simple outward gesture of a single thought: oh.
“Tinn,” he corrected the earlier pronunciation but nodded. “Healthy twins… rough birth but-“
Even Arlan sat up a little straighter at that decidedly snappy manner in which Tyrell changed pages again, looking at the older man with an expression that showed concern even though he was obviously exhausted. Finally shaking his head and closing his eyes in exasperation, Arlan motioned to the stranger.
“Sit over ‘ere so we’re not shouting the place down,” he said, the last line added as a peace offering for the noise.
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Post by Kelathi on Jun 21, 2019 15:36:46 GMT
Fell seemed anything but embarrassed or annoyed at being corrected, instead, smoothly welcoming the critique. In his mind, he was repeating the word, knowing it would now stick. He was surprised but pleased when the man offered for him to join him at his table, choosing to continue the conversation rather than halting it completely. Doing as suggested, Fell began to speak as he placed his coffee down on the table, seating himself opposite the stranger. “I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you.” He commented, the lopsided smile suggesting that he wasn’t too contrite. “It’s just, you’re the first person I’ve come across who speaks English. Can I make it up to you by buying you breakfast?”
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jun 27, 2019 2:34:37 GMT
Arlan might not have noticed even if the stranger had complained about the correction, again trying to focus on getting as much coffee into his system and not burn himself by spilling a single, precious drop. Which was hard when his vision was doubling.
Sleep deprivation was beginning to look a lot like being drunk… It was enough to make him wonder how many mornings he had blamed on drinking had been from a lack of sleep, or vice versa.
Even so, his momentary look of surprise at seeing the stranger now at his table, quickly followed by a look of understanding as he remembered inviting the man over, was also quickly turned around by the stranger’s words. He waved a hand after setting the coffee down on the table, dismissing the apology. Or attempt at apology… Arlan wasn’t sure.
The offer of breakfast seemed to help wake him up, however, his eyes more clearly studying the man’s face. Damn, he looks familiar, he thought, but shook his head a little with a lopsided grin that almost looked drunk. “Thanks, but unless you’ve got somethin’ packed with caffeine, or fix sick cows, it will not help.”
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Post by Kelathi on Jul 1, 2019 21:45:34 GMT
“Well, you could try feeding the cows beer.” Fell commented, the corner of his mouth tweaking upwards as he took a sip of coffee. At the incredulous look on the stranger’s face, the man stifled a laugh lest he choke on his coffee, and looked amused as he set the mug back down on the table to explain. “I’m not joking.” A grin. “My grandfather was a farmer, he swore that a good, dark Irish stout would bring round any animal. He claimed there was nothing quite like it when you’re under the weather, whether you’re human or beast.” Fell settled back in his chair, regarding the other for a moment, letting the words sink in before continuing. “What’s your name?” he asked, curiously. It was strange, the man really did seem familiar, but Fell couldn't quite place where he might have seen him from...
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jul 6, 2019 2:16:17 GMT
Arlan needed a double take to consider the man’s suggestion, quite certain he hadn’t heard correctly the first time. Brow furrowed in unabashed confusion, he studied the stranger as he explained, one eyebrow finally rising. If only Donald would be open to alternative forms of medicine… the man almost mothered his beloved dairy cows. The suggestion would be sacrilege.
Might help with some of his other patients, however… he’d have to read up on it.
If he remembered…
It took him a few moments to respond, so lost in thought over the possibilities of beer and yeast and comparing them to all of his studies, until he realized what was asked. “Oh, Arlan. Arlan Cochlain,” he replied, offering a look and a nod that explained he was asking for a name in return.
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Post by Kelathi on Jul 28, 2019 21:22:50 GMT
Fell had watched with growing amusement every emotion that played over the man’s thoughtful face as he mulled on his words. He wondered if the man would take him up on his advice, and hoped that he would, even if he might never find out if that was the case. The idea certainly seemed to intrigue the stranger, either way.
At the man’s response, Fell offered his own name, “Fellbjorn Agnarsson. Well met.” with a smile, offering his hand across the table to shake Arlan’s
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Sept 14, 2019 3:38:17 GMT
Arlan paused a little at the other’s introduction, but not for any noticeable reason at first. The stranger’s words earned a momentarily odd look, before a bemused expression slid across Arlan’s face, one corner of his mouth quirking into a roguish grin, genuine, charming, and distinctive. “Well met, indeed,” he replied, amused at the old phrase used even as he returned the handshake, his grip firm and friendly.
The peace was soon broken as a pair of older ladies walked in, chattering eagerly between them even as they came up to order their drinks. Adel greeted them before Rhys could, coming out from behind the counter for brief hugs and to help strike up the conversation. Rhys attended to the next visitor, and slowly the shop came back to life, all managing to circle around Tyrell and his paper. He was a determined man, and was never shooed out of the cafe before his predetermined 10:00 departure.
---
“Well I’ll be damned.”
The woman looked up at him with confusion, eyes wide before Arlan remembered himself. “Ah, sorry, Miss Fiona, I was just speaking aloud to myself,” he added, patting the cow’s back fondly as she chewed on some oats from the woman’s hand. Fiona shook her head a little, giving Arlan a half suspicious, half amused side eye. “Why do you have to talk aloud in English? Darn annoying to not get to eavesdrop when you don’t care who ‘ears ye anyway.”
She managed to keep that expression as she walked away, in spite of Arlan’s laughing at the near comical manner in which she moved. Rubbing behind another cow’s ears, Fiona finally smiled and chuckled herself, leaning down to grab her bucket of oats as Arlan gathered his own supplies. “Ne’er heard of using stout for cows,” she noted appreciatively, Arlan nodding. “Just happened to hear about it from a stranger. Looked into it, and there’s solid evidence to back it up.”
“Stranger? Oh! You mean that tall, dark-haired fella who’s been wanderin’ around lately,” Fiona mused aloud, a flirtatious look growing in her eyes. “He’s quite the handsome one, isn’t he?”
Arlan’s gaze jumped to her before scoffing, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t know,” he lied as smoothly as ever, earning a heartfelt chuckle as Fiona nudged him with her elbow. “Heh! Think he’s competition for ya?”
“Competition? As a vet?” Arlan echoed, earning another laugh. “Naw, for the ladies! You know how girls are attracted to a sense of danger. You’ve been the closest we come to walkin’ that line between respectable and troublemaker.” Arlan shook his head, trying to slow down his reaction. “I don’t think he’s any trouble,” he said, his words carefully chosen. No trouble for him… no trouble for the village. Too often strangers felt unwelcome in the tight-knit community, Arlan truly teetering on the edge of being unwelcome himself. He didn’t want Fiona to get the idea that Fellbjorn was trouble. Unlike Adel, she couldn’t keep a gossipy secret to herself even if she was mute.
Arlan continued to evade Fiona’s questions regarding the stranger until they made it to the fence, where a tall Grullo horse stood, waiting patiently and grazing. Repacking the saddle bag and replacing the bridle, Arlan could feel Fiona’s gaze studying his back intently. She was convinced he was hiding something, which to be honest wasn’t saying much - she was convinced everyone was hiding something from her, and it was her job to figure out every secret. And as usual, she was guessing wrong.
“Y’know, Iona’s been asking about you.”
Arlan paused a little at her words, looking over at her curiously. “She has?” he asked, sounding doubtful. Daughter of the parish priest, and practically forbidden to go near him by her conservative mother. A pretty girl, one he wouldn’t mind getting to know better, but from past experiences… well, the one had gotten away, as they say. Even though he’d been the one to leave.
At Arlan’s words, Fiona’s telltale smug grin spread across her face, leaning against the fence as she regarded him. “I told ya, girls go for the trouble.” He simply laughed and shook his head, reaching over to poke Fiona’s shoulder before mounting the gelding. “Ah, don’t tell me you’re not plannin’ on taking her out for a midnight ride!” Fiona called out after him, her dual meaning again making Arlan laugh as Njal quickly slid from a walk into an easy lope, his large frame easily explaining his “giant” name. No one had as yet worked out where Arlan had picked up the name, nor what language it was. A nickname once used, Nordic in origin, a final reminder of a past he was certain was behind him.
Any of these thoughts he attempted to leave behind with Fiona, enjoying the fresh sea breeze pushing in from the coast not a hundred meters from them. It had been a week since his all-night vigil with the pregnant mare, a week since he had first met the stranger whose presence seemed to stir everyone’s imaginations one way or another. They had passed one another since, quick greetings, often including a brief tutorial on Gaelic, and then they were on their way. A sense of familiarity still clung to him, like he was being willfully blind, unable to remember. Unwilling, almost.
Arlan laughed as he finally began to pull out of his musings and realize where they were going, Njal snorting as he settled into a bouncy trot as the passage to the beach grew narrow. The horse was a fan of the sea foam and the sandy surface, always wanting to play in the surf. Arlan couldn’t begrudge the animal the joy of his play, even if it meant another hour’s grooming and bath to get all of the sand and salt out of his fur.
Dismounting just beyond the sand, Arlan had to quickly unsaddle and unbridle the horse before he took off again, bounding into the waves and kicking about, whinnying and clearly having a wonderful time. Arlan stayed back, knowing that the last several times he had tried to get close to his beloved gelding he’d gotten just as soaked by being playfully pushed in. Instead, he simply sat on a log and watched, letting his mind wander with the horse’s form rather than on its own.
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