Bonabelle Row
July 18, 2020 9:11 PM
Not what I would have asked for. by Bonabelle Row
Bonabelle left Sonora with her uncle, which was not as weird as she'd thought it Maybee would be. Over the course of the term, they'd had fairly regular meetings with tea, which had been enough to show Bonny precisely why her uncle and her father didn't get along that well. Sure, they were close in a lot of ways, but it had been over a decade since they'd spoken before their meeting in Tumbleweed, so Bonabelle had to assume that it was a new closeness. Or a very old one.She didn't say anything to her uncle about the fact that they would not be going to London, but she didn't seem to need to; for all that Uncle Killian was reserved about his own thoughts and mostly hid them behind a grin, he did seem to know everything.
They arrived in Ireland, to Bonabelle's grandparents' house, and her father wasn't there yet. Bonabelle occupied herself with being doted on by her grandmother in particular, while her grandfather took Uncle Killian outside to go for a walk. Several days passed like that, except that sometimes Uncle Killian would come back without grandpa, or grandpa would come back without Uncle Killian. But grandma was always there. She even took Bonabelle to town to find a gift to send Valentine for the holidays. They settled on a hair pin, a stick and clip, with a Celtic knot on it. They sent that. Life continued. Finally, after too many days had gone by, grandma broached the topic that Bonabelle was too scared to ask about.
Sitting in the dining room, grandma with a crossword puzzle and Bonabelle with her transfiguration textbook, the two had been sitting in silence for some time before grandma put her paper down and took a breath. She always did that when she was going to say something she'd been thinking a lot about, and her glasses would slide down her nose when she moved her head. Then she'd remember they were there and take them off. When she had put them down and taken another breath, she would be ready to speak.
"Bonny--"
"Bonabelle."
"Bonabelle," grandma said, accepting the correction with only a sad twist of her lips. "We're trying very hard, but we haven't been able to find your dad. We didn't want to worry you, but we need your help. Do you know where your dad might go?"
Grandma had a nice accent. She sounded more like dad than Bonabelle did. She didn't use her nice account to give any platitudes or say everything would be okay, because anyone who knew Lorcan Row knew it might not be. So Bonabelle didn't cry when she shook her head, not knowing where her father might have gone.
Grandma only nodded, Bonabelle's answer seeming to have confirmed something for her. "I'm sorry, sweet girl."
Bonabelle shrugged. "It's not the first time he's gone away," she replied. Then, with a sigh, she pushed herself to her feet and looked out the window. "Uncle Killian and grandpa are coming back," she said, pointing outside. "Let's make them tea."
22
Bonabelle Row
Not what I would have asked for.
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Killian Row
July 18, 2020 9:27 PM
High and low. by Killian Row
CW: alcoholism, drug addiction, and antagonistic views on both of these subjects.Killian spent most of his time thinking about Marsh. Normally, he would have spent it thinking about his students, preparing this or that for them for the new term, but he hadn't managed it yet. In this case, he should have been thinking about his brother, but he couldn't manage it somehow. Every cracked-out hideaway, every secret corner where Lorcan might have been was a place that Killian now knew Marsh might have been once and the latter was much easier to feel sympathetic for. The latter hadn't abandoned his daughter.
It got harder to do as the rugged backstreets gave way to hospitals, rehab centers, and, eventually, jails. None of them featured a Lorcan Row, and none of them featured a John Doe who was appropriately thick-headed, idiotic, and crappy to make them think Lorcan was there. They did meet a fine few people Killian would have preferred not to meet though.
Eventually, they had to stop searching. There were no threads to follow, no paper trails to search. The flat that Lorcan had last lived in had since been rented to new tenants and anything left there had long since been disposed of. That was one nice thing about magic, and one reason it was so frustrating - disposal of previously owned goods was quick and very effective.
Killian was returning to the house with his father, Bonabelle and mum clearly visible in the window to the dining room ahead of them, when Killian's father muttered something that sounded like 'dumbass' and then burst into tears. Killian stopped, surprised, and turned to the older man.
"I tried to raise you both to be good men," he sniffled, clearly trying to stop himself crying. "And Lorcan just . . . I don't think I can give myself any praise for the man you turned out to be, when your brother turned out the way he did."
Killian rocked onto the balls of his feet, not sure how to respond. He and his father had never had a particularly demonstrative, affectionate relationship, although Killian had since learned how to be more expressive. As a result, he put one hand awkwardly on his father's shoulder.
"This isn't your fault," he said, a little more bitterly than he intended. "Lorcan made his own choices. He's always made his own choices."
His father nodded and sniffled once more, harder and clearly meant to put an end to things. They continued walking a moment and then Killian felt a hand return the gesture, landing firmly on his own shoulder. "I'm proud of you, son," his father said quietly.
The rest of their walk went on in silence, but that was just as well. Killian felt far too bittersweet to want to say much more, except to mutter a small gratitude at the compliment. It wasn't something he'd ever strived for because he hadn't had to. He wasn't the one who needed to work hard to do well. He was okay. Except that sometimes, he really wasn't very okay. He wondered what Marsh would think of all this.
22
Killian Row
High and low.
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