missingthekeep | New Year's Day [For Polly]

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New Year's Day [For Polly]

Happy bloody New Year.

Sean doesn't actually have a watch or anything on him, but the timing seems about right. He ducked out of the party at around half an hour to mignight, unable to stomach much more revelry, and while his ability to judge time might be a little bit skewed at the moment, he's pretty sure it should be close to the big moment. Half an hour is certainly time enough to polish off the bottle of whiskey he'd seen to take with him on his way back through the cold to his hut, and with one long, final swig, he does just that.

Drinking may dull the edge of the pain that's been gnawing at him like it hasn't in months, but there's only so much distraction it can possibly provide. As he leans over in his chair to set the empty bottle down on the floor (he almost just lets it fall, but figures he's not that much of a caricature just yet), he reaches into his pocket with his other hand to pull out the ring that he still doesn't know what to do with.

"Must cut a pretty pathetic figure right now," he mutters, words running together as he turns the ring around in his fingers. "Sorry, acushla. Fer everythin'."

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Well, time to put the cards on the table. I opened my mouth to say something like 'I demand an explanation', but the words died in my throat. To see him there, like this, made my heart ache, and words like 'why, Sean, why?' sounded trite.

I rubbed my forehead, then looked up at him. "Sean, please," I said softly. "I have no idea what's going on with you. Tell me what's wrong."

Well, the straightforward approach is probably better than having her just stare at him, but not by much. Sean sighs.

"Island gave me somethin' I really didnae need ta be reminded o'," he says flatly, making it a point not to slur his words. Dignity's pretty much out the window at this point, but he might as well make the effort. "We all got our demons, lass."

My jaw tightened. I thought briefly of Max. Of Zachary. "I know. What are yours?"

"Pretty sure they're me own business," he snaps, not taking his eyes off the trinket in his hand. "An' that's the way I like 'em." That part may not be entirely true. Talking to Rogue, things had come a hell of a lot easier, somehow, and she only seemed to have vague ideas of what his deal was. Still, that's about as extraordinary a circumstance as it gets.

I took a deep breath and leaned against the door. I could feel the cold wind pushing against the other side. "I hate to see you like this," I said. For a number of reasons, both to do with the man in front of me, and an old woman I'd run away from. "I'm your friend, and I want to help." Before he cut me off, I cut in, "Even if I can't, I think I deserve to know --" I stopped. I took another deep breath. "At least tell me about the demon that's in your hand right now."

"'S a ring," he grunts, not looking up. He doesn't see how exactly she deserves much of anything with respects to him and his past, but there's no harm in stating the obvious.

I took a step forward, looking at the ring in his hands as long as he lets me. I could feel my heart start to race. It's a wedding ring. "Oh--" I say, so softly, I doubt he can hear. My hand went to my mouth.

"Whose is it?" I ask. In the pit of my stomach, I already know, but it's the only thing I can say at the moment.

"I'll give ye a hint," he says, his words carrying a bite to them even while running together somewhat. "Went with this one, once 'pon a time." He raises left hand to show her his own ring, the simple gold band he still wears all the time, so unassuming it's pretty easy to miss. He's noticed it more often as of late, of course.

I feel a little wave of nausea as the truth starts to come clear. This is more than just a wife left behind. "Oh," I say, before I can stop myself. My hand goes to my mouth again. "Oh, god. I'm so sorry."

Sean grits his teeth at that, grimacing as he palm's Maeve's ring. He's got enough pity for himself, the absolute last thing he needs is someone else's.

"Ye know, I crippled one o' the last people who tried t'offer me condolences," he says in an incongruously casual tone. He really just needs her to leave right now. He can't deal with this.

I drew myself up. My heart hammered in my ears. I swallowed. "You wouldn't hurt me," I said. I hoped. But then I pushed further. "I know you're in pain, but what you're doing isn't helping. Believe me, I know."

"'S prob'ly what he thought, too. Was me cousin, after all," he says with a bitter little chuckle, but it's mostly a moot point. Of course he wouldn't hurt her. "But aye, 'm sure ye know so bloody much 'bout bein' a widower 'fore 25. Feel free t'enlighten' me on any magic cure-alls I missed i' the firs' go-'round. This suits me jus' foine, thank ye."

I let out the breath I was holding, then cleared my nose with a sniff. I wasn't sure that this was going to help, but I guessed that it wouldn't hurt.

"I knew a woman... a friend... a mentor. Her name was Maximiliana Horne." I licked my lips, then continued. "She was a good person, took me under her wing. Made me feel proud about my true name. But she'd had a hard life and she was dying. Ursula -- her doctor, partner, lover -- had basically set things up so she could die in peace, but there was a lot of pain."

I closed my eyes and gathered my strength. "One night, I came over to Max's place, and she'd been drinking. A lot. She was in a lot of pain and... she was not herself. She hated her life, her family, herself, and she wanted... an 'affirmation of life'. She wanted me. I thought she was going to rape me. She was horrified about it later, but at that moment-- I ran. Far away. I didn't speak to her for weeks, even though I knew she was about to die."

"I was in Greece before I finally found the courage to call her, to listen to her say she was sorry, and to tell her that it was all right. I managed to get that out before the line dropped." I sniffed. "She died before I made it home."

I focused on him. "I don't have any cure-alls, Sean. But a part of me wishes I hadn't run that night. And a part of me wishes she hadn't taken up the bottle."

Edited 2009-01-06 07:25 (UTC)

Whatever he's expecting as a rebuttal, that isn't it. In his present state, he has a bit of trouble making heads or tales out of Polly's sad, sordid story, but he at least understands what she's saying and where she's coming from with it. That doesn't mean he agrees, though.

"Well 'M nae her," he says coldly. "I dinnae need no bleedin' affirmations o' whate'er, I jus' need a damn distraction. An' I found it. 'M sorry fer yer loss an' all that, an' I know that this sort o' thing's a slip'ry slope. Seen it happen too many times, meself. But right now, I really just dinnae care."

That was way too much coherency for this late at night. Slumping back in his seat, he drapes an arm over his eyes and sighs.

"Feel free ta run this time."

It was actually a better reaction than I was dreading. Even though his answer was to turn aside my help, I think we at least understood each other.

I stepped back. "I'm not running," I said calmly. "I only followed you here to make sure you didn't fall down and freeze to death in a snowdrift. Instead, you're here. You don't need my help. So, I'll walk home." I turned and opened the door, and stopped dead.

The wind howled. I couldn't see more than five feet in front of me out the door.

I swore.

Edited 2009-01-06 12:57 (UTC)

Well, that sounds less than promising. And he'd been so close to some solitude.

"Oh, what now?" Sean groans, begrudgingly forcing himself to look up. Sure, the wind's picked up some, but it can't possibly be that bad, can it?

I stepped aside to show him, at which point the wind changed, and started sending great gusts of snow in through the door. I put my back against the wood and shoved it closed with my weight. Then I looked up at the ceiling. _Just_ my luck.

"Course it cannae be so easy," Sean mutters, not sure how intelligible it comes out and not particularly caring. He just wants to put this whole matter to bed and get on with his arsehole grieving in comparative peace, is that so much to ask for?

Bending over, palms pressed firmly against his eyes, he sighs. "Ye c'n stay here 'til it passes, s'long as ye keep ta yerself." Of course, if she'd done that in the first place, this wouldn't be an issue now, but voicing that particular complaint seems pointless.

I heard him, and for the first time tonight, I agreed with him. No good deed went unpunished on this island, it seemed.

I sighed. "Fine," I muttered, and took off my fur coat, and looked around for a corner to lay it out for a bed.

"Now what're ye doin'?" he asks irritably when he sees her toss her coat down on the ground.

I looked up at him. What could he be complaining about now? "Making a spot on the floor here to lie down on. What did you think I was doing?"

Edited 2009-01-12 01:21 (UTC)

Sean gives a annoyed sigh and waves his hand in a gesture that's fairly unclear in what it's supposed to convey. He's not so sure what it's about, himself.

"Ye're nae a dog, lass. Take the bed, I won't be usin' it."

I straightened up and looked at him in disbelief. "You're going to sleep in the chair? Won't that _hurt_?"

"No worse than the bloody floor," he mutters lowly. "I'll be fine." Truthfully, he doubts he'll be getting much sleep either way, so it's really not the biggest of sacrifices.

I think briefly about arguing, but decide against it. It's obvious nothing constructive would be achieved, and I was too tired and mentally exhausted to take this any further tonight. So, I gathered up my fur coat with a huff, crossed the floor, and flopped down on his bed, pulling the coat over me.

I don't say anything, and I keep my eyes closed. I'm going to be asleep soon, but I still listen to him breathing, and wonder what's going to happen the next morning.

Sean may be drunk off of his gourd, but he forces himself to stay awake when she quiets down, just listening to the sounds of the storm outside and turning Maeve's ring over in his hand. Hopefully it'll die down before the sun rises so he can duck out before Polly wakes up, find somewhere to recuperate in peace.

Until then, it's just him and the dark.

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New Year's Day [For Polly]

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