The Horror and the Wild

XIX. The Wind That Shakes The Barley

January 30, Saturday

Owen was, truthfully, quite grateful to be leaving. Cillian was begrudging about being at the airport at the 'early' hour of eight-thirty in the morning, but Owen was more suited to mornings. The idea of leaving Boston for a short while had roused him from sleep over an hour before the alarm Cillian had set for both of them. He'd spent the extra time showering and attempting to create pancakes that had all ended up misshapen or burnt or— in the case of the vast majority— both. Cillian had been kind enough to eat them anyway, and Owen had cleaned up while the druid was getting ready to leave.

Anything to keep his mind off the teeth.

He'd been bouncing back and forth between Cillian's apartment and Leo's for the past several days, as his own attic lodgings remained a crime scene which he was not to enter without a police escort.

It wasn't like he was eager to sleep in that bed again, anyway.

Owen was startled from his wandering thoughts as Cillian snapped "Aye! Go on! Get tae fuck, you wee old hag!"

"Cillian!" Owen hissed as the tiny man flipped someone else off. "What is your problem?!"

"People. Mornin's. I need a cigarette an' I cannae fuckin' smoke until we leave the airport in Dublin."

"You still need to behave yourself. Aren't you like, a rockstar? Shouldn't you be more professional in public?"

"I would if wee old crones would stop clutchin' their pearls at the sight of a homosexual."

"I think it's more the fact that you look like the kind of person they expect to worship Satan."

Cillian looked down at his platform boots and skin tight, jet black jeans paired with a heavy leather coat and his hoodie patterned with the phases of the moon.

Truthfully, he was the most tamely dressed that Owen had ever seen him. All-black wardrobe aside, Cillian looked almost normal. That was, of course, if Owen overlooked his flashy silver earrings and slightly chipped nail polish.

"I dinnae think I look like a Satanist," Cillian said after a moment's contemplation. "Not enough pentacles."

Owen laughed a bit and looped an arm around Cillian's shoulder, drawing him away from the offending old woman he'd resumed glaring at. "If I buy you a hot chocolate, will you be nicer to the scandalised elderly people?"

Cillian seemed to consider the offer.

"Fine. Fine. Make haste."

Owen left Cillian to guard their bags and went to get the hot chocolate for the druid. He was careful to listen for the boarding call as he waited in line, despite knowing Cillian would not let the plane leave without him.

He came back with the hot chocolate to find Cillian sitting on the floor with a little girl. He was playing with his lighter, making the fire dance for her. Owen thought that toying with flames must've been an easy trick for him, given that it was usually the first thing he went to when demonstrating his magic. If it wasn't easy, it certainly had to be his favourite. Owen wondered what drew the tiny man to fire, regardless of his own opinions on how attractive it was to watch.