@fiinalgiirls / eoin & maite! / olive branch bar, eoin’s being a little brat because his wife is mad at him, so he has to be mad at her, too.
the bar was actually bustling for a thursday evening, which half-surprised eoin and half-didn’t. he could’ve sworn most of the people inside he had never seen before, granted he hadn’t been home in almost twenty years, but they weren’t even vaguely familiar. of course none of his brothers were there, but the maccleans only frequented the howl or horse—the olive branch would be too rich for their blood. (their blood was his blood, did that mean he didn’t belong as well?) the faces pushing past him weren’t familiar to him, expect for one. his wife, maria teresa, the beautiful hostess that was bringing class to boot hill. she was exceptionally gorgeous, gregarious to the point of envy, a loving wife and mother, and yet... and yet he only felt anger looking at her then. didn’t help that there was a swath of men crowding her, men that knew she was married and most of them married themselves. he approached the little huddle of admirers around the piano in the corner, clearing his throat loudly. “did you plan on coming home tonight at some point, mighty?”