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A Right Proper Vacation - 2 of 3

Posted on Thu Oct 31st, 2019 @ 11:18am by Ensign Fiona O'Dell & Ensign Briaar Gavarus & Jaeih Dox-t'Aan
Edited on on Thu Oct 31st, 2019 @ 11:23am

Mission: Family Detention
Location: Earth, Ireland, Dromore Castle
Timeline: 2396

An hour later they were parking the shuttle, after having driven it basically as a hovercar in the no-fly zone surrounding many of the local landmarks. The road trip had been scenic, even though the weather had turned gloomy and brisk. Which just meant that everyone layered up in a new sweater- Fiona had insisted on a V-neck cram cable knit oversized woolen sweater that fit Gavarus more like a short dress than a sweater, with sleeves that were longer than her arms, which needed to be cuffed at the ends to fit. But it was thick and warm, and true to the lass they called leprechaun's advertising, felt like wearing a hug.

Minnie was clad in a similar version, save that hers went down to her hooves and the sleeves kept trying to dangle no matter how much they were rolled up, but Fiona insisted Minerva would grow into it. For herself, Fiona had chosen a very fuzzy woolen sweater in bright emerald green, which was, unsurprisingly, her color. However, the floof of the sweater actually made her look a bit less like a stick figure. As they arrived, Fiona parked them precisely, then they all took in the view.




Stepping out of the parked shuttle into the cool air, the three all in their thick, oversized sweaters. Fiona was holding Minnie by the hand as the miniature Minotaur was excited to have her little hooves underneath her, even if she wasn't the steadiest on two legs just yet. Although to be fair, for a three-month-old, she was doing spectacularly compared to a human infant of the same age, who would just now be able to lift their head and start to attempt to crawl. While she wasn’t particularly steady waddling about, she had begun getting fussy about wanting to be locomoting under her own power once they had arrived. Another new development that the unconventional parents of the unconventional child took in stride.

But now little Minnie was all smiles as she and her Mom and Mum took in the sight of the exterior of Dromore Castle. It was an ancient ruin that had clearly seen better days, and looked to be held together by willpower and the ivy running up its walls and over its craggy battlements. Half the windows were missing glass, and the keep and tower that flanked both sides of the courtyard in the center looked exactly as drafty as Fiona had advertised. But they were all thrilled because, if anything, it wasn’t another night in the shuttle for Gavarus, and it was enchanting in its own way. The fresh air was far different than sterilized shipboard recycled air, the breeze hinted at the rain that had come and was yet to come again. A rumble of thunder in the distance sounded mildly ominous, but it energized Fiona, who thrived in such weather conditions.

As they started across the road, another shuttle showed up. This one looked almost as old as the castle and belched a plume of exhaust as it hovered up to the main gates, barely missing the covered awning. They had seen the same transport picking up tourists and visitors in town an hour ago for a tour of the local village, and off of it came a small group of visitors.

“I guess we’re not the only tourists staying here tonight, guys?” Briaar tilted her head and commented as they crossed the path into the castle, just ahead of the other group. The group behind them was mostly a little overly loud and boisterous. A family of Klingons, the parents of whom seemed as comfortable on vacation as they would be at the dentist, who scoffed at everything with as much volume as possible. But they had a small child with them that seemed quiet enough. Then there was the Bolean couple with three holo-imagers on straps around their necks taking scans of everything they saw and behind them, an older looking human woman with an unruly mop of silver hair, a vintage book in her hands and a small bag over her shoulder that seemed content to be unseen.

Inside the main entrance of the castle, an older Irishman with thick mutton chops and an even thicker accent came out from behind the check-in counter with a broad, if seemingly forced smile and greeted them.

"Hail an welmut, trivlers. M'Paitur Plunkitt, ana wilcumye ta Cassel Drumuir, aye?" the aged gentleman in the tweed riding cap, leaning on a hickory walking stuck rambled, even as the tourists all looked at one another, confused.

"He says 'Hail and well met, that his name is Peter Plunkett, and he welcomes ye to Castle Dromoor," Fiona translated, to the visible relief of the rest of the retinue. The old man cocked a bushy, wiry eyebrow at the wee lass and addressed her.

"Tiswha Ah saaid, canna they noo speak Fed'ration coomon or soomesooch? Samatter wi'em, Ah thought they'ad them bluiddy univerrrsal translaators or whatnot ta make what Ah say inta theirr oown tongues, wot?"

"Nae, estás falando ben, meu sahhr, pero o acento non é fácil de distinguilo aos investigadores e ingleses, si? Non te preocupes, eu vou teño en conta co sentido e eles van poñer o proooblem. En menos de pouco tempo, menos mín, clan aquí o fará.," Fiona burred out in her best Gaelic, which surprised the old man as he eyed the clearly Irish child standing there with a giant pig and a miniature cow.

"Está ben, pero mantén os seus animais sen ganas e limpa as desordes que fan no castelo, aye?" he replied, which immediately brought forth an angry rant in her heavily accented Federation Standard, as Fiona's pale skin turned red with her immediately arrived fury.

"Dinna ye be sayin sooch things aboot me family, ye daft old codger, or I'll ring yuir bell s'hard the church will think tis noon and they're behind the times. This's me partner and me daaater and ye'd be well ta keep a civil tongue in yuir head lest ye lose it ta me boot, y'hear me Paiter Ploonkit?" As she ranted she had begun advancing on the elderly caretaker, even as her porcine partner wisely grasped the back of the small spitfire's sweater to hold her back. It had been a while since Gavarus had seen O'Dell get so angry so quickly, so whatever had been said was clearly outrageous to her. Watching, the Klingon couple nodded approvingly at O'Dell's display, the Bolean's just kept taking pictures and the older woman sighed and flipped through her book absentmindedly.

"Aye, aye, Ah ment no fense, wee lass a'the heatherr. We're simple coontry folk annae use'ta alla these different... types. Boot yuir are guests, and all'r welcome, aye?"

"Aye... he's sayin we're all honored guests and we're welcome," Fiona explained to the crowd of alien tourists, who seemed slightly suspicious, but took it in stride. Lots of the locals were excitable, and they tended to communicate in such rapid staccato bursts of high spirited communication, so this was not much out of the ordinary for them to have witnessed on the Emerald Isle. Taking Minnie's hand in one of her own and Gavarus' in the other, Fiona glowered challengingly at the white-haired old gent, who began leading the way up the path to the castle.

"Cuim along, cuim along ye... les git oota this bluiddy weather afore it its, aye?"

As they all walked in, Minnie had her little tongue sticking out the side of her mouth as she watched her own hooves. Wobbling forward, concentrating intently on walking and letting out the occasional laugh after a few successful steps, though it was clear from the occasional tugs that she would have faceplanted a few times had her moms not been holding her up.

"Okay, the normal talking I understood since... it kinda just sounds like you when you get really plastered..." Briaar leaned over, whispering to her pint-sized partner. "But, uh, the Gaelic... I dooooo... NOT want to know what he said about us, do I?"

The epic eyeroll Gavarus received as a reply spoke volumes, as Fiona exercised her habit of 'not going into it'. Whenever someone spoke ill of her porcine partner, the feisty O'Dell was quick to rise to her defense, rapidly escalating to physical altercation despite her diminutive size and lack of physical strength, endurance or fighting prowess. It would seem that when it came to defending her newly adopted babe, that same proclivity extended to her, if anything magnified by an insult to them both. An insult which she refused to repeat nor elaborate upon, because if they had not been hurt by it the first time, Fiona O'Dell would see to it they never would.

While people might jape and jeer at Fiona herself, that she would take in stride, having been a short 90-pound weakling all her life. Bu no one disrespected anyone or anything that she cared about, which would be a defining characteristic that her wee charge would learn, and adopt in time.

Looking down at Minnie, Briaar smirked slightly and faux-whispered. "Did'ja see that look, Minnie Moo? That means 'don't ask your Mum that question'. Beware the eyeroll, Minnie. Bewaaaarreee." Looking up, the tiny Minotaur giggled at the towering Tellarite.

"It did not look this run down in the brochures... is this place still structurally sound?" the male of the Klingon couple asked aloud.

"Aye, s'been standin fer five hundred years. Maybe when yuir the same age ye kin complain aboot yuir structural sounding, aye?" O'Dell snapped back. "She's bin cleared by the Irish Tourism Board, so that means she's nae only structurally sound but she's a bluiddy delight inside, and reputed to be haunted by ghosts. So dinna be bashin her ootsides- she's fine Irish craftsmanship built to stand the ages, so nivvir ye mind!"

Ahead of them, the old caretaker Mr. Plunkett snickered. He might have just endured a tongue lashing by the wee spirited sprite, but it warmed his heart that she'd defend her heritage and her ancestry just as quickly. The older woman bringing up the rear also snickered, but so quietly no one noticed.

Looking around the interior main hall, the Boleans began taking even more excited holoscans, as the Klingon couple scoffed loudly. Meanwhile, their quiet young son was transfixed, looking over at Minnie who was looking around along with everyone else. The Hall was large, with a curved stone staircase going up two flights to a stone balcony overlooking the hall. On one side, was the concierge desk and across the room on the other side of the mismatched couches and chairs was the modestly-sized bar that Briaar tugged on Fiona's hand and gestured to with her snout. "So, I'm ready to check-in so we can get a bit shitfaced."

But while she talked, she felt a tugging. Looking down, Briaar and Fiona noticed Minnie was turning around, trying to waddle over to the old lady at the rear of the group with a wide-eyed expression and a smile. "Lookin' to make new friends, Minnie Moo? Okay, kiddo. After we get checked in." With which the portly Porcine hoisted the newly ambulatory tot up on her hip to make sure she didn't keep trying to pull away. For her part Minerva made a snort of disapproval, surprising herself with the sound and distracting her from the source of her frustration, which was being denied.

Their luggage was brought up from the shuttle on a cart, then hauled up the stairs to the upstairs accommodations by the porter, the old-fashioned way rather than using a grav-sled, and Briaar noted that the wireless fixtures were still a hundred years behind the times at least. The stubbornness of O'Dell's people to cling to the 'old ways' was quite clear in their roots here on Earth, it seemed. The bed was all it had been in the brochure, large enough that they set Minnie to crawl across it and they had time to unpack in between turning her around and sending her after the other parent.

The room in which that grand canopy bed stood was made of stone, cold, and actually quite drafty. But rugs were strategically placed to make walking without shoes accomodatable, and beside the bed was a roaring fire- which, though convincing, for safety reasons was holographic- was still putting out a considerable amount of heat and light that lent comfort to the room in more ways than one. Rolling up Minnie's sleeves, a chore she suspected was going to be perennial for a while, Fiona took it all in with a smile.

"This is bloody brilliant, Briaar. Thankey fuir this- stayin' in a real live castle, on a proper family holiday, takin holos and joost... livin life, aye? This is the good stoof, aye?" Getting dewey-eyed, the little leprechaun in the bright green woolen sweater awkwardly ran across the room in the Irish castle, trying to hit offensive stereotype bingo. Wrapping her arms in a hug about the waist of her partner, or at least as much as she could manage, Fiona O'Dell expressed herself without the benefit of alcohol or similar brain damage.

Looking down, Briaar looked part confused and part concerned. The emotions of being in a family like this were still fairly new to both women and the atypical Tellarite was still learning how to react. Because even though Fiona had expressed happiness, teary eyes still activated Briaar’s tendency to feel guilty and think she might have done something wrong. “Uh… Is… is… are you okay, Fee?”

"Thank ye fuir this, Briaar Gavarus. Fer ye and mee, and the wee one there. I nivvir... Ah thought I'd be alone me whole life, ye know? Who'd poot up wi' the likes 'a me, aye? Until there was you." Pulling back a bit so they could make eye contact, those bright green eyes with flecks of gold glinting on them fixed on the dark brown eyes of the space swine. "How... us, who were neither g'win ta poot a bebe in t'other somehow ended up wi' an adorable tot... together."

Now, with some fairly concrete evidence that all was, if fact, better than fine, Briaar had a wide smile on her own face and was nodding as she looked down.

"If ye'd a'told me six months ago where I'd be today I'da called ye a fool and a liar. Yet here we are, and... ye make me happy and I hope I make ye happy, and I know she makes us both happy." Grasping one of the posts of the bed, Minne had pulled herself upright, steadying herself with the stable object. Scooping the miniature minotaur off the bed with a grunt, O'Dell swung her into the family hug. "G'win ta break me heart the first time I canna pick ye oop, wee gel. I hope it doesnae break me back too..."

“I know. Sometimes I… I go to sleep scared I’ll wake up and it won’t be real. And none of it makes sense, but yeah. Yeah, you make me very happy. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy. First you and now her and I don’t know how it all happened to me of all people.” Briaar said, wiping her own cheek and trying to not let herself get overly emotional. Thankfully, it was easy to refocus with Minnie, who just had to smile and let out a moo or giggle to reset both of their brains on the positive.

A change for Minnie and a fresh bottle, and the trio of trouble were down the stairs again, headed to the bar. The silver-haired librarian was reading on one of the mismatched sofas with a cup of tea sitting on her small stack of books, clearly enjoying her own space. A local was parked at the bar, a gentleman in a fleece and leather coat with a rather bulbous red nose which indicated a lifetime of alcohol abuse. The caretaker, Mr, Plunkett was seated at the bar as well, which was being tended by a silver-haired elder gentleman smoking a pipe, the aromatic tobacco lending a bit of pub atmosphere.

With almost a sixth sense for detecting serious drinkers, the older man smiled, tipped his head as he dried off a glass with a dishrag and addressed the most unusual family. “So, what c'n I git fer ya', ladies?

Minnie, held in Fiona’s arms, looked up at the bulbous nose of the local at the bar with wide-eyed wonder and started reaching out with her trademark grabby hands. Meanwhile, Briaar put her hands on her wide hips and snorted lightly. “What do I want? Hmmm.” Then she turned with a smirk to her pint-sized partner and smiled. “Well, I’m not flyin’ tonight, so get me drunk, lady. You know the local poisons best. I leave my inebriation in your capable hands.”

"Well, Guiness is tradition cuz ye kin get it innywhere, but since we're here at the source, howzaboot one a'them and we'll try a Bulmers, because I dinna think we're north enow for it to be Magners. Tis a refreshing sweet Irish cider, brewed in Tipperary. Ye'll like that. But let's start wi' a right proper drink, so a round of Jameson and one of Bushmill's please, shots on the bar, and one for the house as well, aye?" Understanding bar culture amongst her ancestors, Fiona was sure to buy a shot of whiskey for the two gents at the bar as well as the bartender, to ingratiate themselves to the locals. "In fact, make et a dobul, aye?"

The bartender smiled broadly at that- the wee lass might have brought a pig and a cow to the bar, but she was buying rounds, so clearly she was a rum sport and would be less trouble than most. "Aye lass, happy t'ablige. Jameson or Bushmills for the house?"

"Why not one of each, m'laird, seeing as how we're on vacation and this fella looks like he could use a proper warmin' of his bones, aye?" Fiona gently patted Peter Plunkett on his back, which surprised the elderly caretaker. Apparently forgiving and forgetting was also her way, which brought a smile to his face.

"Ach, thas quite decent of ye lass, an' generous too ta oaffer. I'll drink to yuir health!" Even as the old man spoke, the grey-haired bartender was pouring the shots with practiced ease, 4 at a time and delivering them to the small bar. As they arrived, old Plunkett raised the first of his shots in toast. "Slainte!"

Taking her glass and holding it up, Briaar smiled and replied, "Damn frickin' skippy!" tossing her shot back and cleaning it off with ease. The Tellarite engineer winced slightly as it went down and chuckled as she did. "Yeah, that's good shit. That's gonna kick my fat ass later alright, Fee."

Then looking to the bar, Briaar did a doubletake as the bartender appeared to be on the other end when she was sure he had just been in front of her. Shrugging it off, she leaned over and offered her glass up for another and the bartender took it to refill with a smile.

With a fresh drink, she looked down at the wee Minotaur babe in Fiona's arms. "Hey there, Minnie Moo. You wanna come up here and sit with your moms?"

For the first time, the bouncing baby did more than giggle or chortle and instead actually nodded back with a huge smile and made grabby hands for the portly porcine. "Holy SHIT, Fee! Did you see that!?! Minnie NODDED!!!"

"Smartest wee babe on two hooves, our gel is! Well, ye know what they say, what yuir fookin' mouth, because they understand more'n ye think and they are learning all the time," Fiona declared, taking a delicate sip of her first shot and savoring the flavor. As a classic lightweight, she could hold her liquor, she just had to take it slowly. "Mmmm, that's the good stoof right there. Alreet wee one- dinna ye worry mate, that diaper's Starfleet issue and she'll nae make a mess on the bar. Besides, we have ta teach her bar etiquette sooner than later, just like me Da taught me. Alreet now, where's the darts, while I kin still hold one..."

The early evening began to drift into night as the unconventional family made their way through the castle’s common areas. Even drinking, Fiona O’Dell was fairly good at throwing darts and even better when Briaar picked her up for a better and higher angle. It was a technique that was all in good fun, but one they wisely chose to nix when the Klingon family had made their way down from their room and decided to play.

Now ambulatory, Minnie was a bit harder to keep an eye on, however, as she wanted to get up and explore as much of the castle as she could waddle across. Thus leaving Briaar to run out to the shuttle and get her travel playpen, to corral the tiny toy and ply her with her favorite toys to get her to run around a bit less.

The Bolean couple seemed to want to make a career of taking pictures of the miniature Minotaur, however, and that helped occupy her attention a bit. As did the slightly older Klingon boy who was sturdy enough to play with Minnie without getting hurt, and the two seemed to be making games and fun for one another, even to the point of her headbutting him, and him headbutting back, to both their delights.

After another potato heavy meal, interspersed with a number of dishes Fiona advised Briaar not to eat. The meal was one of two vegetarian options chosen among the guests, as both Briaar and the older woman, nicknamed ‘the Librarian’, opted for such. But as everyone ate, Minnie seemed transfixed on the older woman, who seemed to be doing her best to pretend she was alone in the room. Ever so often she reached for her, which led to one or both of them having to restrain the bouncing babe not to crawl across the table to get at the stranger she seemed so fixated upon. Rising from the table and taking in the odd swords and shields with heraldric crests upon them that were not unlike the one hanging in Fiona's quarters, O’Dell let out a yip of delight when she discovered something she called a ‘virginal’.

“So, what the hell is this, Fee?” Briaar said, slurring slightly with a baby in one arm and a large beer in the other. “Looks like a teeny organ had a baby with a cuckoo clock or something?”\

"Yuir nae far off, mate," O'Dell replied. "Tis a stringed instrument, but ye play it wi' a keyboard, like a piano, but much smaller and the sound is much mighter and more akin to a harp than a piano or an organ- those use wind through pipes, y'see."

"Ye know yuir instruments, m'wee lassie. D'ye know how to tune one?" the elderly caretaker asked as he pushed back from the table, a coffee spiked with whiskey and a dollop of cream in his hand.

"Aye, I've the ear for it, if ye dinna mind?" O'Dell replied, and at the upraised mug of the caretaker, she opened it expertly and began fiddling with it, striking keys that did sound more like a small piano than anything else, and within a few minutes, she had it tuned by ear. At the nod of acquiescence from Mr. Plunkett, she began tinkling away at the small instrument, to which she seemed quite ideally sized. As the chords flowed out, Fiona began to sing, with a nod of her head to her partner to come close as she sang a lullaby that seemed appropriate to their wee bairn.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Tu0RJIZRrM

The lilting voice of the tiny test pilot seemed stronger in the small hall, and as she sang, silence fell. For the locals, it was a lovely rendition of the Castle of Dromore, a haunting melody long associated with the place itself, and it was moving to her it sung so well. For Minerva Carrot, it was a sweet lullaby she would grow up hearing, and in turn sing someday to her own children. Even the Klingons, vaguely dissatisfied with everything, gave pause to listen to Fiona's operatic and gentle rendition of the classic and ancient tune, and when she finished, there were few dry eyes in the house and a very asleep baby. Even the Klingon youngster had passed out, lulled to sleep by the siren's song.

Most everyone was smiling and wiping her eyes as the room went quiet for just a moment as Fiona turned to take a bow with a wide, beaming smile of her own as Gavarus wiped away a tear and bit her bottom lip with a smile. But before she could, a wailing moan suddenly echoed through the drafty hall.

"What the effin' @$&# was THAT?!" Briaar whisper/shouted at the eerie sound that still seemed to be hovering in the space while everyone was looking around, confused. The Bolean's pulled their cameras up. The Klingons took defensive positions around their still sleeping child. Briaar hugged Minnie a little tighter, who simply tucked herself in to her new mother's soft chest, still out like a light. From the back of the assembly, the elder Librarian closed her book and cricked an eyebrow curiously.

"S'a ghost... seems everybody's a critic," O'Dell joked nervously, trying to shrug off the raised hairs on the back of her neck and arms. even as Plunkett shook his head.

"Nae, muh wee lassie, that there's likely the ghost of Lady Beresford, whose harpsichord yuir playin right there. She dinna like innyone touchin' it in life, and apparently, she's nae moor open-minded aboot it in death, aye?"

"Haunted harpsichord. Loverly. Joost what I wanted on my vacaaaation, to get haunted fer knowin how to play an 800 year old instrument, aye?" While she joked to try to shrug it off, O'Dell still got up from the low bench of the instrument and stood with her shoulder against her much larger partner, a clear demonstration of insecurity afoot.

"Ghosts? Are you frickin' kidding me? That's a bunch of horseshit." Briaar said with a dismissive scoff and a smirk. "It's probably just something… sciencey. Wind through the rafters or something that just kinda sounds like a creepy, dead chick having an orgasm. There's no such thing."

But regardless, the portly porcine held her partner a little tighter all the same while the silver-haired bookworm rolled her eyes, cracked her book back open and went back to reading as she sat in the chair nearest the supposed haunted instrument.

"Let's not pess 'em off if they are ghosts, alreet Briaar?" Fiona whispered, then raised her voice to a more conversational level. "After alla that, what say we have a nightcap, all? I know I could use a drink..."

The collection of strangers gathered together under the roof of the ancient castle reconvened in the main room about the bar, and Fiona took a shot of whiskey, not sipping it but tossing it back, her hands trembling slightly. The Klingon couple was muttering in Klingon to one another, one hand never straying from the daggers at their belts even as they carried their sleeping son to place him on the couch. When Minnie got a bit heavy for Gavarus, she placed her gently beside the young Klingon and bot leaned against one another as they dozed.

"Actual out of phasic entities that are repeating actions in life brought on my material world stimulus? This is fascinating. I wonder if they form free-floating apparitions. Oooh, if they do, would they look as they did in life, or at the time of their death, or as their corporeal forms appear today, I wonder?" The Bolean tourists were eating up the ghost story, even as the librarian's eyes flickered up, then made a show of not paying attention and O'Dell ordered another shot of whiskey.

The tone of the room lightened with the liberal application of more alcohol, which the bartender was only more than happy to add to everyone’s room tabs with a friendly smile. And while there were no more wailing or moaning, the evening did not progress without any more unusual incidents.

At one point, the heavy, wooden castle doors slowly opened in spite of the lack of any wind or anyone actually pulling at the door. Not too long afterward, one of the table lamps turned itself on and then back off again. Finally, the Boleans were all but certain that they saw a shadowy woman on the balcony when nobody else was looking, and it was the one moment that their cameras weren’t at the ready. Briaar had attempted to explain everything with flimsily structured pseudoscience as if she knew what she was talking about, but even the assistant Engineer was noticeably creeped out and running out of explanations.

Before too long, awkward goodnights were said, the kids were gently picked up and all the guests made their way to their respective rooms for the night and all mostly all very drunk.

To Be Continued...

 

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