phinnia: footprints in sand. text: "let us go then, you and i" (let us go)
The Donnelly family has always had its share of strange folk.

There was Great-Aunt Maeve who was born with a caul and pulled from the womb tangled in the blue body of her own twin. A lot of people claimed they had the second sight but Maeve actually did: she had a gateway into the world beyond, because of the dead twin, you see. Her hair turned white on her thirteenth birthday. She spoke in tongues and walked the hills at night with her face as pale as her nightgown, and not a few people said that a visit from Maeve Donnelly was nearly bad as one from the devil himself. She sat up straight in bed the night of her thirty-ninth birthday, screamed as though the hounds of hell were after her and dropped dead like a stone.

And then there was Uncle James Donnelly, who cheated death in his fishing boat so many times there was tell he'd sold his soul for eternal life. He lived to be a hundred and two, a bachelor until the end, and rarely spoke: but his laugh was enough to chill a strong man to the marrow. He owned a huge black dog that had feet the size of a bear: they'd run together, both howling at the moon.

Martin Donnelly (third cousin) could tell a man the hour of his death and be right to the minute: Eve Donnelly (Maeve's half-deaf niece) claimed to have an eye in the palm of her withered hand and read marked bible verses through a locked metal box just by putting her palm on the lid.

So no one really took much notice when Bridget Donnelly's second boy changed a glass of water into a glass of shandy that wasn't half bad, and from there to a glass of decent stout; or could turn a dead horse into a working car with little more than a splitting headache afterwards.

Donnellys were strange folk, after all.
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (guinness)
(it's [ profile] dawnstar's fault. Although it occurs to me that it would be really, really cool to write a little chapbook of stories, the common theme being that they'd be based entirely in cafes/bars. *ponders how one would do that* Or maybe I'm just a nerd.)

Actually it was more like a bar. Sarah had been working under the Seattle definition of "going out for something te warm ye up then" and assumed that they were headed to the local coffee shop to sit around and play cards and watch the rain fall in grey soaking walls outside. That was her first mistake.
Evan, of course, was working under the Donnelly definition of the same phrase, and since he had the car keys and knew all the back roads, they were really bound to end up at the pub eventually. She should have known, especially when she saw that fiendishly innocent little Donnelly grin on his face and the dimple in his cheek that coerced as much as it charmed. That was her second mistake.
The third mistake was assuming that his brothers would be able to talk some sense into him. Of course not. That should have been painfully obvious. Which is what led to the current situation: herself and three boys who were bigger than the defensive line for the Seahawks sitting around in a pub drinking pint after pint of Guinness like Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz had already passed Saturn and was making a run for the outer limits of Jupiter's moons, hoping there was some kind of rest stop on Callisto so he could stop and stretch his legs and maybe get a bag of chips for the road.
Well, they were drinking anyway; she was having coffee and eyeing the foaming black mugs with trepidation.
"Ye not thirsty then, darlin'?" Michael grinned broadly and took a long swig from his pint mug.
"I'm fine."
"She's American. Can't take th' taste of th' real thing, yeah?" Richard was two years younger than Evan and still almost as tall, which probably explained why he managed to get into the bar. Sarah decided not to ask how a sixteen year old could get in here and order drinks with impunity, and simply glared at him, which had slightly less than no effect at all.
"I can so." she lied stiffly. "I just don't want to, that's all."
"We'll forgive ye." Evan replied with a wink. "It's not yer fault yer congenitally a Yank."
That did it. Sarah glared blackly at him, pushed her heavy dark hair out of her face, and snatched Evan's mug of Guinness away from him before he had a chance to protest, tipping her head back and downing the last half of it with one gulp.
Surprisingly, it was actually really, really good. Not as bitter as she had been afraid - smooth, full-bodied; a little thick, but not so thick that it was intolerable to drink, it was just definitely there in the mouth.
She slammed the heavy mug down on the table, wiped off her upper lip with the back of her hand, and stared at the three of them. "You were saying?"
Laughter. Michael slapped her on the back hard enough to bruise. "Yer alright then, love. An' fer that, Evan's buyin' the lot of us another."
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (guinness)
As promised a long time ago, Evanfic. You have to love this man, really you do - he exudes loveableness, along with his mischef. His wife will rarely admit such things, but he really is very sweet for an incorrigible athiest whiskeydrinking shapeshifter type. I wish I could change things into other things. It would be damn handy.
It was a dark and stormy night ... )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (fallen angel)
The cards riffled and slid between his fingers, fluttering like birds' wings as he shuffled and dealt them across their blondewood kitchen table. Five cards for her, and five for himself; he picked up the fanfold of diamond patterned cards and peered over them mischeviously at his opponent.
She was sitting there, cool and serene, completely unaffected by the fact that most of her clothes were a distant memory crumpled on the floor beside her.
"So, love, what are ye waitin' fer then?"
"I'm thinking." Anneka pouted, chewing on her lip and shivering gently as a cool breeze caressed her on its way through the window.
"If yer waitin' fer a train, I really think yer outta luck."
Continued. )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (Default)
She shouldn't have been smoking in bed, of course. But what else was she supposed to do? They were in a goddamned hotel room, and only on the third floor, so it wasn't like she was really able to get out of bed and wander around unless she felt like getting dressed, which she didn't.

Although the idea of giving the night desk clerk - who was about eighty-three and balding and got noticeably sweatier whenever she came into the room - a somewhat terrifying thrill was enough to make her grin mischeviously in the dim yellow light.

Evan was lying next to her sleeping like the dead - assuming the dead snored like ravening wild beasts arguing over a kill, of course. With the noise he was making there was no way he'd be mistaken for dead. Unless you were stone deaf. She sighed and killed him with a withering stare, which he ignored.
continued... )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (guinness)
(You can always count on Evan for a good story. And this is a good story. Evan, for your reference, has a genetic mutation similar to the timeshifting gene which enables him to alter the structure of matter.)

The glass pint mug on the table is filled with Guinness. Not the Guinness you get in America, or even England. Real Dublin Guinness. He doesn't accept anything less than perfection when he drinks - it's blacker than the windy night outside and nearly thick enough to bounce a quarter off of. But he'd wring my neck if I tried, so I don't.

He takes a long drink and grins at me with those mischevious blue eyes of his, one of the few Donnelly traits that got passed down to his son. "So ye want a story, yeah?"

Well, yeah, it would be nice. And you're always one for the best stories, Evan, you know that.

"True, true indeed an' I am." He swallows a bite of Guinness reflectively and leans back in his chair. "How about I tell ye the story about th' first time I changed somethin'?"

Sure, that sounds like a good one.

"All right then." He takes another drink and begins.
The real story is, of course, behind this cleverly placed cut tag. )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (Default)
It was cold. Cold and windy and damp; a shiver dragged Sarah toward consciousness, and a headache kept her there. She sat up and gingerly held her head between two hands, groping on the springy grass for a moment before finding her silver-rimmed glasses.

They didn't really help, but at least her face didn't feel as naked as the rest of her did. The world was just plain swirly, no matter how you looked at it. Masses of gold-green and grey slowly formed into an empty sky, a half-mown hayfield. A large ominous shape turned out to be a ramshackle barn.

Where the hell was she? She got up on her knees, wrapping her arms around her bare breasts in a futile attempt to warm herself.
She was ... )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (guinness)
The secret word is ... )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (Default)
(This week's [ profile] non_plot challenge was 'differences'. And these two are occasionally the most different married couple around.)

"Come on."

Anneka was standing at the top of the stairs to the subway, the flowing tangles of her hair caught by the upward breeze, tapping her foot impatiently.

"I'm comin'." Evan was kneeling before her, studiously lacing up his boots. "Keep yer damn skirt on. It's only seven-thirty."

"We're supposed to be there at eight. And I would have liked to be early. No thanks to you."

"Who was it that was loungin' around in the bathroom fer an hour then?" Evan asked with a raised eyebrow.
Her, of course. Need you ask? )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (Default)
Anneka is the mistress of denial, and she's occasionally about as deep as a teacup ... at least on the surface, anyway. But occasionally twinges of regret get through the wall, whether she likes it or not. (Which she doesn't.)
On the train from Paris to Amsterdam ... )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (suitcase)
This would be Jack and Evan's first real meeting. Not much more needs to be said about that.
And yes, his mother's cookies really, really are that good.
He has a right to be nervous this time. )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (string theory)
Because I'm bored: old [ profile] drabblemania topic of meat ...

"What is this?" Jack made a face, poking at the greyish object in the middle of his plate, which was covered with a sloppy brown gravy.
"It's supposed to be liver and onions." Stephen opened his soda and took a long drink, picking at the lifeless french fries on the side of the plate. "Supposed to be."
"Ye know what it really is?" Evan replied laconically from the other side of the table.
"What?" they chorused, staring at him intently.
Evan leaned back on the bench, satisfied that he now had their full attention. "It's liver. No foolin' there. Me granny Oona used te make liver that exact same way. But it's not liver from cows. Ye know where it comes from? Failed third year temporal mechanics students. Professor McIntyre rounds 'em up at th' end of th' term, an' takes 'em away down a giant staircase, an' they're never seen again. Now th' onions, what they do there, that's fiendish, that is."
"What's with the onions?" Jack pushed his plate away, shuddering.
"Eyeballs." Evan replied with relish. "Shredded, fried eyeballs."
"That's it." Stephen looked a little green. "I'm done."
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (gerbera)
Anneka sighed glumly and stared out the window at the downpour, flicking the tab on an empty soda can with her nails.
Suddenly the can shimmered, flickered, and she held a pink rose between her palms.
"Yer welcome." Evan replied offhandedly, amused blue eyes darting back to the football game.
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (Default)
Evan's always saying that if he didn't have bad luck he wouldn't have any at all. Who knew it was tied to his underwear?

He's got interesting priorities in life. )


phinnia: smiling dolphin face (Default)

January 2013

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