Rifiuto: Non Miriena

A/N: Sorry about that rant, guys. Yesterday was just... everything that could go wrong, did go wrong, and that e-mailed review was the top of the cake that I just... didn't want to deal with. From four a.m. on, it was just... just a really, really, really bad day, all the way around. I didn't mean to take it out on you guys. Honestly, if I could have taken it out on the person who wrote that review, I would have- with knives. And paperclips. And my personal favorite- box cutters. But I couldn't, so I used the keyboard instead. And then, when that was done, I took kitchen knives and left perfect slices in the cupboards of my kitchen. Anyway...

Thanks to Sprig, notquitearockgod, Challenge King, Reader, Crawcolady, Samspotsu and Bratling for reviewing 20.

Sunset, October 31,

Samhain, 1991

The warm Irish air washed over them, and Kathleen pulled Sarah onto her lap, wrapping her arms around the little girl; the woolen blanket she had draped over her shoulders stopping any chill from reaching them. It was the annual Sunset festival, as those in Bogside called it: the lighting of the bonfire at sunset, to welcome the spirits and light their way into the city. Children, dressed in costumes, chased each other around the bonfire, chanting rhymes and songs, in hopes to appease the aos sí, the fairy folk, who often sought to cause mischief on this holiest of nights.

Sarah leaned against her mother, watching as Timmy, dressed as an Irish prince in green breeches and a white peasant shirt with a green plaid sash, chased after Rowan, who was dressed as an Irish lass from the fifteen-hundreds, complete in green plaid blouse, skirt and tam with a corset; the children were laughing and giggling, joining their friends as they raced each other around the bonfire. Sarah, dressed as a fairy, tilted her head back to look at her mother. "Mams?"

"Wha' is it, me love?" Kathleen whispered, brushing a kiss to her head.

"W... will Aintin Grae come back?" Her mother thought a moment, before brushing a stray curl off her daughter's forehead.

"I know she will."

"Forev'r?" Kathleen sighed.

"No, love. Rememb'r? 'Tis Samhain, which means th' dead-"

"Can only come back for th' nigh'." Sarah recited, sighing deeply. "Bu'-"

"Jus' be gra'eful Aintin Grae will be back a' all. When we ge' home, we'll set a place for 'er at table, jus' as we will for Daideó McGee, like we did las' year."

"Wha' 'bout th' milk, Mams?" The girl asked, turning to meet her mother's gaze. "An' th' Bannock Samhain? If 'tis no' ou', 'ow will Aintin know t' come in?" Kathleen chuckled, not at all surprised that her daughter had thought to bring up the tradition of setting a glass of milk and a scone on the front step by the door for the spirits into the house for the evening.

"I will make sure t' pu' the bannock an' milk out, love, and the barmbrack for th' fairies. An' set the candles in th' window."

"So Aintin an' Daideó can fin' their way?" Her mother nodded. "Wha' 'bout th' Pookas? They won't scare Aintin away, will they?" Kathleen shook her head.

"No, love. Aintin will scare the Pookas away." Sarah giggled as Kathleen tickled her gently. "T'morrow is th' Pooka's Day-"

"So we mus' be kind an' sit an' talk wit' him if 'e asks us to."

"Tha's right, love. The las' thing we want t' do is incur a Pooka's wrath." As her daughter snuggled into her arms, Kathleen brushed another soft kiss to the girl's head. The young mother craned her neck, but her son was with his friends on the other side of the bonfire, roasting nuts in a pan, most likely having one of the older children or one of the other adults trying to divine his future, as was so common a game among the children of the Bogside nowadays. Though the old days had passed on long ago, some traditions still remained in the Emerald Isle, and in Derry, even with the violence that shook their community, the old pagan ways remained strong among the families that found no other obstacle but to fall back on their faith to get them through the violence. Minutes passed, before Timmy and Rowan came rushing back towards her, faces flushed and covered in soot from the fire, to ward off fairies.

"Mams! They sta'ed t'gether! Th' nuts sta'ed t'gether!" His mother chuckled softly, giving her son a small smile.

"Tha's good, love." Even though her son was too young to understand love and marriage, Kathleen knew enough about Celtic traditions to understand that the roasting of nuts over a fire foretold if a couple would stay together or not; but her son, at only twelve, knew nothing of divination, but the traditions and castings were fun, a way to keep normally rambunctious children entertained. Sarah yawned, and after several minutes, Kathleen took the children home.

By the time they returned home, Sarah was out cold, nestled on Kathleen's shoulder. After putting her youngest to bed, she came back downstairs to find Timmy and Rowan peeling apple cores at the kitchen table. Rowan's parents were watching the two children, and looked up when Kathleen joined them. She quickly poured three cups, and beckoned the adults into the kitchen. "Mams!" She turned back, to see Timmy watching her, eyes wide. "Th' milk for Aintin an' Daideó-"

"I know, love. An' set two more a' table for them." Once she'd joined the other two in the living room, Elizabeth spoke up, accepting her cup with a smile.

"D' Timmy an' Sarah no' know All Souls Day 'tis two days from now?" Kathleen chuckled.

"Aye, bu' they worry so 'bout Grae... since she died... they always make sure 'er place is se' in advance." They continued to visit, stopping every so often at the laughter coming from the kitchen. Kathleen chuckled as she heard her son's reply to whatever Rowan had cried about. Timmy had turned twelve a month earlier, and all he'd asked for was for John to come home. And then, this morning, Kathleen had gotten the call that had sent the kids into excited jitters- John was on leave for the next three months; so he'd be home for Christmas as well. "Timmy, wha' are ye doin', love?" The boy poked his head into the living room; he held two eggs in his hands.

"Mrs. O'Lear taugh' Rowan an' I 'ow t' read eggs." He replied, as though that explained everything, and his mother nodded.

"Egg whites, love, no' eggs. Egg whites." The boy furrowed a brow. "Th' clear film tha' covers the yolk." After a moment, the boy nodded, and disappeared back into the kitchen. A few minutes later, the adults heard the unfortunate splat! as an egg missed the bowl of water and hit the floor, and then silence. They returned to their conversation, not getting far before,

"Ye're goin' t' 'ave eigh' children!"

"'tis no' funny, Timmy!" Silence, followed by someone being hit, and a sharp,

"'twas tha' for?"

"For laughin' a' me!" Another egg hit the floor, and then, "'ow many are ye goin' t' 'ave?"

"None."

"Ye dinna ev'n look!"

"Fine!" Suddenly, Rowan's whine reached their ears.

"Tha's no' fair! 'ow come ye're gonna 'ave two, an' I'm gonna 'ave eight?"

"Maybe th' egg doesn' like ye. Ow!" A small part of Kathleen dreaded the mess she'd find when the kids were finished, but as along as it was keeping them entertained, she'd allow it for now. By the time Elizabeth and James took Rowan home, and Kathleen ordered her son to bed, it was close to midnight. She set out the barmbrack, milk and scones, and lit the candles in the windowsill before heading into the kitchen to get the plates out for dinner on All Souls Day.

A soft sigh escaped her throat as she studied the mess of apple skins on the floor- the old Celtic tradition of divining one's future spouse, by tossing an apple peel over the shoulder and then studying it to see the first initial of the person one would marry. Though old, it was still a tradition practiced today, if only for mere fun, and was not to be taken seriously. She knelt down to scoop them up, but stopped; she'd come into the kitchen to get Rowan so her parents could head home, and had watched as her son had tossed the last peel over his shoulder. He'd never had a chance to study it, because he'd told Rowan and her parents goodnight, and then Kathleen had ordered him to bed. Now, though, she dropped the others and moved closer to study her son's last peel.

If Kathleen didn't know any better, she could have sworn it looked like a 'Z.'