She watched as he leaned over toward his brother. She come to this fact by eavesdropping. Adonis' brother's name was Connor. Adonis' brother was not quite the complete opposite of him - close enough, though. Whilst one possessed tresses of ebony, the other held short, unkempt locks of sun-kissed sienna; eyes of elder blue.
Lamenting, from gazing at the umpteenth beer that the brothers had finished, she looked down once more at hers. Bailey could easily remember the amount she had drank. In her hands was the ninth, but around the boys' fourteenth, she simply stopped counting.
Then, subsequently, Adonis turned around in his chair, lightly resting his elbows on the countre. Bailey had just lifted her head to sneak an adoring glance, as he made his movement. She could feel heat, pure warmth flood her pallid cheeks. She briefly thought that her embarrassment could have obliterated the sun. Swiftly in a careless motion, she averted her eyes. His dark orbs grew narrow with wonder - apprehension. But, soon, amusement played throughout his countenance.
Never before had Adonis set eyes upon this girl, and he had been going to this pub for some time. But for the past year, he had been - busy. There was a lot on his mind; this could be acknowledged from far away, and girl took notice of this. Standing beside his brother, Adonis would appear the care free one. Youth was etched firmly into his features.
Whenst Bailey first laid her sights onto him, she felt compelled to comfort him somehow - to console - to give her sympathy. It was funny, to Adonis, he felt as if he had seen her before. So, now on Saint Patrick's Day, he had decided to make a long expected appearance, along with his brother. And, with there Da - postponed, what else could they do? Become bladdered, was what. With a ponderous expression, Adonis turned back to the bartender.
"Doc, who's that girl over there?" he casually asked.
Without hesitation, or looking at Bailey, the Doc knew - knew exactly who Adonis was speaking of. He had watched Bailey since the first time she had came through the doors months ago. It was strange, he had deducted, that girl that looked no more than fifteen could possess the years she did. Doc had even carded her, refusing the first time to sell her anything. Then, with the most endearing of smiles, which reminded him of his eight year old granddaughter, she showed him her ID And, at this moment, when the Saint Patti's Day rush for liquour had passed, there were very few people left in his bar.
"I don't know - s-s - fuck - ass! Been comin' 'ere for months now. N-n-never says a word. Just points at what she wants to d-d-drink,"
Connor, without discreetness, turned to see what his brother's inquiry was about. First, he saw a young woman, with crimson upon her cheeks, which allowed a much needed smile: girls just did not blush anymore. Second, he took notice of the simplicity in her garb - next to his own, it was genuine. And, lastly, the mug of beer before her was almost gone. She probably, he thought, wanted another. He felt it was needed, that he ask his brother before hand.
"You gonna' go talk to her, Murph?"
"No," he threw a bewildered look at Connor, "do ya' think I should?"
Connor shrugged his shoulders, drank a long guzzle from his glass, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. His nonchalance was a total facade: he could swear that he had seen her before. They had not been out in so long, he figured that faces from long ago all appeared the same. He took the wonder in Murphy's voice to be doubt. He could always do that to his brother. With one question, or careless set of movements, he would cause Murphy to question himself. Though at most times, he never meant to, but then some times - it was just plain amusing.
Bailey, suddenly filled with boredom of beer, stood. Quite purely, she wanted something stronger - better. Tentatively, she walked toward the bar. As she looked around, she noticed that everyone else had departed; it was her, them, and the barman. A large space between the brothers called to her, so she fit herself snugly between them. It startled her that the fact that what she was about to ask for, would be the first word she spoke in this pub.
"Whiskey,"
Murphy almost instantly looked down upon her - literally, she barely came to his shoulder. Connor followed his brother, a new feeling for him, because it was usually the opposite: he gazed at the short woman. Both brothers, thought simultaneously, whiskey would go right through her small frame, intoxicating her quicker than a bum that had not had alcohol in two days. Doc nodded - brought up a glass from below the countre, and poured her a shot full. Swiftly devouring that portion, Bailey slammed the class down, sending an echo throughout the room. She wanted another. It was filled once more, and drained once more.
"Thirsty?" Murphy asked.
"A bit," she said, with a hiccup.
Bailey pointed at the shot glass, then there were two more rounds of whiskey, and then she was ready to go. In her world ready, was word that meant drunk. What else could she do, but go to her job, pay never ending bills, and then die. She had to have some sort of humour in her life, and why not drunken stupours? On cue, she stumbled, only bringing herself to balance by holding onto Murphy. He left his chair to insure her safety, allowing her to hold onto him as he latched onto her forearms.
"I t'ink you've had enough, darlin',"
Staring into Murphy's eyes, Bailey could not help but swoon even more. From the beautiful gifted man she had first taken notice of, he was transformed into a demented angel - beautiful still, but haunting. Even though her vision blurred ever so slightly, Bailey could define his eyes, and would there after always, as enchanting.
"Tell me you name is Adonis, with orbs as yours there can be no hell,"
Connor could not help himself, he had to laugh. Her accent, thick as it was, was slurred. Yet, they both heard her compliment, or in someway an insult to Connor: he was a bit jealous. Instead of complaining, he smiled and turned back to his beer. His brother, on the other hand, kept his full attention on the girl he held onto.
"M'lady," he scoffed, "I would tell you anything you could ever want to know, for now though - Murphy MacManus,"
Bailey did not have time to assess the meaning of the two strictly Irish origin of names together, she went limp. Her consciousness was fading rapidly. Connor stared at his brother, then at the girl, then shook his head disapprovingly. He could not believe that Murphy had just told her his name. The fact still astounded him that it was his own self that had come up with the idea to visit the "ole pub." It was just inviting trouble - welcoming conflict to rear its disgusting head and breed with malice. Connor rubbed his forehead, momentarily. He thought he must have been the most ignorant man to have been bourn.
"Murphy, is it then?" she cut through the infuriating silence.
"Aye, lass, 'tis,"
"Are ye sure it's not Adonis?"
"Aye," laughed Murphy, "I'm quite sure - quite."
"Well," another hiccup, followed by a giggle, "you're still a God."
Then, she passed out - completely unaware that by doing so, could have lead to an untimely demise. Luckily, "the Saints" possessed something more than the average man: chilvary. Murphy ascended his gaze from the limp girl in his arms, to his distressed brother. A shrugging of the shoulders, and Murphy had already decided. He lifted Bailey most easily over his shoulder, reminding him of incidents of the previous year. He walked in unhurried movements, and Connor, for the second time in his life - followed him. Connor decided, he would try not to make a habit of it.
The first sounds Marie Bailey heard, was the sound of flowing water hitting tile. The noise itself was soft, it echoed gently, giving her a comfort that unfamiliarness could never. A pounding in her skull also sent waves of uneasiness toward her. Suddenly, voices sprung into her senses - two - male - youthful, and of her own descent. At first, she could not hear cogitatable words - stillness reigned, but then as turning on a light switch - they existed.
"It reminds me of the old flat,"
"Aye, 'cept it hat more rats, Murph,"
Irish laughter rang true to Marie's ears. It was then that she forced her eyes open, and in truth it gave her a splitting headache a rest. What she beheld was not shocking, though she had seen worse - lived in worse. But, Marie had the knowing wisdom, that this was not forced onto whoever lived there - it was chosen. From where her sights rested, she beheld a mattress, which she lay on, and motion to her right. When she tore her gaze to the right, shock, indeed, would be the words that entered her mind.
Two, thin men showering - a virgin sight to her. She blushed. She could not bear to look away; she did not want to look away. Not only did body art draw her attention, but water - steam filled - fascinated her in way she knew not existed. This simple, yet captivating experience almost enlightened her: morals still did exist in a world that would almost be gladly built over you if you did not yield to its ways.
Simultaneously, Connor and Murphy turned off the water, sighing heavily. Without a moments hesitation, Marie snapped her head back, closing her eyes. Footsteps lingered - and then they abruptly ceased. Someone sat down near her feet, damp warmth stung her legs. A sudden chill was made known to her body. A creeping sense of apprehension crept up her body, then back down again. Then, Connor's voice broke through the frigidness.
"You shouldn't have brought her here,"
"Don't start that again," groaned Murphy,
"But, what the fuckin' hell were you thinkin'?"
"Oh, well fickle me, I was thinkin' she could be the third, until we get Da back. Come on, Connor," he was peeved no, "what the fuck do you think I was thinking?"
"Well, gee, Murphy" Murphy had irked him, "I don't know. Why don't you just give me another stupid fuckin' excuse?"
"Fine!" concluded the angry Murphy, "Next time I'll just leave an innocent girl passed out on the floor."
"That's not what I . . ."
Connor never got the chance to finish the line of thoughts, Marie decided to make her consciousness known, and her presence gone. She could not quite understand what "third meant, and quite frankly, she did not want to find out. Carefully, she chose the words, and tone, as to not startle the two men.
"I'm awake,"
Marie sat up, pulling with all of her strength. Much of it was depleted, the hangover was a disease - a forced virus that was working its way through her blood stream. The first vision of her rising was Murphy MacManus. She searched her memory journals. The dark haired man looked familiar, there was some place she had seen him before. If only she could detect it . . .
"Adonis?" she asked.
"Not quite," Connor scoffed.
"Oh. M-Murphy?"
"Indeed," Murphy answered.
Marie turned her head to peer at the other man, she instantly contrasted the two. It then chose to dawn on her - they were brothers, she recalled - Murphy and Connor. They held the same build essentially, but different hair and eye colour, and there was something about their nature in general that gave her a comforting cogitation. Connor watched the girl's orbs intently. They traced his body, then the area which he sat on. Her gaze lingered momentarily, on the dingy mattress.
"And, you're Connor, right?"
She took his silence as a recognition of the fact that she had got his name right. And, he seemed bit miffed - suspicious of her. So, she thought it would be a good time to clear herself in his eyes. It was clear that he was the one that made the final decisions, in anything and everything. Marie knew that if she was to give an explanation, one was expected, not for Murphy, but for Connor. Those names; she rolled them around in her head - she vaguely thought she had known a Murphy and Connor long ago . . .
"Don't get jumpy. I over heard your name in the pub last night. You seem a little paranoid, but you're the one who brought a mere stranger into your home,"
"She's got a point, Con," Murphy agreed, nodding his head.
"Of course she does," said Connor, narrowing his eyes at his brother.
Connor glared at his brother, there was something not quite right about the girl before him. He blatantly admitted that he was the one that allowed his brother to take charge; he now regretted it. A concerned expression played simply upon his face, he had to discern what to do. Murphy smirked knowingly.
"Shut it! You're the one who brought her here in the first place,"
In response Murphy rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. Connor just did not know when to leave well enough alone. He, from that day on would bring this up and throw it in his face. He did not think he did anything wrong. In fact he figured he had done what any gentleman would do.
"What's your name?" asked Connor, abruptly slicing the conversation.
"Bailey," Marie felt she did not need to give them her first name.
"What were you doin' at McGinty's last night?"
Marie blinked; she was astounded that he would ask such a thing. Either, she grinned inwardly, he was that naive, or just really stupid. She thought, at least to the average Irishman, that the fact of just why she was there, was obvious. From her gaze at the blonde-haired man, she turned back to Murphy. It was evident that he was amused, deeply in fact.
"It was Saint Patti's Day," she answered, "every Irishman was at a pub last night."
In an uneasy silence, that craved a burning in the River of Styx, they sat - staring - still. There was something that needed to be said - done, but none of the three stubborn young people wished to speak up first. Finally, Marie with her impatience beckoning her soul - her mind, she decided that it would be her to do so. She could already surmise that the brothers were certainly not about to. So, she stood on two wonky-feeling legs, hoping against all that preserved her, that she possessed the strength - the will, to walk out of the dank room.
"Well, I guess - thanks,"
Rising, as well on timid stepping, Murphy stood, lightly grabbing onto her elbow to show her out. Even though the steps actually to the door could not amount to many, it was the gesture, in his mind, that counted. Marie took in account the door, making absolutely sure that she memorized all of its features; simply she did not want to loose contact with either of them. As Murphy opened the door, she caught sight of crosses, Celtic in appearance, strictly Catholic. Instantaneously, she stuck out her hand and grabbed the longest one. It was enchanting, simply mind-grabbing.
"Where did ye get these?"
Murphy removed the cross from the hook and allowed her to caress it. A childlike smile, filled with pride, and tainted with sin, grew upon his haunting countenance. The object was so familiar to him, that when he did not wear it, he continued to feel it dangling beneath his shirt. And, when he looked down, to find it not there - a tremour of terror would run through his body, eradicating his flesh.
"They were a confirmation gift - from our Father,"
A sharp intake of breath came from Marie, her lungs were over flowing with dampened air. Connor, stood, almost shocked that such a shred of knowledge would have made such a reaction. He could see his brother, clearly - his face, while he could see only her back. But, he could make out swift, sure movements: Marie reached beneath her shirt and pulled out her own cross. Similar would never be able to describe the three pieces of faith; they were exact, save for Murphy's being the slightly longer of the three.
"I got mine for my confirmation, back in . . ."
"Ireland," Murphy broke in.
"My Father had it . . ." she was interrupted.
"Specially made," they said.
Marie frowned as she handed Murphy's back to him;
she thought her Father might have lied to her. She specifically remembred him telling her there would be no other like it. It was like finding out that a parent is not all powerful and perfect as once thought. No, she decided, her Father would never had lied to her intentionally; so the feeling that she had met these two boys - known them from before . . .
"What did ye say your surname was?"
"MacManus . . ." drawled Murphy, slowly.
It came to her fiercely: she knew these men - she had known them at least in her childhood. Leaning against the wall, Marie closed her eyes. Quite frankly, she thought she was going to be ill, or pass out. Forcing herself to regain her composure,
she opened her dark green orbs. Murphy and Connor were standing directly in front of her, peering at her with much curiosity. They were concerned, to say the least. With a great tremour washing over her body, Marie remebered . . .