liadan ashford

"I still wanna do that! I do want to really find myself and improve. I just also want to do some smaller things too." She said, ending that statement quietly. Maybe she just wanted to make something, instead of just buying it! She sighed as her feet were put back in the bubbling warm water. There was no reason to get defensive. "Nothing really, but big changes take a long time. I want more short term stuff as well. I can't be completely overhauling myself every day!"

The smaller things had a place in life, too, of course. As important as a garnish, a single thread of thyme, a spot of sauce on a plate - so too was it to have hobbies, skills, experiences that produced nothing but pleasure. "All right, all right, I get it," she conceded with her hands up, taking another sip of the water that almost felt fuzzy in her mouth. "Aye, but sometimes you're only one decision away from a completely different life. But, small stuff, I get it. Okay, so - crochet. What are you going to crochet?"

clubrevenant

bex’s laugh was quiet, but it carried the kind of weight that said she meant every breath of it — low and edged in smoke, rolling out slow enough to be deliberate. “involved’s a funny word,” she drawled, the corner of her mouth hooking into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “makes it sound like a car crash or a police report — something you survive, not something you’re in.” her gaze didn’t drift, didn’t shy away; it held liadan the way a hand might close over a lit match, knowing full well it’d burn. she let liadan’s tracing linger, every circle and spiral digging into her like the slow seep of a drink into woodgrain. “no, sweetheart,” she said finally, each syllable stripped down to the truth. “nobody waiting at home. nobody with a claim on me anymore.” there was no stumble over the word anymore — just a matter-of-fact delivery, but the faintest tightening around her eyes hinted at the echo it left behind. “divorced for a few months now,” she added, like she was putting the fact down between them alongside the empty glasses, letting it settle where it would. “and before you ask — no, i’m not dragging ghosts around with me. she’s got her life, i’ve got mine. clean break.” her hand flexed just slightly in liadan’s hold, testing the give, as if making sure this wasn’t the same kind of entanglement waiting to happen. her other hand ghosted over the worn edge of the bar, fingertips catching on the grooves and nicks carved by years of elbows, rings, and restless nights. “and if i was involved?” bex’s eyes sharpened, heat glinting under the low light. “i wouldn’t be sittin’ here lettin’ you look at me like that. wouldn’t be letting you touch me like you already know what you’re doing.” the jukebox’s hum bled into the air between them, but she stepped closer still, until the warmth of her breath might’ve been enough to tip the scales. “so if this,” she tilted her head toward their joined hands, toward the hum running between them, “is you being respectful…” her voice dipped lower, that bourbon-slow rasp curling at the edges, “then i can’t wait to see what you’re like when you’re not.” she didn’t pull back. didn’t break the wire strung tight between them. if anything, she leaned into it, letting it sing.

"In fairness, that's been most of my relationships," the joke landed with no less sugar and salt than what ran between them. Survival seemed like the funnier word, yet neither of them were entirely false. Any connection outside of family had to be constructed, maintained, submerged in. The involvement itself was an act of love, a dedication to its nourishment and growth. Anything less was a footprint, washed away by a single wave of change. Her brows lifted in a way that spelled surprise in cursive, gentle across her forehead and unassuming. "Divorced," she repeated, as if it would lose its potency in a different accent. As if she could ward off the ghosts of a fear that never existed. "Sorry, that sounded rude. Guess I forget how old I really am." Time had been a silent companion for most of Danny's life, holding hands but never imposing its presence. Her understanding of herself never seemed to mingle with the concept of age, and the landmarks that surrounded her always came in painful, crashing waves. Somehow, this revelation bulldozed less, a fact laid onto the table between them, hers to pick up, if she wanted to. But it had no edges, no body. There was nothing to lift, nothing to pocket. She let it seep into the wood, lost to the years of booze and tears that had already lived there. "I believe you," the words dropped idly, focus tunneled on the hand that flexed inside hers, against her touch. A surge of power that required no effort sprang into her limbs. Her eyes lifted to be locked in, grasped like iron, perfectly smithed to enact a cut so silent and smooth, it could never be thought of as a crime. "And what about the way you're looking at me?" Not a challenge, but a tease, a batted ball of yarn, flicking up the corners of unturned pages to steal a glance at the next chapter. Wanting for a spoiler, just enough to keep reading but not so much that it would ruin her appetite. A smile that invited the plot twist, a hand that pressed into the one that could tell stories and the other in her own back pocket, as if to keep the next bit a secret herself. Liadan stood, not to match stature but indeed to emphasize the difference, a good five inches between them, where she could see the sharp edge of a jawline that wouldn't dare entertain anything but truth. "Watched pot, love," she grinned, palm over palm, folding her fingers snugly between Bex's like they paid rent there. "Better to prepare the rest of the meal than live in anticipation. Every ingredient counts." She took a folded bill from her back pocket and laid it on the bar without looking, confident in covering the bill and then some. A nod to their shared industry, acknowledgement of the jukebox they'd both sunk into. She took one small step beyond the barstools, a tug on Bex's arm like an open book, private and blank, room for a story just between them. "Well, Trouble," she murmured, warm and buzzing like the neon that flickered beyond the door, "you coming?"

#c:bex #bex 001

maeveobrienbrews

"A mysterious venn diagram of fucking and food: the title of your autobiography," Maeve mused, smirking over the rim of her pint glass with an absolutely wicked gleam in her eye.

As far as meandering conversation went, Mae had always had a certain talent for taking a thread and twisting it into something entirely new or, quite frankly, just dropping a thread altogether and starting up a new one. Her parents tried to call it ADD, she just figured it made her an interesting conversationalist.

She placed her hand on top of Danny's where it rested on her other, creating a little totem pole of sisterhood she found surprisingly grounding. "Intercontinental cousinship is definitely for the birds," she agreed. Maeve sensed the discomfort in her cousin's admission, but it was easy to brush off, because, honestly, it didn't matter a tit to her. If Danny stood in her taproom and declared that she never wanted another thing to do with the O'Brien family business, Mae's love for her wouldn't shift at all. Where some of their other family members held the legacy so closely it was damn near a tattered security blanket, Maeve preferred to wear it like a shawl. Something that could provide some warmth or protection if she needed, but was easy enough to shed if the circumstances required it.

"It's far time the ship got an upgrade, anyway. I'm tired of old white men droning on about malt and hops and the old country without considering the absolute feckin' mecca that is beer and food pairings. We don't have to be one thing, you know? Piss off to anyone, including our dads, that thinks so. I'm not gonna go down as a one-note O'Brien, love. I refuse."

Breaking the surface tension hovering above the conversation, Mae's remark birthed a loud laugh out of her. "Aye, what's yours? The Circle of Fucking and Felony?"

For all that Danny was ambitious, driven, competitive, she still seemed to pale in comparison to her cousin. A year younger and a lifetime wiser, Maeve's fire knew neither satiation nor discernment, consuming everything in a single wall of smoke, including the air around it. Growing up, she remembered pitterings of jealousy budding in her stomach at the times she would grind herself to a pulp trying to achieve greatness in a skill or trait Maeve seemed to master with natural ease. Nothing ever to prove, only embody. Even as children, Maeve was the one who thought less and acted more, but never lost a bit of her consideration, a storm of recklessness and devotion.

Of course she wasn't going down as one-note. Maeve was a bloody orchestra.

"The universe has no choice with you, love," she chuckled, sitting back in her seat and letting her arms fold across her body. Sod off to their fathers was right. Maybe in another lifetime, one where Danny did not possess such a suffocating desire to be either exceptional or nothing, she would have made a better O'Brien. "So, what, you want me to help you make a menu or what? Staff up a kitchen? We renting out a food truck or something? What's Maeve O'Brien's master plan for bringing this ruddy ancient establishment into the twenty-first century?"

#c:maeve #maeve 001

carmyrodriguez

these chance encounters had been so far and few between for him as of late that the raw earnestness of it took him by surprise. he felt like an asshole, really, for even thinking that he was tired of being recognized, tired of wondering what someone new wanted from him, tired of having to zero in on intentions with the speed of a goddamn cheetah. those were just a part of the parcel he'd spend so much of his life working for. but unless danny was incredibly skilled at hiding something, or he'd hit his head hard enough in the wipeout to notice ulterior motives, the ease of this exchange was like gulping in a lungful of fresh air after being forced underwater for a few wave-crashes too many. his entire body felt properly oxygenated again, like the colors of the world around him got just a touch more vibrant.

maybe that was just what happened when two passionate people came to the table open enough to talk about what made the world tilt on its axis for them, but whatever it was, carmelo thought he could get used to it. "what does intense cooking competition look like? i'm just seeing big flames like iron chef style in my mind and somehow i don't think that's quite right," he asked, laughing a little sheepishly at his own lack of grounded knowledge in the area. but somehow he didn't think danny would mind being the one with the lion's share of the knowledge in this arena.

carmy pulled a water bottle from his own bag along with a liquid IV and tore open the small pouch, dumping the powder into the bottle while she set the aloe between them. he nearly choked on the small cloud of powder that plumed from the top of his water bottle with laughter at her comment on complexion, knowing his deeper skintone was even more apparent in the depths of summer like this. "that is....definitely a problem i've avoided," he said, wiping a mirthful tear from his eye.

"yes!" he agreed emphatically again, finding a ballooning feeling in his chest at her encouragement to continue. he was far too used to editing himself for others, for the press, per his publicist's request. he couldn't quite recall the last time his bubbling love for the way he believed everyone was part of the same cosmic ecosystem in a tangible way was desired. or, maybe he could, but the way it had ended made him want to forget. "it's just so easy to get caught up in a bunch of stuff that doesn't matter. and i realize i sound like a huge stoner, which i'm not, nothing against it just can't take much of the stuff myself, but that connection is. like. what it's all about. it's the only thing that really matters, at the end of the day. and i wish it wasn't so easy to lose."

He struck her as someone who had been shackled at the spiritual hands and feet - something she didn't attribute to him out of pity, but rather a sense of freedom, a newness about the light in his eyes. Ten minutes of conversation had shifted something, perhaps it was the baptism by tidal wave. But she'd been around people who had compartmentalized enough that she could spot them when their hearts would sheepishly emerge - just a peek, like a mouse from a field in the daylight. No hawks here, her eyes said, it's safe to play.

Even his admission in his gaps of knowledge was refreshing. Nobody knew everything, least of all the narrow world of fine dining competition. Danny grinned, willing to battle the imposing sunlight to watch his expressions change. "It's not not like that," she chuckled, "but they all wear the big white toques like the cartoons. It's set up where each country gets their own kitchen in this arena-style setting, there's a live audience cheering and music playing, so it's all sensory overload. All the while you've got five and a half hours to prepare two enormously elaborate presentations of a meat dish and a fish dish, and it's just a chef on their commis. It's the kind of high-end cooking where you use cloths to make the perfect edge of the sauce on the plate and you garnish a single herb with tweezers."

Danny felt rather like a life vest - when he spoke, it was as if he was breaking free of the water all over again, happy to stay afloat this time. His words bubbled out like they had been trapped in his lungs, and she wondered if this sort of conversation was new, frightening, or both. Her mouth twisted off to the side in a bitty wry grin, a shrug lifting weight off the topic. "Maybe that's what it's all about," she mused. "If we were totally connected to it all the time, we'd forget all about being human. And that's part of the experience, too - things like exercise and food and sunshine - sunburn." A wink. "If we hadn't wanted know what it was like to forget, to be really human and flawed and forgetful, we wouldn't have chosen to take on a body. We'd never leave the tunnel."

#c:carmy #carmy 001

wb-javiacosta

He couldn't help but notice her shifting the bags, but then his attention was on her as he listened to her speak, and Javier grinned. A love for seafood and one-pot meals? "I couldn't agree more. There's nothing better than a simple, but flavorful, one-pot meal." Cooking for someone is a way of showing you care, and it doesn't have to be overly complicated or artistic in his view—just good. Plus, he cared about what he ate, and making something from scratch and knowing what was in it made him feel good, too.

"Do you need help with your bags?" he asked. It felt rude to watch her carry so much without at least offering to help. He nodded back as she assured him they would, and he was happy for her. For someone he'd known so briefly, someone whose name he didn't even know, Javier had really enjoyed talking to her. "Yeah, we're pretty close," he said. Sure, they fought sometimes, but Javier wouldn't deny that he generally looked forward to the family dinners.

"Yes, it's a seafood stew, and yeah, I'm Brazilian," he replied, chuckling lightly, amused that something so simple had made her so excited. He didn't know what fate had brought them together today, but Javier was convinced something had. "I could drop some off at your work tonight if you want? A firm white fish, like cod or halibut, is always good, but I also really like it with shrimp—that's what I was thinking of making today. Then there are the vegetables like bell peppers, onion, and tomatoes. Garlic and seasonings, and you can't forget the coconut milk. Traditionally, it's made with dendê oil, also known as red palm oil, which totally adds a unique flavor, but I have found a simple substitute for it that I use often instead." He realized he'd been rambling and paused briefly before he added, "I'm Javi, by the way."

The offer to help was not unwelcome, more of a question of which one to hand over. Danny scoffed, adjusting the moderate ones onto her stronger shoulder, unassuming but confident in offering him one on the heavier side. "Thank you," she chuckled, "I won't make you stand here with it, though. We can take it back to my car, unless you had your eye on buying something right away." His reticence about his family - or, at least, diversion from offering more - seemed less strategic and more habitual. A shrug, a brush off, emphasizing how normal his family must have been. She didn't press the matter.

His offer to play delivery man made her smile, and she shrugged in a way that felt wide open to the possibilities. "I would love to try some if you want to come by." She nodded along with his descriptions, mind flipping through the endless backlog of knowledge and training as he walked her through his family's recipe. "Mmm," the sound came from both the hungry and satisfied part of her belly, excitement drummed up at the mention of the dish's distinctive qualities, "I remember learning about dendê oil in our Indo-Afro cuisine segment, it's so deliciously spicy and complex. I remember thinking it would go weirdly well with chocolate." Her brows perked up, suddenly alive with ideas. "I could probably get you some, if you'd like. I'm sure we've got connections at the restaurant, it can't be that hard to find. I'll see if I can have it ready for you when you drop in." Finally, after what seemed like they'd known each other for lifetimes long forgotten and at last stumbled across each other in this one, she got his name, and remembered her manners. "I'm Danny. It's really nice to meet you, Javi."

#c:javi #javi 001

clubrevenant

bex’s mouth curved slow at that, a shape caught somewhere between a smirk and something sharper. “sugar melts in the rain, liadan,” she murmured, voice dipping low enough to drag against the floorboards, “but trouble? trouble just tracks mud through the house and asks for seconds.” her eyes held, steady and deliberate, even as liadan’s fingers curled around hers like they had every right to be there. the palm-up reveal didn’t startle her; if anything, it felt like an invitation she’d been expecting. she let the moment stretch, knuckles resting in the cradle of liadan’s hand, the rough edges of her life laid bare in a way she rarely allowed. “receipt dye’s just the surface,” bex said, thumb brushing once across liadan’s wrist, slow as a match strike. “you start reading the rest, you’re gonna find stories that don’t end neat.” her gaze was heat and shadow both, unflinching, the kind that didn’t just meet someone in the middle — it pulled them in. liadan’s talk of storms earned her a quiet laugh, not mocking, but threaded through with that low hum of recognition. “thing is,” bex said, tilting her head, “rain’s fine, but i’ve got a taste for lightning. and you walked in here carrying it like a secret.” the jukebox rolled into another track — something dirt-slick and blues-heavy — and bex shifted just enough to close the last inch between them, the air now thick with bourbon breath and the faint scent of fryer oil from a day’s work. “good versus better,” she echoed, letting the words taste themselves on her tongue before offering them back. “i don’t do second place either, sweetheart. so if you’re sittin’ here, drink in hand, looking me dead in the eye and tellin’ me you never leave a glass half full…” she tapped her own tumbler gently against liadan’s, the sound small but certain. “…then i guess we’re gonna find out who finishes first.” and she didn’t lean back. didn’t break the line they’d drawn between them — just let it hum there, alive and electric, daring one of them to make the next move.

The sound of her name dropped like a pebble in clear water, rippling out into each cell and waking her insides. Not a curse, but a summoning - something that had only ever been given to her, not asked of her. "You're only making your case for being the trouble stronger," she lilted, equal parts poetry and tease. "Chefs always have seconds waiting in the kitchen. Sweets and the lot up to ninety." With the weight of Bex's hand in hers, she found herself examining each ink stain along the edge of a finger, all the ways her nails could have been chipped and painted over a thousand times, every crosshatch in the language of her palm. Worker's hands, unafraid of ice or flame. "I can't wait to read those," said like she had the stories waiting on a night table at home, entitled to their pages. Or maybe she'd read them already, eager for a twist, a surprise end. Her eyes lifted, and she noted that she'd been watched in her trance. A smile crept along her lips, the realization coming in like lavender honey on her tongue. "Stories rarely wrap themselves up with a bow. That's why they need authors." As if she were part of the soundtrack itself, Bex moved when the music shifted - closer now, the lean in over a simmering pot, the one that happened right before a hot spoon was brought to lips, a taste surrounded by steam and fire. "Carrying lightning like a secret?" A breath eased out of her that settled her deeper into her bones, the breakdown of an old suit of armor. "You'll have to explain to me what that one means, I think." The sound of glasses touching tolled a bell, an end, or perhaps a beginning. In one motion, unbreaking in her gaze, Liadan finished off her drink. Ends of noses like wings of a butterfly, fluttering but never touching. Drawn in by nectar and rain. "At the risk of siphoning off this moment at the neck," she murmured, voice coming from the belly of the volcano, low and pitted not from shame or worry, but to keep them hovering on the buzz between them, a wire of electricity against a dark sky; Liadan felt around Bex's palm with tender, deft fingers, drawn out circles and spirals that left breadcrumbs to follow, "I would never forgive myself for disrespecting you if I didn't ask if you were involved with anyone. Before inviting you home with me."

#c:bex #bex 001

"That sounds great for you, and I don't mean that sarcastically. Like, I'm glad that you enjoy the drawing board part. I do sometimes, but, just like with anyone probably, I don't always like when things change." Sarah said, shrugging her shoulder. Especially because she wanted things to change back.

"Okay good! I didn't want to accidentally get you smearing on war paint and going to attack the brewery. I mean, I'm glad you have a sense of humor about it, or at least your Grandad does. I'm sure family get togethers have a lot of teasing" Sarah said with relief. She wasn't stupid, but history like that wasn't her strong suit. She would've felt awful if she'd accidentally insulted Danny or her family.

"Yeah, I don't know. That is something I've always been more sure of. I wasn't like, obsessed with babies or anything, but I know it's something I want to do. I want the companionship and the children to follow." She just had to hope that whoever she married was a bit more serious than she was, because she didn't think she could handle potty training. "Me too! And if they have a sibling, I'll give them your phone number." She agreed, laughing on the couch. "Um, I'm a lawyer ma'am, I always shake hands when making deals. It's how I get you later in court." Sarah grabbed one of the blankets, draping it across her legs, curled up next to her. She took the wine bottle from Danny so she could grab the dessert. "Ooh, forget anyone else, I'll marry you for some tiramisu!"

"Change is hard," the old platitude fell from her lips with no less sincerity than if she had admitted she loved when the wind took things in a random direction. Life going awry was exactly the nature of life. It was all there was, what else could be expected other than transformation? "Especially if what we're longing for is too far ahead of us or too far behind us."

Sarah described her future in a way that allowed Danny to consider what sort of experience she might be looking for - and here, in her company. A bottle of wine and a meal gone, a handshake and talk of children. It was a curious set of events that she couldn't help but smile about to herself. "See? You've got more of it figured out than you give yourself credit for. I'm thirty and not staring down the barrel of kids anytime soon. We all have our own pace."

"That's all it takes, is it?" she laughed, returning with the tray in one hand and plates and forks in the other. "I'd say I don't want to brag, but I do," she added, setting the fixings down on the coffee table and carving out a lush, wide piece for her companion, "this is my signature dessert. I'm proud to say I've mastered the delicate balance of the coffee liqueur, ladyfingers, and mascarpone. There will be the subtlest hint of alcohol lingering off the back of the coffee flavour, and the rest is light as air."

#c:sarah #sarah 001

Sarah grumbled a little but nodded her agreement. She could pay for dinner or drinks or something with Danny soon. Eventually they'd just have a back and forth, forgetting when it even started. That was the beauty of friendships. "Hey, there is nothing wrong with a creative pursuit that keeps your hands busy. Otherwise I'll just be staring blankly at my tv. But I can look into other stuff. Maybe something athletic. I could get into tennis again. I've played a few times."

"What's with the small thinking? Last time we spoke, you were all about going big and doing something that left your mark on your life and within your family." Not that there was anything to be ashamed of in the world of arts and crafts, and perhaps it was Danny's own bullheaded personality that felt the need to insist others' dreams upon them. Making good on things she spoke of wanting, dreaming of, had been a seamless sequence of events in her life. Perhaps it wasn't so easy for others - or, perhaps they weren't quite so competitive. "You've got good momentum going with the whole 'dream big' thing - what's holding you back from just going for it?"

carmyrodriguez

at danny's acknolwedgement, carmy just shrugged. he knew, and there were days where it haunted him until he closed his eyes at night, but she didn't need to know all that. besides, the kindness in her tone let him rest a little easier here and now. she'd seen something behind those words and chose not to dig deeper. another point in the this girl kind of rocks column. the interaction was young, but carmy had to admit, danny was racking the points up quickly.

"culinary olympics sounds kind of terrifying. the fire power alone," he said, pulling his knees to his chest and forming a table with his arms to rest his head on, turning it to give her his full attention. not that it was hard. carmelo had always loved watching people talk about the things they loved. it brought something out in a person, something sacred. the things someone truly loved, the hard-won passions that they developed on their own, that anchored them when the flimsy charade of things-you-like-because-people-you-like-like-them had long since flitted away on the wind? that was the stuff he lived for.

"sounds like you're more than a hobbyist, there," he added, but left it open, more of a door for her to walk through than a closed statement. if she wanted to keep talking about it, he was more than happy to continue listening. hell, he might even learn something, as he wasn't much of a whiz in the kitchen himself.

carmy waved off the offer of aloe gently. "nah, it's all good for now. i appreciate it, though," he added with a soft nod. "gotta admit, i don't know many people who just carry aloe around."

and, just like that, it was his turn to have that internal shine pull through. yes. she got it. or at least had her own point of reference strong enough to connect the dots. surfing was like church to him, the waves his own religion. there were times when his life was truly in shambles (so, pretty frequently over the last year or so if he was being honest) where the only thing that could keep him from losing himself to the spiral was the focus a stormy wave required, the necessity of being fully present to beat the barrel to the end.

"yeah, yes!" he said excitedly, "like don't get me wrong, i love a good nature walk or a mountain hike but this is just. there's no halfway. you have to fully be there, you have to be willing to give up as much control as you're trying to take or you're gonna have a bad time. makes me feel actually connected to everything." aaaaand now he was rambling. he flushed a little and looked down at the sand with a small shrug. "it's just a cool feeling, is all."

#c:carmy #carmy 001 #um i think they're the most adorable thing ever probably???

To anyone who didn't know her, she probably sounded like a madwoman every time the conversation even brushed up against the topic of food. A frenzy of expertise and delight took hold of every inch of her, lightning in a bottle, until it crept out of each word, every fingertip, anywhere it could make waves. But his posture changed - knees in, arms up, head down, turned, seeing her - and a balm spread over her worried heart. A rare early investment, seemingly not only in what she had to say, but her experience of it. Most people brushed it off as might as well be speaking another language, because she was - but the light that shone in his eyes seemed to say I'd like to be bilingual.

His joke earned a chuckle, and she shook some fallen ends of hair out of her eyes, setting the book down beside her. "It's the highest accolade a chef could hope for," she nodded. "Competition's intense. Only the best of the best even get to that level, let alone compete. It's a global cuisine phenomenon." In a similar way, Danny found herself curling up, heels in, arms low, resting her cheek on her knees to keep the sunlight from interrupting her gaze on him. "Mm-hmm. I'm a chef."

When he dismissed the offer, she sent him a flattened look through the shelf of her brow, skeptical but tolerant. She dug through the pouch in her bag anyway, and set it between them, a silent open offer. "Comes from being graced thirty years with the most Anglo complexion on the planet."

The universe projected through his eyes all at once. As if the sun, moon, and gods conjoined to overtake his nervous system, an undeniable soul connection to the way he felt about his craft. Instantly, Danny became infected, and turned her whole body toward him without a blip of a thought or touch of indifference. "No, no, don't stop," she chuckled, giving his arm an encouraging tap. "It's not just a cool feeling. That's how I feel in the kitchen. Everything connects on its own when you get into the flow. It's like a tunnel or a wormhole. You understand how the entire bloody cosmos work together because you're out of your conscious head and connected to whatever's up there - and to everyone else, it looks like you've just got the flavors right or plated something perfectly - or, found the right wave, or something."

maeveobrienbrews

maeve nearly spat out her drink when danny insisted she hadn't been sleeping with her boss. the younger cousin would never have actually assumed as much, but it was deeply entertaining and endlessly heartwarming to mess with her best friend like this. spending time together again, so familiar and so natural, she could almost pretend that they would walk out of those doors and paris, or madrid, or belfast, or the yard, or amsterdam would greet them instead of the sometimes-suffocating streets of windsor bay.

"me thinks the lady doth protest too much," maeve choked out between laughs before shaking her head vigorously and holding up her hands in surrender. "no, i know, i know. although sometimes a silver fox doesn't hurt. but then how would you ever know if he was complimenting your technique or so pussy-whipped he couldn't see straight?" she arched an eyebrow slyly at her cousin, a brilliant grin consuming her facial features in short succession.

"god, i've missed this. i'm so glad you're here," she finally said after a moment, sincerity so rich in her tone that there was no chance of danny missing it. "us drinking and taking the piss, you waxing poetic about chefdom in a way that genuinely makes me think i might be able to tackle more than mac and cheese someday. you do know that, right? the way you talk about cooking is goddamn inspiring. and i feckin love every minute of it."

Growing up, their back and forths were always of a similar variety to this moment. Danny, however loud and full of life, was simply no match for Maeve's free-spirited valor. She'd always been the more cautious one, the straight-laced one, the voice of reason among chaos, the one that threw punches for defense and vengeance rather than justice or fun - whereas her cousin was like the lit end of a firecracker, unpredictable in the sanest of environments. And yet, somehow, they always managed to get one another simultaneously into and out of trouble, cause the most ruckus at family parties, find ways to raise the stakes on any given occasion. Danny didn't just feed off Maeve's energy - she lapped it up off the floor, ravenous.

"Babes, that's exactly the idea," she replied with a smart toss of her hair over a shoulder. "All compliments and worship should create a mysterious Venn diagram between food and fucking. That's basically the theory of evolution in a nutshell."

In the way only Maeve could, the conversation turned on a heel, all but giving Danny a most satisfactory form of whiplash. The tenderness of her tone left no room for quips or teasing. In fact, she found it hard to match the depth of it at all - not because she didn't want to, but because Maeve's heart was simply richer. Instead, a practical woman if nothing else, Danny reached across the table and took her hand, unspoken, knowing. "We're not allowed to live on different continents anymore," she agreed. "You don't even need to learn how to cook - you're the beer master. You can appreciate all our family's legacies in a way I just can't - or don't want to." She winced, only half-ashamed to admit it. "We're two sides of the same coin, love. And it's our time to take the helm of the O'Brien ship. You'll be the captain and I'll be your first mate. Together we're rule the fucking world."

#c:maeve #maeve 001

#all good to end here!#next time we can plonk them in a more active environment #c:jack #jack 001

She couldn't help the snort that emerged when he replied, quick as a whip, giving his hand a respectful, firm shake. People's curtness rarely rattled her - she'd just come off a twelve-hour shift of kitchen chaos and shouting, simple answers and dismissal was hardly a poison in her system. Danny grinned, shrugging her mouth. "Whatever version you like, mate." Still, she couldn't quite place him - she hadn't needed a mechanic in her time here, and had made a point to establish her own grounds before venturing out too far in her new life. She made a mental note to ask her dad at some point. At his brush-off, a short pop of laughter made it out, and she shook her head. "Aye, grand. Sure look, Shooter's'll give the whole lot a good time. They've got a heavy hand behind bar." Whether it was to mirror his posture or to simply fold, she pocketed her hands and took a few steps backward, gently turning her body toward the bar to make her way for a well-earned pint. "Invite's open, Long Name Mechanic. Thanks again."

acosting

"Jack." Plain, unassuming, and not necessarily helpful until she paired it up with the autoshop part, but it was a hell of a lot simpler to say than Jacinto Alonso Acosta Silva. Truthfully, unless it was someone like a religious official, Jack doubted that anyone outside of his family even remembered that he had two last names. Her laugh made his mouth twitch, a reply smile threatening his features at her easy response. "The kind of hand that makes sure that even if you have a bad night, you don't remember it?" He asked, tone making it difficult to tell if he was joking or not. "Well, if it's open… then maybe next time. Enjoy your beer and have a good night." Jack told her politely, inclining his head as he went to move past her. She seemed fine and if she happened to drink too much, hopefully that bartender in there was also the kind that knew how to call a cab at the end of the night so that she wasn't left walking home alone.

"Oh Danny, you don't have to do that, I can pay. I invited you after all." Sarah protested. Obviously she knew that when you invited people to birthday things, they usually paid for the birthday person, but Sarah knew that the pedicure wasn't the cheapest. "At least let me cover the tip." She added, one of the workers pouring them water. The spa water here had cucumber and lemon in it and it was so refreshing. She clinked her glass of still next to Danny's sparkling. The hot water on her feet and calves was so wonderful and she knew she'd be able to dance all night. "Honestly, I'm not sure yet. That's a question for tomorrow. I definitely want to travel more, I love it so much. I think I want to start a new hobby, I don't know which though. Something where I'm making something. Like painting or crochet."

"Aye, but it's your birthday! Birthday girls don't pay. House rules." Money was something she rarely ruffled over. Jobs paid, money came; she had safely banked a career that demanded much and returned the same in kind. A single pedicure wasn't going to put her out. And more still, she wanted to - generosity was a gift, and she practiced its delivery as often as she could. The tap of their glasses together punctuated the afternoon, like the chipper toll of a Barbie bell. "Boooriiiiing," she sang playfully, pretending to rock fast asleep, a fake snore to boot. "That's your big plan for your next year? Crochet? Babes, we've got to get you out more."

clubrevenant

she watched her with the kind of stare that didn’t blink — the kind that didn’t just see a person, but ran a thumb over every edge just to know what might cut. liadan’s laugh settled into her bones like a favorite sin, too familiar too fast. “a treasure hunter,” she echoed, slow and thoughtful, the corner of her mouth curling like smoke. “maybe so.” her voice was a little rougher now, bourbon-soaked and dipped in something older than flirtation — a kind of worn-out reverence reserved for trouble that felt too good to resist. she let the title linger between them, didn’t bat it away. “but i don’t go digging unless i think what’s buried might be worth the blood.” the words weren’t a warning. they were a confession, pulled from somewhere under the skin — where instinct lived and regret grew teeth. she didn’t flinch when liadan topped off her glass. just watched the pour like it was ritual, ancient and precise. bex’s fingers curled around the drink with a kind of quiet possession, nails chipped, knuckles ink-stained. someone who’d earned her vices and wore them like old jewelry — tarnished, beloved, and still gleaming under the right light. “lucky for me,” she murmured, her gaze flicking up beneath lashes that weren’t made for innocence. “a girl who knows her way around a bottle and a kitchen. now that’s dangerous.” she took a sip — slow, deliberate. let it linger on her tongue like a name she wasn’t done with. then leaned in, elbows on the bar, face a little closer, voice low and certain. “thing is… i’m not the kind who chases. not really. too many ghosts in the rearview, and i already know how that ends.” her smile flickered, brief and worn at the edges. “but you walked in here like a storm, and i’ve been thirsty ever since.” bex didn’t touch her. didn’t need to. she let the air between them do the work — thick with bourbon and heat and possibility, that soft, electric hum of maybe. she glanced toward the far end of the bar, then back again. “they’ll manage without me for a while,” she said, tapping her glass against liadan’s in a quiet toast, “and i’m startin’ to think you’re the kind of trouble worth losing tips over.” the jukebox spun something with a slow rhythm and a dirt-road heart. bex let the music settle into her spine, her posture easy, shoulders loose. “so,” she said again, softer now, words dipped in the kind of invitation that didn’t come with strings — but might still tangle, just the same, “you stayin’, then? or you gonna disappear before the glass runs dry?” she didn’t smile this time. just looked. like she already knew the answer, but wanted to hear her say it anyway.

#danny!core #danny!instagram

Her voice wrapped around her wrists, her throat, a tourniquet made of silk and embers. To stop the knock of her pulse against her neck or to play it at her own rhythm, mindful and deliberate. The bourbon took hold of the edges of her vision, a beat that lasted no longer than a breath - the wear of a twelve-hour shift covered in fond from the frying pan all over her, a belly devoid of anything but booze and hunger. Not for food, not exactly, but a feast. "Who says you have to dig?" she proposed, a tilt of her head so innocent and bathed in curiosity, it might have been misconstrued as detachment, were it not for the heavy flutter of her eyelids, the way her mouth didn't all the way close, as if to keep the question forever open, unanswered. A doorway that needed no invitation to walk through. She watched - studied - the way Bex's fingers wrapped around the glass, smudged, a secret in plain sight. Danny knew a person's humanity didn't live in their eyes. It was in the hands - the touch, the aches, the callous, the stains. "Dangerous," the word left her as a ghost, neither committing to taking on a body nor denying its effect. She moved thoughtlessly, tenderly, and reached to peel back Bex's hand like a rose petal from the stem. To touch was to see. She breathed in, turning her palm up and cradling the soft bend of each knuckle, warm and measured. "And are you a writer? That can't all be receipt dye." Bex leaned in then, and Danny felt closer to the hearth of a fireplace, breathing in smoke and light. "I told you, love," she replied, a mirror, the space between them level, no flavor of threat or deceit on her tongue, "you don't have to. Dig or chase, nothing's running away from you." A sip, another dare card played in the game, a pulse against the wrap around her throat. "If you're thirsty in a storm, go outside and open your mouth to the rain." Spoken as an offer, an answer. Not meant to dismiss or deter. Finally, threads of a smile at the ends of her lips, pressing together the corners of her eyes so it painted across her whole face. "What happened to being like sugar? Now I'm the trouble - if it's me standing in the way of good versus better, you oughta tell me now. I don't like coming second." Her words plaited possibilities into a web - where risk and reward mingled and bled, desire and doubt wandered along the same route. Still, she knew she didn't want to go home. Not yet. "I never leave a glass half full." Where Bex leaned back, Danny doubled down - forward, to taste, to sample, to indulge. "Good appetite and all."

#c:bex #bex 001

Sarah held back a giggle as Danny reacted to the squiggly feeling of a pedicure. Even an old hat of the procedure like her got ticklish. "I think that's very pretty. It matches them perfectly and every time you look down at your feet, you'll feel happy." She pointed out, flipping through the little book of all the nail polish colors. "Right? I wear open toed shoes all the time, so I might as well make the view fun. I'll do these please." She agreed, pointing out the colors she wanted to the technician. She had more toes than colors in the rainbow but she'd add a few for fun. "Oh you're welcome! This is such a treat for me too! I love this sort of thing, but doing it with a friend is always more fun. You deserve to be pampered every now and then. Do you want something to drink? They have spa water here, bubbly or still."

Even as someone who had never quite been deemed a tomboy, Danny had never quite fit the mold of a girly-girl either. Her style was a mishmosh of eclectic tastes and disjointed preferences, ranging from classic to edgy. And Sarah was right - it was a unique sort of delight to peek down at her wee toes and see the green buds wiggling round. She flashed her a grin, sitting up in the chair that had been massaging out her knots for a good twenty minutes already. "And it's on me, by the way," she passed her a wink, "tip and all. Call it a birthday gift." At the offer of spa water, whatever that might be, Danny's eyes lit up. "Ooh, bubbly, please," she gently tapped her hands together in miniature excited applause. As she settled back down in the seat, indulging in the feel of the scrub and the aroma that wafted up, carried by the steam of the foot bath, she sighed, her head turning on a relaxed neck to see her friend. "Whole year older, hey. What's on the docket for the next one? Any goals, achievements? Weird things you wanna tick off the ol' bucket list?"

"Yeah, I get that. I mean, can you even ever have it all figured out? Life constantly changes, so your ideas have to change with it. I guess you could have one part figured out, but it something happens, back to the drawing board baby!" Sarah mused, wiping some sauce away from her mouth. The dish wasn't particularly messy, which she appreciated. Granted Sarah could get down with a rack of ribs, but sometimes you didn't want that.

"That makes sense. I can understand if your family's legacy isn't what you wanted, but you still liked parts of it so you found a compromise of sorts. It's so wonderful that you were given the space to discover that, and you've become a success. I'm sure your parents are really proud of you." She said sincerely, before a joke bubbled on her tongue. "So are you the part Irish that hates your part British self, or are you the part Irish that really hates your part British self?" Hopefully she didn't just offend her host.

"Of course I do! I wouldn't ask something of my partner that I wouldn't ask of myself. That's just hypocritical. I know I want to get married and have a kid or two. I know I want to keep working but eventually maybe switch to staying at home. That part I'm willing to see what happens." She explained, running her hands through her hair. "Sure yeah. They find out my family has money and suddenly it's 'Can you pay for dinner tonight? I forgot my wallet. Oh, you can cover this, right? We'll have Sarah drive us, she has the nicest car and can afford gas. Sarah, you can get us in this place, right?' No one just wanted to have a quiet night in and watch a fucking movie. Once they knew who I was, it was partying with alcohol and shopping sprees all the time. I like that stuff, but not constantly." Sarah grabbed Danny's hand and shook it firmly. "Amen to that! Let's have some dessert and check out how comfy your sofa is. I saw it when I came in and it looks lovely."