It's Saint Patrick's Day. Have an Ireland, dear_mun.

[pledged_to_me]

...Aye lass, 'tis the day. Don't you be actin' like 'tis supposed to be happy I am, 'tis just markin' the one thousand and nineteenth year since he was passin'.

You're one of America's lot, aye lass? Aye you've the ancestry, and I must be thankin' your grandmother's side for fightin' for me in Ninety Eight, but 'tisn't your lot's way of rememberin' him drinkin' horrid green drink, dyin' rivers green, and pretendin' that everyone's Irish when really they're just as Irish as I am French? Not paradin' me pain 'bout for all to be seein', with music and stories and the postin'? Lass, you try me, aye you do.

[She takes a long drink from her flask] Rememberin' how last year I was tellin' you how you were to be havin' a proper drink then? And you werenae goin' through with it? Well this year I'm nay backin' down on it. If there's drink in the house, specially if 'tis Guinness, you're at least takin' a sip. You're havin' one of the biggest drinkers of the Nations on hand you're nay drinkin'? 'Tis somethin' odd 'bout that, lass.

And... please, be leavin' me to me own drink, me own sorrows needin' drownin'. I miss him lass, deep in me heart I'm missin' him, me light. Let me be rememberin' him in me own way, aye?

May your pockets be bein' heavy and your heart bein' always light.

--Brigid Erin Aine O'Donnell, Republic of Ireland

PS: ...'Tis that "meta" you're gigglin' 'bout over there? 'Tis worryin' me.

Comments

Life was getting in the way, sadly. You know how it goes, aye?

[pledged_to_me]

[She glances at him out the corner of her eye and takes another long draw from her flask.] The drink 'tis numbin', you should be knowin' that quite well.

And if I can be askin, me dear Francis, 'tis the "silver lining" in the death of the man I was spendin' the happiest years of me life with?

oh i sure do! being in france has more or less slaughtered my rp life

[france]

I know it well enough, but I find it in myself to use other methods of killing the pain. [ With a slight edge of condescension to his tone: ] Such as actually facing my problems instead of sitting in my misery.

[ Oh, that struck a chord with him. He bristles, then lowers his face, brows furrowing. ] The 'silver lining', ma chère Brigid, is that you are still alive to carry on their memory. And you should be grateful for that, instead of sitting around wishing you had shared the same fate. [ He spits out the next words: ] Do you think I do not know what it is like to lose someone I loved?

Oooh! How is it over there?

[pledged_to_me]

[She doesn't even have the energy to bother getting mad at him, instead swirling her whiskey around] Givin' meself this one day, Francis, this one day out of over three hundred to be lettin' meself be miserable. Hardly spendin' the whole year grievin'. [Anymore, anyway] Allowed it, I am.

[Oh... oh goodness she'd nearly forgotten... And that is what makes her soften her tone even further.] Aye, aye I'm knowin' you do. Aye, still 'round to be tellin' of him, rememberin' him, 'tis true. But... still missin' him. [She does quirk an eyebrow at him] Never recall sayin' I was wishin' I was with him, however.

[Well, not out loud]