[Ruarc o’Conaill] The tall Fianna looked down at the wolf’s tooth hanging from the leather cord. He watched it swing and turn, following the gentle guidance of it up and down alleys and streets in search of the Fiery metis.
Dressed in his white tunic and blue jeans with a large bag slung over his shoulder. It was the bag that held his instruments and his bottles of fine Irish whiskey (when he had any to drink) His stormy gaze looking over the alleys and then to the tooth. His heavy steps echoing down. He is not bothering to hide his approach.
[Rory] Even when she’s trying to hide, she tends to stand out – which has become something of a pack joke, actually. Right now, though, she’s not trying to hide. In fact, she’s too busy trying to fix the object in her lap to notice anything really, let alone try to hide. She’s sitting on a random bus bench, her long legs crossed Indian style, nimble, fragile looking fingers working at the pieces and parts of the broken music box in her lap.
Her pack is by her side, she has a tiny little screw driver held between her lips as she turns to box about in her hands, her brow furrowed as she works.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] He spots the metis and he watches her with a wide smile for a moment and then he is walking forward. The full moon makes his blood boil. He is an oncoming storm of fire.
“’Ello lass. Whatche got the’e?”
He moves up to her, crouching down beside her and placing the bag on the ground beside him before he reaches to brush his hand against her shoulder. A friendly gesture, a touch between wolves.
“Got a moment tae spare wi’ me?”
[Rory] She is a contradiction, she is. Her is rage so high, especially now, that few people dare to come near her, yet she’s so under control, so soft and shy and approachable – should anyone dare.
He dares.
She peeks up at him from under her curls, lips curving into a little grin as she ducks her head again and lifts the little box up a little. “Broken busic mox. Almost fixed.”
He touches her shoulder, and she tilts her head toward his hand, curls tickling over his skin as she nods. She plucks the screwdriver from her lips, and deftly adjusts a little screw somewhere in the depths as she waits.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”I don’nae doubt it. Ye be a whiz when it comes tae fixin t’ings, dont ye?”
He says it with that warm and open smile.
“Anyways, I wanted tae talk tae ye. Seems Ive been called away tae meet up wi’ th’ pup. So I got something fer ye.”
He pulls open the bag and lifts up a small MP3 player with a headset attached to it with cords.
“Since I will nae be able tae finish ye guitar lesson, Ive got t’is ‘ere tape o’ one o’ th’ greatest Irish folk singers doin th’ guitar lessons. T’is be whe’e I learned tae play lass.”
He holds it out for her.
“An’ ye will be keepin th’ guitar. I expect tae be met by some foine playin when I come t’is way again lass, ye hear me?”
[Rory] She flushes with pleasure at the compliment, and shrugs a little. “I thix fings pretty good. Keeps me fed. Growing up, only mad hachines. Understand them.” More than she understands people, to be honest.
He says he’s been called away, and she looks up at him, curiously, a flicker of disappointment flashing across her eyes, briefly. “Oh.”
Then he’s handing her the mp3 player, and she blinks in surprise, and turns it in her hands as she listens. And then her eyes widen at the implications that he’s giving her the guitar, and she shakes her head, curls bouncing across her shoulder “Your guitar? I couldn’t!”
But there’s no denying the pleasure that is threaded under those words… she’s not been given many things, and this.. this is something amazing…
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”Nonsense lass. Ye will make foine use o’ it. An’ it don’nae come fer free. I expect ye tae learn tae play it well enough fer any Fiann. Ronnie Drew’s sweet whiskey voice will help ye wi’that he will.”
He chuckles softly and reaches to her shoulder to give it a soft squeeze after she takes the MP3 player.
“Also one more t’ing lass, but I need ye tae step tae th’ other side wi’me fer that. I got a t’ing I promised tae teach ye afore I left, if’n ye recall.”
He closes the bag then stands up, hefting it and looking to her, waiting for her to get to her feet.
[Rory] She flushes and holds the player to her chest for a minute, before she tucks it away into her bag. She takes the little music box, and does a couple little quick fixes, and then winds the key hopefully. Out comes a tinny ‘danny boy’ and her pleased little smile.
Then she lifts it up to him, with that little shy grin. “You can have it. To memeber re.”
And then she’s tucking away her tools, and stands with him, nodding. “Ok.”
[Ruarc o’Conaill] HE blinks and accepts the music box. Then he smiles so wide and warm and then suddenly he steps up to her and wraps his arms around her, hugging her tight and fierce.
“Ye be a good lass Rory.”
He holds her for a moment before stepping back. There is actually wetness in his eyes.
“Thank ye lass. I will take good care o’ it, I promise ye. Come on…”
He reaches up and scrubs his eyes with the back of his hand and then he fades, sliding through the gauntlet to the other side.
When she gets there, he is waiting for her.
“Roight… I’m going tae show ye how tae bind spirits into talens. The’e aint be much o’ a trick tae it, but what ye have tae consider…”
Ruarc is actually a good teacher and the rite is quite simple once you get the hang of it.
[Rory] She stiffens just a little as he comes for her, but when it’s a hug, she hesitates only a minute, and slides her arms around him too and hugs tight. She’s never had one of her Tribe accept her like he has, and it’s something she treasures.
She’s flushed when he steps back, and rubs at the side of her nose absently, as he tucks the box away. Then he’s stepping sidewise, and she slips her backpack over her shoulders, and then steps sidewise to join him.
He’s a good teacher, and she’s an astonishingly quick study. So isolated in her early life, she blossoms whenever someone takes the time to teach her, and she puts her all into getting it right, getting it perfect in thanks for something so simple, that so many other people think they deserve. To her, such lessons are a gift.
[Ruarc o’Conaill] She surprises him with how quickly she learns. He takes the time to show her the basic talens, the bloody bandages, the healing talens and the soak talens. He is close and physical during the whole thing, encouraging her with touches and hugs when she gets it so right, so perfect.
“Alright lass, I think ye got what ye need.”
He straightens after examining the Gaia’s breath she made, offering her a wide smile.
“I need tae be movin on. Now, I know ye will be practicing til ye fingers bleed, but I would have a promise from ye afore I go lass…”
He steps up close and looks into her eyes, head tilted down to meet her gaze.
“Promise me that when ye play th’ guitar, ye offer a prayer tae Gaia fer th’ Rover who taught ye, an’ if another o’ our tribe shows up after ye master th’ guitar, that ye pass it on wi’th’ lessons. Can ye promise me that lass?”
[Rory] He’s physically close as he teaches her, encouraging her in ways she’d never experienced from another of their own, before. She flushes with pleasure when she gets it right, when he’s pleased with her, and even allows herself to feel a bit of pride in the accomplisments of the afternoon.
She tucks the talens she’s made into her bag, and stands with him as he is ready to go. She meets his gaze as long as she’s able, before ducking her head and nodding that she’ll do as he asks. “Promise.”
[Ruarc o’Conaill] ”That’s all I can ask fer.”
And he leans in and kisses her on the lips, somewhere between chaste and not so chaste. Then he is hefting his bag, turning around and walking away through the umbra. A few steps and he starts singing, low and deep.
” Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer’s gone, and all the flowers are dying
‘Tis you, ’tis you must go and I must bide.
And he leaves her there with the memory of his voice and teachings. The large and rowdy Fianna rover that came and went like so many others, yet she had memories of him, in the rich colored wood of the guitar and the songs she heard him play.