The town of Ballycotton was wet from a light misting rain that had just fallen. Seamus stood out on the docks, his hands gripping around his drenched red overalls. He squinted out on the horizon, watching his boat sway with the swift tide. It was a long day, and by the end of it his boots sloshed and squished whenever he moved. The smell of salty air mixed with fish hit him, making him smile gently. He had been fishing since he was ten, a hobby his father had influenced him to take up. He was a fisher too, and had died three years ago. They scattered his ashes into the bay, just like Seamus knew he would have wanted. Every day he was fishing, he felt some sort of warmth bundled up into his stomach. Like he was being watched by him. Now, he was weary and tired after catching three nets of snapper. His eyes turned, looking towards the sound of a bike bell chirping off.
Josephine tossed her hand into the air, her ginger hair flapping about in the chilly wind. Her face was goofy, showing signs of her obvious good day. Her scarf bundled close to her pale skin, she shivered slightly.
“Seamus! How is your fishing going?!” she called out, slowing down on her little blue vintage bike. He laughed, shrugging.
“You aren’t going to starve!” he waved back, watching her nod and then ride away.
In le book store ~
Ainslee sat in the store, her elbows propping her head up on the desk. A few customers had come in and out, but for the most part Saturdays were pretty slow. She inhaled the dry musty smell of dusty books. She had primped and cared for many a James Joyce, Willa Cather, and William Shakespeare that day. It would be the end of her shift at the front desk once Josephine arrived. But that girl was always late, and of course today was no exception . She had to stop and say hello to every person she saw on the way to work. O’mally’s book store sat humble between two tall pubs, awaiting her arrival. Soon the familiar dinging of the door bell rung, signaling the arrival of her coworker.
"Ay you gammy girl, you were supposed to be ten minutes ago!" she barked, rolling her eyes.
She grinned at her, shrugging after parking her bike inside the small break room.
"Sorry, don't mean to be acting the maggot."
Aspen stood, eying the tall slim flat in front of her. It was soft pastel blue, with dainty little white windows. She had just paid her first payment on it, looking to live in Ireland for five months. She already had the gingery spicy hair, and the pale skin that stretched over her bones. Her stomach and knees were speckled with freckles, and to match a shawl of them rode across her shoulders. She was bundled up in a collection of garments, her clothes slightly soaked from the sweet Irish rain. It smelled like a fresh sort of thing, and the apartment in front of her seemed to be as friendly and quite as she had been told. She grinned, stuffing her hands into her jean pockets before walking inside.
A Canadian by birth, Atticus had decided he wanted to go to Ireland. Out of nowhere. He just wanted to go. Shit happens. Maybe it was the fact that he seriously couldn't get away from his parents. Yeah, that was probably it. Wasn't that usually why people left places? To get away from their god awful families? No? Well, it was probably just him then. His family had always been really close knit, which was something that Atticus absolutely HATED. No one could do anything in his family without everyone knowing it was going on. So, he'd decided to up and leave. He'd moved to Ireland and made friends and now he owned a nice kind of flower shop that sold...cactus...and...Venus fly traps...and other...prickly...tropical flowers. And there was also that nice green house in the back that people liked to visit sometimes. Atticus just...like plants. Especially flowers and killer plants. It was cool to watch them.
He remembered once when he had been attempting to fish with Seamus and he'd brought along a Fly trap to see how it would do. He spent most of the time watching it eat the bugs that landed on it and more than once, Seamus had had to retrieve his fishing pole for him. Needless to say they hadn't done much fishing since then.
Friends. Yeah, that was the important thing. He'd made friends. Of course, he'd run into most of them (literally) when he was running up and down the stairs of the apartment building and had forced them to take a tumble down with him to the first landing. He'd made it up to them! Though he'd never make up for the fact that the to girls had seen his underwear (that was when he learned that he needed to wear pants outside, no matter how much he hated them). He closed up early today and was spending time in the pub that they all would meet up at sometimes, talking to random strangers about the spot on the ceiling that had been there for-fucking-ever.
Seamus was now walking down the sidewalk, the thin little line of bricks leading up a steep hill. His eyes beheld the pub he was fond of. He had changed out of his fishing boots and into his trust pair of converse. He could feel his squishy socks in his warm shoes, he hated that familiar sensation. It was like half cooked oatmeal soaked in cold milk. He ran his fingers over his stubble, coughing and sniffling a bit. He had been sick for the last few days, but he finally felt like he had a hold on his health.
The door of the pub came closer, the smell of bitter delicious ale met his nose and throat. He could just taste the dark beer in the back of his throat. There wasn’t anything a cold one couldn’t fix. He could see that Atticus was already sitting at the tall sturdy bar. Beers were scattered across to different patrons, but an empty spot lie next to his odd friend.
“Ay there Seamus! How’s it going you salty buck?!” the portly bar tender shouted, his big thick black beard crowding his face, and his cheeks puffed out. His chubby fingers had already began working on a glass for his favorite fisher.
“It’s quite alright, and mighty.” He assured the questioning ears. His fishing fed quite a few people in the town, as well as many other fishers. He now sat down next to Atticus, flashing him a smile.
“How goes it?” he asked, taking a sip of his dark black bitter brew.
Josephine sat, her head laying down on the counter. Nobody had walked in at all today, and on top of that Ainslee had accidentally forgotten to pack them a lunch. That was the little food they would get until they could close. A sound of hunger belched out from Josephine’s stomach.
“"Some dose getting chucked out of the pub the dudder night wasin it?" Ainslee asked, taking a peek at Josephine. She shrugged, unsure if she was even awake enough to move. The two had gone out drinking the night before, after all yesterday was a Friday. They had what you could safely say was quite the killer hangover.
“Well, and the sound of the lass next to us movin’ in her furniture didn’t help me sleep a peep.” Josephine added, groaning. Her pale freckled fingers now dug into her hair, tucking a lock out of her face. She sat up, glancing at Ainslee.
“So how is it with Mark?” she asked, running her eyes over the page of the book.
“Hmm? Oh,..we haven’t been talking for a while.” She admitted, frowning slightly. Her voice didn’t sound nearly as sad though, in fact she had rarely even brought him up these past few weeks.
Aspen gently slid the key into her ancient lock, and jammed her shoulder against the heavy white door. She grunted, jamming until it finally groaned and gave way to her new apartment. She sighed with relief, smoothing her shirt down again, finding her balance once again. She breathed in the smell of vintage floorboards and furniture. It was cozy,..and quite small. She wasn’t used to the crammed pack style Ireland had. Everything was sandwiched against each other, and build taller than she could fathom. The stereotype of beer was true, because she could watch the pub from across the street slowly crowd up with people. She chuckled, thinking of her friends back home who giggle at the thought of little drunk irish people running around beneath her house.
She turned, lugging in one of the last boxes of her belongings.
“What did I pack into here?! Rocks?!” she muttered between gritted teeth, she ran towards the nearest table. Finally, she sat it down, picking out picture frames and candles, vases and two small speakers.
“After all of this, I am going to need a drink.” She decided, staring at the rows and rows of boxes yet to be touched. She hadn’t realized how much shit she lugged along with her until she was staring at a colony of belongings. Her back hurt already just thinking of having to rearrange all of the furniture herself.
Atticus had been talking to someone who had apparently left, He looked over Seamus and smiled.
"Oh, hey. I was just telling my friend over here about how the photosynthesis of plants is-" he stopped, looking over at the stool to realize that the person had gone, "Well, he wasn't making for any sort of good conversation anyways." the Canadian huffed and took a drink of his beer, sighing. People seemed to get bored of him easily, and he knew it was because plants were almost the only thing he ever talked about. And...well...you know...he WAS a bit awkward...
"So how was fishing?"
"Pretty class, actually. I caught plenty, boss says I should be gettin' paid double." Seamus drank the last bit of his Guinness, turning his towards the bartender. The round man caught his longing eye, and nodded to him.
"Aye, a wee more of the black stuff." he asked, shoveling out some money and laying it down onto the glossy but worn bar. Seamus turned back towards Atticus with a sideways grin on his face, showing a bit of sympathy for the poor guy. Most people in Ireland were too simple minded for his tastes, and not in a stupid manor. They just liked to keep their conversations easy, and their work hard. It was easier to live that way on such a tiny plot of land where all you could do was fish, and drink.
"It seems we have got new neighbors, the eejit was making plenty of noise last night." He said, before yawning. He rubbed at his eyes, shaking his head slightly.
"Ooooof!" she yelped, tumbling over as she gave the box one last tug. She slammed her body against the couch, huffing and puffing now. Her hair had fallen into her face, making her fluff it out of her way with a shot of breath. It fluttered into the air, and landed back onto her face.
"What a day.." she muttered, realizing it had only been twenty five minutes or so of unpacking. Her fingers moved to her hair, brushing it out of the way now. Her eyes lingered on the remaining stack of boxes, shit did take a lot of effort. But surprisingly, she made quite a bit of progress. Her apartment now had a sofa, a coffee table which was covered in candles and a vase, as well as a television. But something caught her attention, hideous curtains. They were velvet and plaid all at the same time, and part of her began to gag with disdain.
"Those need to go." But alas, tomorrow was Sunday. Banks were all closed on Sunday, as well as stores. Hooray for a religious country. She tossed her head back, groaning loudly. She kicked her boots, and flailed her arms.
Ainslee watched as Josephine's lids slowly shut. Her whole body was sprawled out limply.
"You lazzy arse, you hardly did anything. I have been binding books since dawn." she flicked a paper ball at her, making the tired lump flinch and grumble back at her. She moved her head up, giving her a pleading look.
"Oh no, you are helping me move these back onto the shelf." she commanded, picking up a stack of Sherlocks and science fictions and shoving them her way. She rolled her eyes at her, folding her arms. She knew the girl was right, and quite stubbornly persistent. She took the stack, now shoving the books all back into the rightful place. It was tedious work, but somehow she enjoyed doing her work. Ainslee was there, and the smell of the books was comforting. They could horse around, since O'Mally hadn't been around lately. They would often blast music and dance around the library. Josephine could often be found sleeping on the library ladder, or even on the counter. It was a wonder that Ainslee didn't draw all over her face once or twice.
Nodding, Atticus rand a hand through his dark hair. He'd payed with cactus all day, and he supposed that wasn't at all interesting to his friend, though the man was probably going to be surprised when he saw the new plant specimens that had accompanied Atticus home that day. There was a little corner of their apartment that was slowly turning into some sort of weird little indoor garden. Whoever had moved in below them was going to be in for a real surprise. Atticus made a note to go visit them later or tomorrow and see if perhaps their apartment smelled of dirt. He wanted his room to smell like dirt...it was a nice smell. Dirt smelled...clean in the most odd sense of the word
"We'll have to go meet them." he said, nodding quickly, "Yes we will..." Atticus was just a deep down snoop. He liked to snoop and see what other people were doing. It was fun. No one ever expected him to nose about. He didn't look like the kind. This new neighbor of their's was going to be fun to snoop. Perhaps they'd be interesting conversation...Atticus was happy in Ireland, but it was just that there weren't many people who liked plants so much as to talk about them with him like he would have liked to. Plants where almost everything to him. So sometimes he was a little lonely.