The Rose, The Shamrock, The Willow
It was nearing the end of the first full week that Bronach had been in the US, more specifically the Ministry. She could find her footing in most places just fine, but was still getting used to how active the grounds (and chats) actually were. Back home (well, the old home now) it was just her and her dad. The boys were married and lived with their respective families, but still tended to the farms that the family house was attached to. The house was always quiet; the farm was far enough away where the machinery and animals rarely ever were heard. And though she had many online friends, her in-person friend count was…*minimal*. At best. Therefore, she was used to the quiet.
Maybe that’s why she was getting the migraines?
She could feel another one coming; her eye was twitching, and her focus was blurring. Just in time too, as her watch beeped the reminder for her to go outside and get some fresh air for a bit. Other than the meals, this was really the only time she stepped away from her work. She checked outside her room’s window to get an idea on the weather, pleased to find that the sun wasn’t as blaring as it had been. No coat needed, no shades needed, just her phone (in case of any emergencies), and her cigarettes.
She made her way to the back most sections of the grounds, where the old graveyard stood, some ways away from the woods that bordered the grounds proper. She was always fascinated with the old epitaphs and markings of the concrete or stone or marble that was the permanent marker of the deceased who rested below. There was also a beautiful willow in the center of the graveyard here. One perfect to hide under if the sun started to peek out, or if the heat became uncomfortable. The graveyard would be today's little excursion of the property.
From far enough away she could make out a figure lounge within the willow branches; the closer she got, the more features became clearer. She smiled, realizing who the familiar stranger was, singing softly with her strong brogue as she approached, “*Oh Johnny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling from glen to glen and down the willow side…*” (She took some creative liberty with the lyrics of the old Irish hymn).
Bronach's brows rose quite a bit in shock when Johnny mentioned the traps being set around the Ministry, thankful she didn't venture too far out after dark. "Have ya thought about using some of them electric video doorbell cameras on the trees? Or hunting cameras? Something that can be hidden, but will catch the feckin shitehead in the process?" Her father had used the hunter and door cams for the chicken coop and farmstand, the latter needing it more often once the disease hit.
"Good ta know about the beverage. I'll make sure to keep some stocked, just in case ya ever need a night cap." Her smile wasn't overly flirtatious; on the contrary, it was small, and very tired, as the time of day finally hit her. "Speaking of, gonna revisit that vodka." She mumbled with a small yawn. "I'll, uh..catcha ye around later, aye?"