Mythological Disambiguation
Part of an art-trade with @ask-hws-eire! Thank you!
There was a faint pallour of rain against the windowpane.
Ireland shifted uncomfortably on the floor, legs crossed beneath the table. A steaming mug of tea was set before him, one of England’s few signs that something more human lurked beneath that gloomy exterior; His hands folded around its warmth, Ireland leaning back to peer out of the rain-smudged window. There, he could spy the dark-face of a puca peering through the glass, as black as raven’s feathers, and Ireland could not help smiling to himself as it waved at him; Older than the land, an ever-present figure that walked with some variation of claw, hoof or foot, Ireland was almost tempted to let the puca in - but he wasn’t sure if the others would much appreciate having an impish creature running about in the house. ‘’...Do you guys see that too?’’ Murmured Ireland, glancing at his brothers. They didn’t talk so much about the creatures that hung around them - but then again, sometimes his family could be terribly secretive about the littlest, most pointless things. ‘’Out in the rain.’’
‘’Pwca?’’ Replied Wales. ‘’Don’t let it in!’’
Something fond stirred in Ireland’s heart, as his younger sibling glanced worriedly at the window. He was glad that not everything had been forgotten between them, had not faded into the mists of time; Wales understood Ireland’s words, even if he was more alarmed by the presence of the creature than he would’ve expected. ‘’Don’t worry, it can’t hurt you-’’ He paused briefly, begrudging a point in Wales’ favour with a shrug and a nod, sipping at his tea thoughtfully. ‘’-That much.’’ He supposed that they could be mischievous - but then again, as Ireland glanced at his siblings in turn, so could his entire family. He recalled once, how Scotland had quietly replaced all of the sugar in England’s kitchen with salt, and the fallout of that incident; England had refused to swallow his pride, and had glowered at Scotland the whole time he had served the cake, refusing to break before his brother’s loud laughter.
Give or take a hundred years, and the cake might’ve been poisoned instead.
‘’Pwca.’’ Echoed England. ‘’If it’s anything like the Brag, don’t let it in.’’
Ireland snorted softly, recalling whispers of a shapeshifting creature that had plagued his little brother for a while. He’d thought it a tad melodramatic, a sign of his brother’s tendency to fly off the handle (and Ireland knew very well his brother’s loud fury; Hands balled unconsciously into fists below the table), but it had made itself known. ‘’What would it even buck you into this time?’’ Ireland inquired with an impish gleam in his eyes, stretching his legs out beneath the table - he brushed his socks against Scotland’s leg, his brother grumbling about space. ‘’The teapot? The kitchen sink perhaps?’’ Now that would be funny…
‘’Oh, har-har.’’
Scotland snickered softly, shaking his head. ‘’Did he ever tell you guys about that one-’’
‘’We’ve all heard that story enough.’’ Hissed England. ‘’Belt it.’’
Wales raised a hand, a facade of innocence on his face. ‘’I haven’t heard it.’’ Cleverer than he looked, there was an understanding amongst the brothers that Wales simply enjoyed the look of frustration on England’s face (Brow furrowed, nose wrinkled; He looked more like their kid brother now than he had been in centuries - told that he could have no more cake).
Ireland leaned back, and peered out of the window as his siblings began to quarrel.
There, he could spy an assortment of strange creatures; Older than the land, ever-present figures had walked with some variation of claw, hoof, foot or paw. In some ways, it was what bound them all together. Ireland could not help smiling fondly to himself, amused by these little connections. No matter how frayed their connections could be, Ireland could see how tales had slowly woven them together - how these creatures wandered their tapestry, changing form and shape, but never losing that faint, consistent thread that tied them all together. ‘’...Hey, Scotland.’’ Murmured Ireland, cutting in just as England was in the midst of putting Wales into a headlock - uttering curses under his breath. ‘’You’ve got the kelpie, right?’’ A water horse that lured the foolish to their deaths. ‘’Remember when England-’’ He felt a peal of laughter bud inside his chest; It was a long time ago now, back when things…
God, we were all so little back then.
‘’-Is it take the piss out of me hour or something?’’ Huffed England. ‘’Did I do something?’’
‘’Aye, England wandered right up to a strange lady on the shore-’’ Scotland’s eyes twinkled as he pulled his little brother off Wales, grunting at England to behave himself. ‘’-I didnae tell him that kelpies can disguise themselves as people.’’ He snorted softly. ‘’Poor bastard here.’’
Ireland chuckled as Scotland clapped England on the back, smiling knowingly.
Trails of kelp and a constant dripping of brackish, loch-water were the only signs a kelpie was about; It was not dissimilar to his aughisky - a terror of the watery depths, though its trust could be earned (Ireland had done so once, a long time ago after great trial and error; It had been lost to the sea however, brine filling Ireland’s lungs as he clawed his way to the surface again). He did not blame England in the slightest for whatever boyish terror he’d felt.
‘’I have the ceffyl-dŵr.’’ Wales piped up, a touch of pride in his words. Centuries upon centuries, and he had done his best to remember each and every one of his myths; Dragons beneath the hills, as well as the long-gone legends of the Mabinogion and Ireland was deeply proud of his brother’s long memory. ‘’It can be quite cruel, or it can be quite kind.’’ He smiled, resting his hands in his lap; In some ways, it was not too dissimilar to his brothers now. ‘’It can turn into mist and fly…England, do you have your own water horse too?’’ He asked, leaning forward slightly; Out of the four brothers, England was the outlier here - but he too understood the dangers of going near deep water just as much as them, Ireland knew.
England shrugged, a wrinkle in his brow that spoke volumes to his discomfort.
He never quite liked to be reminded that there were simply some things that England would never relate to the rest of his family, certain things that marked him out as an outlier. For a brief moment, Ireland almost felt tempted to move on - to brush things aside with tales of cù-sìth, cŵn annwn or black shuck. ‘’Nelly Longarms, Peg Powler and Jenny Greenteeth-’’ Muttered England. ‘’-I suppose.’’ He glanced impishly at Scotland, a crooked smile on his face as his brother’s brows furrowed impressively - his arms crossed over his broad chest. ‘’Though you needn’t fear. Your mug would scare ‘em off.’’ England remarked with a snicker.
Ireland snorted. ‘’That’s not nice, Eng.’’ He replied, curling his hands around his mug. ‘’You’re sounding like a proper buggane.’’ Ireland teased - recalling the malevolent creatures, always stirring up troubles like a thunderstorm or tearing the roofs off churches. Some centuries ago, the very comparison would have dripped with poison - now, it was just a simple jest.’’Mhm.’’
‘’I’m not that bad.’’ England responded tartly.
Wales elbowed his brother gently. ‘’More like a bwbach.’’
Scotland interjected gently. ‘’It’s like one of our brownies.’’
Ireland couldn’t help smiling, as tales of creatures and spirits wove themselves around them. A reprieve from the toll of centuries, there was a certain timelessness to this topic; Spirits, strange creatures - sometimes good, sometimes malevolent and often simply entirely neutral were something that sank Ireland into a sense of peace, a sense of simple fraternity that he had not felt for a long time. ‘’Housespirit.’’ He would have to make some sort of offering to the one currently hosting them - for tolerating their noise and nonsense. ‘’Remember when…’’ Ireland sighed sentimentally, sipping on his tea. ‘’...England drank the milk we set out for the brownie.’’ It had been a long time ago now - but the look of embarrassment on his brother’s face was absolutely priceless. ‘’We had to deal with a very, very angry boggart.’’ It had hardly been the most fun way to spend their evening. ‘’It was trying to scratch my eyes.’’
England was red from his nose to the tips of his ears, staring sulkingly at his cup of tea.
‘’...Hey, do you remember-’’
‘’No-!’’ Snapped England, lunging forward to press a hand over Wales’ mouth.
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