solstice rpg

For a birthday hootenanny.

Who: Turlough
Where: His place
When: Around 8 p.m.

An orange VW bug fought the oppressive evening air as it puffed and puttered through residential streets. It slowed to a crawl and finally came to a halt at the mouth of a cracked driveway. Up across a dandelion dotted lawn, the bungalow sats dark.

The passenger door squealed like an animal when it opened, the panel dented in by a brush with a guardrail or maybe a light post some months ago. Rust had bloomed like dark melanoma around the wound.

Turlough unfolded himself slowly from the seat, set his boots on the ground. He stooped painfully to pull a ratty duffel bag from behind the seat before swinging the door closed. As he crossed behind the car he offered a stunted salute to the driver, a kind motorist who took a huge chance on a limping stranger trying to walk his way out of Portland earlier that evening. A miracle, given the state he was in.

( Healing wasn't soothing, it was PAINFUL, and the pain only spread )

Who: Turlough and Jane
Where: A little diner in Darkwater
When: Lunchtime

Lunch meetings seemed the best ways to see brothers. The one with Sean had gone okay, after all, and you had something to do besides just talk. And once you were done eating, you could use it as an excuse to leave, if you were uncomfortable. So when Turlough had wanted to see her that day, Jane had said to meet for lunch, in the same little diner-deli she'd met Sean at. Might as well go somewhere she knew there'd be food she liked, after all.

To tell the truth, she was kind of dreading this get-together. Her lip was still ugly, and her face was bruised, and she thought she'd pulled a muscle in her side so she was moving kind of carefully. After her briefing with the police, she'd come straight here, so she could be sitting by the time Turlough got here. Her kid brother. Wow, this was weird as hell. She'd gotten herself settled, the as yet unhatched-- or unbroken-- egg thing in her sweater pocket on her lap and a mess of string on the table that she was slowing turning into a tightly knit sock.

( Awkward )

Who: Sorcha, Joel and Turlough
Where: Sorcha's apartment
When: 6:30 a.m.

Sorcha had no idea what to think about what she'd just witnessed. How was it possible that a woman would just appear in the middle of an abandoned house in a torrential rainstorm? How could something like that shadow creature even exist? She knew that any number of strange things were possible in the world, but that encounter topped anything she'd seen thus far. She walked swiftly after she fled from the dark woman, nearly running, the rain pelting down on her already sodden head as thunder rumbled in the sky. She was both frightened and agitated, and all she wanted was to get back to her small apartment and get her wet clothes off and her hair at least wrapped in a towel, if not dried.

She hurried up Seastone Circle, barely able to identify the house she lived in. Sorcha fumbled her key out of her pocket and began trying to poke it into the lock, her cold hands shaking and her jaw tightly set, as if enough determination on her part would make the key work properly.

( something came )

Who: Turlough and Joel
When: early morning
Where: Starting at Sorcha's house, then all over Eldritch


The dinner with Sorcha had relaxed by infintesimal amounts, but they hadn't spoken of anything significant, which honestly didn't surprise Joel. They'd just chatted about what their lives had been like -- his story with gaping holes in it, of course -- and caught up. Sort of. She'd eventually turned in for the night and he'd taken up his residence in the tiny living room, stepping outside every so often to smoke. He was wired and awake for hours before he tried stretching out on the tiny couch. Sleep wasn't coming, but at least his body relaxed somewhat. He wasn't going to drift off in a house with someone else; that just didn't happen anymore. Which was a flaw in his idea of groups of the McDonnell siblings living together, he knew, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

When Turlough had shown up, wet and irritated from the storm, Joel had been a hair's breath away from drawing his pistol on him. It had been a relief to see it wasn't a foe, but his brother. They let Sorcha know he was there, and soon enough Joel was listening to Tur's soft snores from the floor. It was comforting, in a way, and he sort of fancied himself a familial sentinel for a while, until his eyelids got heavy and his own breathing moved into matching his brother's.

That was, at least, until he heard the back door close over the rushing sound of rain. Joel jerked awake, sitting bolt upright, his hand instinctively finding the butt of the gun in his belt. He stayed very still and listened hard, but didn't hear anything else. Heart beating fast, he nudged Tur's foot with his own boot, leaning over his sleeping face, one finger already over his lips.

( Where Stubborness And Futility Meet )

Who: Turlough and Sean
When: Evening
Where: A bar!

Sean had called Turlough earlier in the evening, inviting him out for a drink, and possibly a game of pool. He remembered the place he'd first spotted Turlough in. His younger brother had been playing pool and ordering a pitcher of beer. The bartender hadn't even carded Tur, who was too young by American's standards to be drinking, so Sean was going into it assuming that Turlough would get along with a few drinks. And if they suddenly decided to be diligent on the carding, Sean would just sneak his brother a few pints himself.

He got there before Turlough did, finishing up a cigarette and ordering a pitcher for the both of them when Turlough finally did show up. Sean claimed the pool table, working on racking up the pool balls while he waited. He still felt a bit off, and a lot concerned, but talking to Will and then Joel had helped. He had Jane and Sorcha on his list next. He'd gone too long procrastinating in seeing them. It wasn't that he didn't want to see his sisters, but Sean knew laying eyes on them would be different than seeing his brothers. His sisters were young, and he'd always felt overly protective of them when they'd been kids. All of that would no doubt coming rushing back to him, and he feared, above everything else, being rejected by one, or both of them for it.

Tur circled the pool table, nodded to the bar tender who upnodded back and gave Sean the slightest smile. "Evenin'" he said casually over the music. He was dressed in loose fitting dark jeans, garrison boots and a short sleeved black button up. Clearly it was a Johnny Cash kind of evening. Even his dirty blonde hair and three days of beard growth looked dark in the ill-lit bar. The shadows even made his age indistinct. He looked even more like their father in this place. It must be why the bartender didn't bother to card him.

( This Was Better Than Sitting At A Table And Trying To Figure Each Other Out )

Who: Sorcha and Turlough
Where: Turlough and Eden's house
When: Thursday morning

Turlough had jerked awake out of a long night a'dreaming to the chirp of his cellphone. His fatigue-drenched brain groped for a reason for the call. Joel needed help? Jane was just calling to chat? Maybe William and Sean were getting everyone together, finally. They were all here now, after all. All but Morgan.

He pushed himself upright and finally got his hand on his dancing phone. Somehow he managed to punch the call answer button and cleared his harsh throat once before getting it to his ear. "H'lo?" he'd asked, with a voice that sounded like rust and gravel. To his shock, it had been Sorcha. Joel had told him that she was in town and Jane had mentioned her to but this was their first time speaking. The call was brief, but definitive. She was coming over.

A half-hour later, Turlough was dressed in comfortable jeans and a t-shirt, unzipped hoodie slung over his shoulders as he sipped black coffee and smoked his first cigarette of the day. First of many. It was cold and foggy but he sat on the edge of the porch, long bare toes sunk into the grass. The street was foggy, people and cars moving in and out of it. Strange, how the white fog in the mornings, in the moments before the sun burned it off, always made him think of his father.

Thoughts of William Sr drew him in this morning. He was still, mug on his knee and smoke half lifted to his lips and eyes focused on a thousand yards of nothing.

( a long-awaited reunion )

Who: Turlough, Sean, and Joel
When: late morning
Where: Some greasy spoon and then out somewhere

The morning? Had not gone well. Oh it had started out fine enough, with the waking up and nudging his long-lost little brother awake from the floor. But Joel had noticed that something was pretty damn wrong as he fired up the coffee maker. Everything felt too ... bright. Bright and hyper-real, like when he was working and had himself really focused. It was an unpleasant contrast to his usual comfy morning-fuzz. It wasn't terribly long before he was already developing a headache. It wasn't even as though they'd drank that much the night before, he didn't get it.

Then, Tur had broken a coffee mug, seemingly only by touching it. Joel had just seen the blood start to drip down his arm when suddenly his palm hurt like a bitch, and oh look, it was bleeding. It had incited a confused, half-asleep argument that hadn't done much for Joel's headache. The coffee had barely started to drip when smoke began pouring out of the lid -- who the fuck had even known coffee pots had parts that could smoke?! -- and that endeavor had to be abandoned.

Confused, sour, and both needing caffeine something awful, the two brothers had left the shabby house, intent on coffee someone else would make and cigarettes. Joel adjusted the bandage he'd wrapped around his hand, eyebrows drawn together in a pissy expression. "I just fuckin' bought that, too," he muttered as they hit the sidewalk.

( So What If We Have The Same Mother? )

Who: Turlough and Joel
When: Sunday evening
Where: Down the street from Jane's house

They hadn't revealed too much during their morning and early afternoon huddle. Turlough didn't think he'd ever sat in a pub that long in his life, and yet he'd found himself utterly fascinated by his sister. From the rumors he'd heard in Dublin, Joel was a familiar animal. A thug, a soldier. It was a world that Tur could well understand from his own experiences. Jane was a fashion designer. She was hardly flashy at all in her dress and with her hair stubbornly freeing itself every so often as she turned her head. The longer he'd sat with her, the more and more he'd seen his mother in her. There was a lot of emotion tied up in that. From time to time, he'd seen flickers of the same feelings carve lines into Joel's face but his older brother had kept control.

They had eventually boarded the ferry and headed back to Darkwater, bellies full of greasy pub food. The sun had come out and the walk to Jane's house had been nice. Reluctantly, they'd left Jane to her unpacking and that left Turlough and Joel on her front porch. Tur found himself looking at his older brother a bit warily. "So," he began. "D'ye have someplace t'be?" he asked.

"Nowhere more important than here," Joel answered as he lit a cigarette. The flame briefly illuminated a tense, tired set to his forehead in the gathering dusk. Now they would get down to it. As delighted as he was to see -- meet? Christ, it had been so long -- his sister, there seemed to be a completely different air between himself and Turlough. He wanted to know things. Why his brother was hunting him down. Who he'd talked to to find him in the first place. What the bloody fuck was going on.

( Blood Is Thicker Than Water )

Who: Turlough, Jane and Joel
Where: Mass at St. Peters on Eldritch
When: 9am

Turlough had been surprised to learn that the local diocese had decided to continue to use the old heritage church on Eldritch Island as it's soul seat of worship. He would have thought that they would have built a larger church or cathedral in Darkwater where there were more people. Still, his investigations showed that the modest congregation in the area commuted over to the island and filled up the little stone church there. This Sunday, Turlough boarded the 8am ferry with the other people dressed in their Sunday best.

Boys and girls chased each other up and down the decks with parents calling out for them to slow down. Tur, without a car, leaned against the railing and let the quiet and stillness of the morning wash over him. He wasn't badly hung over and he was glad. Usually Sunday mornings were torturous if he'd been drinking before but he never allowed himself to miss the early mass. He'd done the damage to himself, after all. The least he could do was present himself to the Lord and ask to be forgiven and do his penance.

( Is it really you? )

Who: Sean and Turlough
When: Late, last call
Where: A bar in Darkwater

Sean had kept his word to the guy he'd met in the coffee shop and stopped by Vapor earlier that night. It had taken him far too long to get inside, and when he had, the music had been loud and the club crowded. Sean didn't mind the atmosphere, it just hadn't really been his scene. He'd had a pint and then taken off, hoping to find a smaller, quieter bar to have a drink in.

Once he'd walked through Darkwater for a good twenty minutes, he finally found a decent looking hole in the wall place that didn't look overly busy. Everyone, Sean supposed, was at the Vapor opening. Walking inside, Sean walked immediately to the bar and found a seat at the very end before ordering a whiskey. He kept his cap on and felt himself hunched over a bit. It was his 'please don't bother me' posture, and he could only hope people would notice and leave him be for a bit.

Turlough was out as well. His roomie had headed off to the opening of the new night club in town and he'd been torn about accompanying her. After all, she was a nice girl and gentlemen didn't let nice girls like her come and go in places like that without at least the offer of accompaniment. Then again, she was a big girl and a local. Not to mention he thought she'd be working a little bit. He knew the offer was more than on the table but in the end, Tur had wished her well, insisted she call him if she ran into trouble and waved her out the door.

( With An Unknown Man Beneath )

Who: Turlough and Solana
When: night
Where: along the marina

She'd left her bag somewhere. Where the fuck was her bag? Where in the bloody fucking hell had she left her bag? Solana stalked over the wooden boards, thin arms wrapped around her body, looking from side to side, examining every foot of marina. She had been here, she remembered it. She remembered it, but she couldn't remember where the fuck her fucking piss ass goddamn bag was. With a soft sound of frustration, she buried her fingers in her wild hair and tugged. She looked a hot mess, though she was unaware of it. There was the lopsided knee-length skirt with a tank top that didn't match at all, and the ballet flats that had almost been completely worn through. She had dozens of bracelets on both skinny wrists and her makeup was uneven and smeared.

It was a very unclear day, very unclear. She'd woken up as the sun went down -- though she couldn't remember now where she'd started -- and the drain had been talking to her. It had been impossible to take a shower, and she was so shaky ... She was starving. Starving and hungry and famished and hambriento and where was everybody. Someone shouted something over her left shoulder and she whirled, looking frightened and more than a little lost.

( Stingy hijo! )

Who: Turlough and Eden
Where: Her place
When: Early Monday evening

Nothing about Darkwater reminded Turlough of home. There was a storm coming but he didn't own an umbrella. He had to just hope the rain would hold off and he could make it to this appointment without appearing like a drowned rat. He'd combed his hair back from his face and actually reintroduced his jawline to a razor for the first time in more than a month. He might be young but he could produce a respectable scruff when the appropriate amount of apathy was applied.

( he just had to be cute )