#theladyoneill

[timesbeyond]

@the-lady-oneill

     “You said your name was WHAT, again?” Could never be too well careful with lookalikes. Could be a rather tricky Zygon, or amnesia. Amnesia was not something she was a fan of. Terribly obnoxious, that.

[snowdrenched]

@the-lady-oneill

Genie had not known where to go after that night, the night where everything had been falling apart, the night where she had left. I want to be with my children, she had told Micheleine as the sound of the rebels neared, the bombs closer. Oolio has left you, we need to leave. She had tried to take the woman with her, the best friend she had despised for thirty-five years, she had tried to take with her, loyal to the end, but she had been unmoved. And then the threat, the veiled threat, just as it had been with her husband five years ago. 

And so she had left. Taken the girl with her, the translator, Gilma, the one who touched everything. Stole everything. Her bag and pockets were full and Micheleine’s shoes were in her hands when she climbed into the car.

But after that, she had not known where to go, did not know where to find her sons, they had never given an address and so she tried to contact them, to find them, and now she was here, where she knew Ultana lived, remembering when they had spoken, when she had visited. It felt another lifetime ago, and she felt worried and ridiculous on the doorstep, dwarfed by the residence, still in her green dress. waiting, hope she was right to do this, waiting for someone to arrive, to let her in, to take her to the woman, a woman who might be a friend still.

[thehousebrady]

The Brady house was rarely empty on weekends. When one parent was gone, the other usually took the opportunity to bring over friends, lovers, or business partners while their spouse was out of the way. On those rare occasions when they didn’t have guests over, it was still far from being a peaceful study space for Treasa and  Finley. Either their parent, mum or dad (it was all the same), was in a good mood and decided to attempt some family bonding time or they were in a bad mood and  targeting anything that moved, breathed, or made a sound.

Occasionally both parents were gone. Treasa usually brought boys over. Finley didn’t like to be in the house for that. It was hard to focus on her maths homework when her sister was across the hall studying anatomy. 

But today... today Finley was blissfully all alone. Dad was out shopping, Mum was working overtime, and Treasa was out with some classmates. No one would be  home for another two hours. Finley didn’t mean to waste a second of it. 

She settled down on the living room sofa, back to the arm rest, textbook propped up by her knees, and she got to work. 

Two hours. Or it should have been. After only twenty minutes, Finely heard the door open. She looked over her shoulder to the entryway expecting to see a family member, but instead it was that red-haired what’s-his-name her sister was dating this month. 

            She stopped learning their names ages ago.

“Treasa’s not home.”

[kiteshx]

It was one of those parties where Emma would have liked to retire to her room once everything was set in motion. Tancredi was hosting a business dinner, and most of the people in attendance spoke languages she didn’t and were talking numbers, anyway. Dinner had been served, and now it was dessert and coffee-- and by now she’d like to be in  something comfortable, curled up in bed.

Instead she was here, sitting across from Rori while the older woman  insisted that she wait a moment so Rori could introduce her to someone. Then, she got up and left.

She’s the daughter of an old friend, Emma. You’ll love her. Just one minute.

So, obediently, Emma waited with one ankle tucked behind the other, fingers worrying at her wedding ring. 

Finally, Rori threaded back through the crowd with her hand on the arm of a woman who looked about Emma’s age, with the prettiest hair she’d ever seen.

“Emma, this is Ultana O’Neill. Her husband’s Hugh O’Neill-- a very important politician in Ireland!” she stressed, then, she spoke  something to the other woman in English. Emma heard her name. She stood and gave the other woman a shy smile and a nod.

“Hello.”

[thehousebrady]

It’s 2 AM on a Wednesday night and Finley can’t sleep. Her dad was in one of his moods – the throwing-plates-and-hitting kind rather than the crying-on-the-kitchen-floor or giggling-over-a-bottle-of-wine sort he got into whenever he drank (which was often). She didn’t want to be home when he was like that, no one did really. Her mum locked herself up in her own room and her sister’d gone over to her boyfriend’s house. She asked him if her little sister could tag along, but all Finley could catch of that conversation was that it would ruin the mood or something along those lines. Finley hates all her sister’s boyfriends. 

So here she is, 2 AM at the nearest 24-7 cafe. The night crew recognize her by now. It’s been a couple months since she started coming here a few times a week, always after midnight, but before dawn. 

She takes a seat at her favorite spot, a little table by the window, orders some coffee, and takes out a book to help pass the time until morning.