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A quote: “Trash talk? Smack talk? This is an American term that makes me laugh. I simply speak the truth. I’m an Irish man.” ~~ Conor McGregor
I’ll start with a story …
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“Why red?”
The little man scratched his freckled scalp, “It’s what we wear.”
A bottle of Aberlour left out overnight. Morning found it empty next to the snoring, solitary Fae.
“You Americans, you right ruined us. Pukin’ green coats with … with … sequins!” He tugged at his red jacket intricately embroidered in gold. “Red is more practical.”
I raised an eyebrow. He gestured at himself, almost falling off the chair. “Script consultant, The Quiet Man. [belch] Come now, lad. A new bottle and we’ll toast your future good fortune.”
He winked at me as I went to fetch it.
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Now, it’s your turn.
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. featured image: walled garden at Dromoland Castle, Newmarket – On – Fergus, Ireland – by Darleen Click
GWB says: I love the quote, and the story.
I absolutely love The Quiet Man.
Navig8r says: “I’m puzzled by that building. It’s a bit big for a tool shed. No windows and no chimney for heat. It would be really dreary as a grounds keeper’s cottage.”
“Sunlight and heat are bad for the spirits.”
“Spirits? How would spirits communicate such preferences?”
“Oh, they can become quite nasty if mistreated. They can even cause economic consequences.”
“Really? I know you folks take that stuff seriously, a special building just for ghosts?”
“Ghosts? That’s where yon pub stores its stout and ales and other offerings. And yes, customers do inflict economic consequences if they are served spoiled pints.”
Cameron says: I looked at my friend in surprise. “Five years, no contact and suddenly you’re out in some cottage in the middle of nowhere? Where were you?”
“Different world, bud. Literally. I came back to see if you wanted to move.”
“Pardon my disbelief but I don’t really see a ship anywhere.”
“Don’t need a ship. Gates are used for long trips like this. And it seems this world doesn’t have much for you any longer. You want in? You’d be surprised at the number of humans from here on other worlds.”
I followed him through and had a better life.
Although it was generally referred to as the American moonbase, since the US had funded it and NASA ran it, there were enough ESA and JAXA astronauts up here that sometimes it seemed like a miniature United Nations. Take for instance, Dr. O’Sullivan, their top expert in closed-cycle environmental systems. Although he had advanced degrees from both Stanford and MIT, he’d been born and raised on the Emerald Isle, and was still a citizen of the Republic of Ireland, as evidenced by the green-white-orange flag patch upon his sleeve.
Voice training had softened his brogue enough to ensure it would not impede communication, but Shelly still had to pay close attention to his words as he explained the procedure for adapting NASA equipment to build a water reclamation unit to Gruzinsky’s specifications. Given that the cosmonauts were depending on everyone here to get it right the first time, she couldn’t let her mind wander, no matter how her curiosity might be teased by the photograph on the good doctor’s desk, an image of a little cottage surrounded by flowers. O’Sullivan’s birthplace? An ancestral home? Or just some place with sentimental value to him?
Dupin says: The cottage lay quiet, its weathered white stone walls contrasting the brightly colored flowers in the garden in front and the vine-covered walls of the ruined castle battlements behind.
The moon shone brightly, lighting the opulent carriage as it slowed. The darkly dressed man reined it to a stop by a deep trough at the end of the flower garden. He quickly pulled the bodies from the carriage, stripping them of their riches and clothes before rolling them to their final resting spot.
A good haul, he thought, smiling. The fall flowers he’d plant here should be astounding.
Cameron says: Well, that went dark in a hurry. Nicely done!
Dupin says: LOL, It was way to fluffy and pretty to go anywhere else.
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