RP Log: Meaghan and Caradoc
Who: Meaghan, Caradoc and Kirley. Where: The townhouse in Marylebone & the cottage in Ireland. What: Moving in ... When: 19 November 1979, prior to dark. Rating: G-PG.
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It was a very odd thing, figuring out how to move without looking like you were moving. Two nights ago she had sat down with Kirley and had a long discussion with him about why they were moving out of the city and to a country he had only ever been to once or twice, and then only for a few days for one of their mother's games. She had told him that they were going to live somewhere where he could actually go outside and play without her hovering over him, without having to avoid those stupid Muggle cars and everything else dirty about living in the city. After promising that they would be keeping both the townhouse and their mother's home (though she still had yet to be able to bring herself to visiting it with him), he had agreed that it might be fun and decided he was willing to try it.
Now she stood in the living room, frowning at a pile of boxes that held everything she was moving to the new house. It seemed meager, that the essential parts of her life could fit into so few vessels. When she felt like everything was much bigger than she could ever hope to get a grip on, why then was her own life so tiny? She ran a hand through her hair, sighing as she quit the living room for the kitchen when the kettle started whistling. If she was going to take this big of a step today, she was going to need some tea to fortify her.
Already stationed at the counter, doling out two cup fulls of steaming liquid, Caradoc took a moment to let himself be lost entirely in the simplicity of the thing. Lift, aim, pour. He could recognise a certain comfort and continuity involved with such motions: people drank tea long before him and would continue to do so long after all memory of him passed from the world. He felt part of a long, connective chain that linked him to the human race.
One cube of sugar per teacup and a brisk swirl of a spoon was Meaghan's greeting as he took his cup and brought the warm porcelain to his lips. "It's not Siberia, Meaghan. It's Ireland."
That was precisely what she found the most adorable about Caradoc--he could take something so simple, like making tea, and give it this whole cosmic significance that never would have occured to her to think of in any of the millions of times in her life she had made tea. Picking up the unclaimed cup, she leaned her hip against the counter and reached out her free hand to crook two fingers through the belt loop of his trousers, as usual seeking out some form of contact whenever she was in the same room as he.
"Do I really look that stricken?"
His free palm slid softly over her forearm as he crooked a brow and considered lying outright. But that wouldn't do anyone any good. With a sip to bolster his defences, he smirked and laid the teacup aside.
"You look like someone told you Santa Claus isn't real after kicking your puppy through a gauntlet of angry cats. We're making the right decision, this is smart, you will like the cottage. I swear it to you."
She smirked around the brim of her teacup, shaking her head when she set it down. "Very descriptive, Professor. It's a marvel they didn't let you teach creative writing." Another sip of tea, her eyes squinting as she considered him. "I'm not worried about our decision. I'm just thinking about all the things that led to this decision." An insistent tug on the loop. "And Santa Claus is real and I don't want to hear any different under my roof, mister."
Her reward was a chaste kiss on the forehead as he laughed softly, before quickly sobering under her former statement. "I don't want to be the one throwing around the 'War is Hell' cliche, but, well, if the shoe fits ..." Ireland wasn't a leap for him; it wasn't even particularly painful, simply because he had her to galvanise his grief and fear. "We'll get Kirley a pony."
"I realized that when I had to schedule two funerals in a week." She said, frowning as she thought of Grady, who she was thoroughly convinced was on the verge of cracking up at any moment. His last statement made her look in the direction of his room, her expression wistful. "He'll be too big for a pony, soon."
Trying to keep the mood light, he took a step into her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Then a small horse should do it. Every Irish boy needs a horse so he can imagine he's Cuchulain reborn."
She wrinkled her nose, faking a frown. "Don't go trying to make my boy Irish, Ginger. If he's going to be the next William Wallace he's got to know where he's from."
... a frown that he stretched out with the pad of his thumb. "Tut, tut, you wild Scots have claim to Cuchulain too. At least a little."
A turn of the head to press her lips against his thumb. "Well, okay. As long as we get him a broadsword too."
The sensation of Meaghan's lips on his skin was an indulgence he often craved, but he knew, with her sensibilities calming, that they simply had to get on the move. He had thought it best to leave the furniture and all the trappings of life at the town house - they could refurbish the cottage together - for any inquiring, nosy minds. And his plan was to shrink all of their boxes into one large box and then simply side-along Apparate. "I want to get home before dark."
A dramatic sigh as she finished her tea and rolled her eyes skyward. "We have so much furniture to set up. Damn laws, not giving Kirley a wand yet. That would be helpful."
"But he has nimble little hands and the desire to be grown already - he'll help, but I don't think we should be looking to put everything up tonight ... " As far as Meaghan was aware, they had picked out the new furniture but had not yet assembled it. He, however, had bribed some local University boys to put it all together (with exacting instructions) so she would walk into a fully furnished cottage. Pulling away, he flourished his wand and shrank their mountain of boxes into something highly more manageable - everything fit snug in one 'regular' size trunk.
A real frown at the mention of Kirley's grown-up aspirations. She did not want her little boy to get older, she wanted him to stay nine forever and never have to go away to school and be out of her sight for months at a time. With a squeeze of his hand, she went down the hall and into Kirley's room, stopping on for a second to linger in the doorway of what was Moody's room. Of all the things she was going to miss, she was going to miss having him around the most. She found her brother reading by the window and led him into the living room, taking his hand for the Apparation. "Okay, well, ready then."
"You remember what the front of the place looks like from the picture, yes? I'll meet you there in two shakes ..." With a wink for Kirley, he laid his hand on the box holding their possessions in it and vanished. As he reappeared at their destination, the sweet Irish air kissed his cheek and he stood taller. The cottage was still the same. Rambling stone and timber threaded together by ivy vines, shrouded in looming trees where the sky did not bend its cerulean light. There would be room for them here, room to grow ...
She nodded at his question and then watched as he disappeared, gripping Kirley's hand tightly as she completed the familiar steps that had them appearing with a faint pop on the lush landscape. Her eyes widened with surprise and Kirley looked around, speechless. Everything was much...sweeter than she had pictured. It was like Scotland, like the Isle of Skye where they had grown up. Reflexively, her hand tightened on Kirley's as she felt tears gather in her throat. It was perfect.
Quietly walking over to them, he laid his hand on Meaghan's shoulder and the other on the top of Kirley's head. "Well, go in."
Kirley cast Doc a disbelieving look that was an exact mirror of one of Meg's usual expressions. "This is really it?" He asked, dropping his sister's hand (he thought himself too old to hold hands now that he was nine), he stepped away from them and began walking toward the cottage. "This is amazing." She said, her voice husky, as she took his hand and followed her brother.
Walking along with them, he pondered previous trips taken just like this one and felt at peace with the decision. Things seemed whole, now. There was opportunity. As Kirley ran on ahead, he called out - "Your room is upstairs!" and curled Meaghan into the space between his arm and his body. "You're amazing. This is ours."
She gladly let herself be pressed against him, one arm wrapping around his waist, partly to steady herself against the onslaught of emotion she was feeling. This was really happening, and this was significant. It meant more, somehow, than when he had moved into her flat--then she had been inviting him into her life. Now they were starting a life together. "I'm speechle--" She began, and then she really was when he opened the door. Everything she had picked out, everything she had wanted, was there, waiting for them. It was as if the house were welcoming them fully-formed, ready to begin.