ginger crushes


They walked in mist and moonlight.

"So what happens now?" asked Gormglaith.

Bairrfhionn, her face puffy from tears, threw a sharp glance. Four casperish girls sitting on a low wall gawked at them and the banshee nodded back with a tight, lopsided smile.

"We'll drop by Cluain house, I guess," she said under her breath, grimacing.

"How thrilling," Gormglaith answered singsong, tossing her head and shoving back straw thatch.

"Rather," sighed Gwenhwyfer as Bairrfhionn kept eyes forward, still sniffling.

With curled upper lip and wagging head, Gormglaith twirled her eyes.

"Truth be told, Gormglaith," said Creiddyladl, nodding, "I thought it was all like something out of the Eachdraidh."

From sunken eyes behind a lock of thatch Gormglaith lasered a stare at the scollagyn as they strolled through windswept, newly fallen leaves between keenly lit, wafered high rises. Nigh a bright, low orange roof with its stacked gore beaming blue-white over the sheer, huesomely smeared walls of another Ben chee inn they came upon a lane bedecked with sparkling ghosts of owls, apples and barley sheaves for Harvest home and then to her numb amazement, strolled by the red and white awnings and pink gleam of the Lighthouse, a malt shop wontedly shown in Tales of the knotty kindel. Hanging out by the front doors were a dozen town maegden and a few sulky maedchen in their middle teens, most with unkempt, stringy hair smattered by fluorescing gibecrake and wearing unwontedly big, scuffed klompen. Some leaned coolly against a wall of frostily glowing bricks, looking hard and slurping icy, egg shaped and glimmering pink lightsicles with darkly blued lips. Others were cutting up. Most were in dark grey longstockings which seemed washed out and nagged.

"Lasses!" whispered Gwenhwyfer. "The latest fad ever since Gale in the Dales showed up looking like that when they yodeled at the Rink last Beltane. They soak spanking new black linens in one-twelfth rusted water," she said, snickering, "which chavels the heat craft and drives their kynn bats, mostly."

Some yodelers

Gormglaith gazed at a waifish girl whose head was shaven sides and back, her short tufts of blond and purple hair tied off with strings and ribbons. The blue-lipped lass glanced back with a start, cast an empty stare through bright eyes and thrust out her tongue at Gormglaith who looked away as the sound of wails and loud clopping rose from behind.

Staggering towards them high on keened klompen came a dozen girls in chalkish linens, tears running in streaks down gaunt cheeks. Six held magnesium ribbon flares which threw blinding white light with flashing hints of green and billowing fogs of wan smoke raining heaps of a floury, fluffy dust. Bystanders caught or scooped this up from the street to throw and smear on each others' faces, garb and hair or push into gaping mouths to eat. Between the brandbearers six more scaanishly dusted girls cast keen shadows as they carried a sparkling beryllium litter holding a mummy, smoothly wrapped in thicknesses of flaxen linen strips with wide, colourfully embroidered and swatched bands at the waist, lower thighs and ankles. The bluesquash-like shape of a head along with those of edgy shoulders and bony frame were softened but somehow stark to see. On the chest was a hint of hands crossed at the wrists whilst below, nestled in a bough of holly, a knot of white lilies lay over the womb.

Bairrfhionn was spotted by a weeping, gangly girl whose long ginger hair, face, mouth, chest, arms and black longstockings were thoroughly smeared with milky dry dust. She spun about to cast a kindled stare at the banshee whilst loudly stomping hollow keened klompen on the tightly laid, flat cobblestones, fists clenched and thrust down at her sides, beckoning.

Slipping back into tears Bairrfhionn rushed with Gwenhwyfer to a searing, spewing brand under which they caught and crammed the still warm and tumbling scaan dust into their mouths, gathered more to push and fold into their hair, wiping and rubbing each others' chests and limbs until they were almost wholly bane ashen grey. Gormglaith sobbed, then lunged only to be jerked back by Creiddyladl who held on with a steely grip about her forearm.

Gormglaith gasped.

No! mouthed the scollagyn, eyebrows raised and shaking her head in battish flurry.

With a wistful shrug Gormglaith nodded and they watched steadfastly as Bairrfhionn and Gwenhwyfer blended with a quickly growing flock in the heady smell of burning cypress, juniper and sandalwood. Meanwhile several lasses brought up the rear and among them was the blond and purple tufted one.

"Who was she?" Gormglaith called out to her.

"Fidach Noichrothach!"

"How many?"

"Three hundred twenty-one! Artn't thou coming?!"

"No... I mustn't."

"Whyever not?"

"I plighted tonight!"

"So come at dawn! Dubh house! It's meant to be a wicked scaan feish... the Gumm Bats might come 'n yodel... so too thrash! We'll all get lashed, I think! Anyway what's thy name? I'm Doneele Doireann!"

"Gormglaith... Sparkenbane."

"Nila nah ydnah!" yodeled some giggling, blaze haired lasses, their dinged, heavily oversized wooden klompen clopping (somewhat) to a beat as they clattered by.

"Oh... wow! They say thou didst Findabair dirt! Is it true? ...Aw, lighten up! It's dish, is all! Merry plight then, huh Gormglaith?"

Doneele skipped and ran after the others to catch up with the scaan walk which by now had made its flashing way further down the street. Gormglaith gazed in a feaze at Creiddyladl as they stood alone in swirls of dwindling white smoke by the pink gleam of a thoroughly emptied Lighthouse.

The two whistly skirted a nearby corner onto leafy Riding rood and from the sleek black granite lobby of Cluain house rode up to its top, thirty-third floor. The flat's outer, corundum walls looked upon windy stoeps swathed in low clouds glowing by the lights of Fen Glioon where below, a moonlit loch swept out between hills and mountains to the east. Creiddyladl grinned at Gormglaith behind her as they climbed a twirling titanium stairway to a loft which had walls and roof so sheer as if to make it seem they were standing in open air under the stars.

"Feep," said Gormglaith. "...Is this Erin's eyrie?"

"Uh huh ...bits anyway."

Creiddyladl peeled her cutty sark and was helping Gormglaith with hers when she called out,

"Hey Raoghnailt!"

"Hey..." she answered, halting in her tracks to gape at the banshee whelmed in moonbeams.

"...Hi!"

"Hi," said Gormglaith, staring back, her mouth still smeared dark bloodsome red.

"Art thou hungry?" the scollagyn asked, smiling bright.

"No."

"Thirsty?"

"Yeah."

"Gwenhwyfer said thou like'st ginger crush. So do I. Want some?"

"Ta!"

"Ok. Creiddyladl?"

"Ta."

"'k, back in a tick!"

Raoghnailt dashed down the stairs.

"Wanna swap thy linens?" asked Creiddyladl as she stepped out of raw alder wood klompen, hooked thumbs into rows of pleats, peeled off her own, lit over to a trip bag, dropped to her knees and rummaged.

"I'm ok for now," answered Gormglaith, looking down.

"'k," said Creiddyladl, unfolding another set of longstockings, standing then quickly stepping into and pulling them on. "Art thou lass?" she asked, tugging at linen on lean thighs below a snugly lippish and wan cleft peeking through the teardrop flue.

"Not."

Gormglaith shrugged and smirked.

Creiddyladl looked up, puzzled, hair falling by gaunt moonlit shoulders, then twirled her eyes and fell to knees once more, delving into the bag, grasping at folded linens and plopping them on the floor.

"Gwenhwyfer said there's a sack from Slinn's in here somewhere... yep!" she put with a yank and a crinkling noise.

She stood, holding out folded white cloth.

"I meant into flued ones."

"Oh."

"Dost thou want 'em?"

Creiddyladl beside her, Gormglaith hiked the wide, swirling wrap up over her ribs and stared down.

"Here, let me..." said Creiddyladl, reaching to tweak and pull.

They were giggling when Raoghnailt came back with three sparkly ginger crushes.

"Gasping, Gormglaith," said Raoghnailt, handing her a tumbler.

"Ta," she answered, glancing at Raoghnailt whilst the three sipped fizzy.

Raoghnailt gazed back ever bright.

"Dost thou wanna make out?"

Gormglaith gulped on a mouthful of ginger crush and swallowed.

"Aye," she answered at last, grinning and nodding once.

"Kewl," said Raoghnailt, tilting her elfen head.

The scollagyn giggled, pulling her to the middle of the eyrie's snug birchwood box staddle. They kissed in bashful, then merry gathered pog. Creiddyladl shoved Gormglaith's bony shoulders down flat whilst Raoghnailt pried her knees afar and she squealed as a wet and lappish tongue alighted at the flue. Gormglaith watched Raoghnailt's big, deeply set periwinkle blue eyes staring back, nose ring glittering, mouth glued upon the smooth slope between thews of lean thighs before Creiddyladl's mouth opened in a craven latch upon her own.

The harvest moon lit the eyrie in a blue white glimmer increased by starlight and the Milky way's snowy smear. The three napped in a loosely gobbed, snoggish and sometimes latchy clump, backs of curled hands on limbs and waists. Creiddyladl stirred first, kissed foreheads, bounded off the staddle and down the braided stairs.

"Oh Gormglaith!" Raoghnailt blurted out as they snuggled. "Art thou still a wretch?"

"Sorry."

Raoghnailt crinkled her nose and hugged Gormglaith.

"Maybe we should pull ourselves together," said the scollagyn. "We'll be off soon."

"For Wrath ness..."

Raoghnailt nodded.

"Dost thou like it there?"

"I'm clueless as to what boards I'll haunt after I've gotten myself shee but I guess I'll stay. Besides, Blodwen and I fuck."

Gormglaith threw Raoghnailt a puzzled look.

In a gleaming bath tiled skeinishly black and white they drenched each other with sprayers and the two scollagyn stopped and stared as the blood red melted and ran from Gormglaith's mouth. Raoghnailt grinned and Creiddyladl maedchenly startled an eeking Gormglaith by nudging her from behind with a glowing white cake of chalky natron. Wherewith, Raoghnailt smacked Creiddyladl's wet bottom as the wispy scollagyn left the bay.

"Oy!" yelled Creiddyladl, flashing a mirthy glare as she skipped to the sinks.

The three were standing in a row at a looking glass with swatched insets of many colours, running fingers and silver mane combs through their hair when Morigan came by.

"Gormglaith Hafgan Halsen," said Morigan, "is that a comb in thy hand?"

"She forgot thou wast here," Raoghnailt said breezily, flipping a red streaked lock.

Morigan smirked from a corner of her still besmudged mouth as she tugged off longstockings and sprang into the shower bay. Through the looking glass Gormglaith watched as she smooshed her eyes shut and lifted sturdy chin by hollow cheeks to catch glittering teems of steamy rain upon a folkloric face.

Squeakily groomed, the threesome buffily swooped in on a sprawling kitchen, the kind one might stumble across whilst lurking through the lairs of an inn. They found Bairrfhionn, still thoroughly dusted a scaanish grey white, the streaks of dried tears running down her cheeks, sitting with Feegan at the tulipwood board, a tray of shortbread and two glasses of bluish milk between them.

"Hi Gormglaith!"

"...Hi!"

"Feegan!"

Creiddyladl ran up to hug fast and beam.

"She's been waiting half an hour!" Bairrfhionn called over her shoulder, heading for the bath.

"Ok," said Raoghnailt, heedfully eyeing a quivering goblin. "Let's see what gobsy here can cough up tonight..."

"...and thee!" said Feegan.

She tugged and hugged Raoghnailt with a slap on the bottom, then gabbed with Creiddyladl as they stood together against the kitchen board, leaning back on reedy arms.

"Didst tha hear about Eiriol?" asked Feegan.

"Last I heard she was on some peak in the Fells..."

"No more, she's at the South evermost... bash on!"

"'k, we'll haunt her quick!"

"'k. How's Flocklaith doing? I haven't talked to her in moons."

"She's in ash nest."

"Gasping! Flocklaith?"

"Gone swot. Her life is teach... ash... and smacking up, ta," said Creiddyladl, nimbly poking at odd goblins. "We still fuck and everything but she's never about."

"When did this happen!?"

"Last Ostara, when we started the ring spells with Rathyen. I mean, where's the pith?"

"What about Rathyen, then?" asked Gormglaith.

The kitchen went whist. Creiddyladl, Feegan and Raoghnailt traded looks as if sharing a laugh, nose rings gleaming in the tight light bouncing off scrubbed titanium.

"Hard core," put Feegan.

"Stern as withies," said Raoghnailt.

"Apples..." called Creiddyladl with a wave of her hand as a dish of potatoes and squash popped out.

"...and," the scollagyn tossed off, heading for the board, "she gives sly spank."

Gormglaith stared at Creiddyladl as she settled in front of her foggy dish.

"Like, how a flock of us," Raoghnailt began in trundling scollagyn banter, "were hangin' out in ash after bowling last Saetereve, eatin' popcorn 'n glommin' ghosts when Rathyen flutters in and Creiddyladl brats out, luzzin' herself on the lanky lap, flickin' 'n flappin' like a dove. I mean thou knowst how it is," Raoghnailt carried on, spinning her eyes, "when an eggy witch slaps thy bottom with a bit of heed. So everyone's shakin' in the lake or whatever and Creiddyladl's the drenched wench..."

"So wet!" Creiddyladl rang in as Feegan giggled and Gormglaith stayed herself with hands behind, clutching the kitchen board.

"...anyway she goes limp 'n meanwhile Rathyen's doing all she can to peel Creiddyladl off her lap when she looks up like, way startled and asks us in rundles about our spells."

Gormglaith gaped at Raoghnailt.

"I'm not boring thee, am I?" asked Raoghnailt.

"Oh no, not at all," said Gormglaith, quickly shaking her head.

"'k... so Rathyen has at it with fixed rings and fer aitt forks and Creiddyladl's bawlin' blush kerfuffle on the floor when the witch raises her hand and says, 'Which reminds me! Have you ever seen my take on Ffraid Fearchara's jeen of the third bent ancheisht?' and Gormglaith, I never had. So she launches into that with a goblin and after maybe a minute says, 'Creiddyladl my bat, why not cast off those noddy blinkums and watch this too? It's quite stirring!'"

Creiddyladl grinned with a mouthful of cheese potato.

Gormglaith looked back at Raoghnailt.

"Her take on Ffraid Fearchara's jeen of the third bent ancheisht's a trip," said Raoghnailt, nodding.

"She does a knotty bopping sou-cheeayll, too," said Creiddyladl, stabbing a slice of squash.

Gormglaith was leaning forward, mouth agape.

"I've read about Ffraid Fearchara's jeen of the third bent ancheisht but I've never seen it done either."

Raoghnailt gave Gormglaith a beholding look.

"...Th'art a clannin girl!" she said. "I keep forgetting. Whatever," Raoghnailt put with a wave. "Art tha hungry yet? I'm having elbow noodyls!"

They were all four seated by the tulipwood when Morigan walked in with still damp hair, stopping short to swap stares with Gormglaith.

"Gasping, Morigan," Raoghnailt deadpanned with wide eyes. "I barely knew thee myself."

Morigan smirked as she slid onto the bench.

"Uhm... artn't thou having anything?" asked Raoghnailt, fork hovering.

"Huh?"

"She forgets..." Raoghnailt said to Gormglaith, putting down her fork and rising from the board.

Unswayed, Morigan watched Gormglaith.

"I like how thou dost that..." she said, nodding like a moppet. "It's craven."

Gormglaith answered with a sidelong glance and carried on eating. Creiddyladl followed this, enthralled, slowly chewing on a bite of leek as Morigan blurted out,

"I've always said you can tell skeins about someone by the way she tucks into..."

"...elbow noodyls?"

Stopping the fork before her mouth, with moon, stars and the lights of Fen Glioon behind, Gormglaith stood, leaned over the board and put forth a heaping fork of noodyls and cheese, left hand held beneath. Their gazes locked hard as Morigan deftly nicked and chewed this dollop, swallowing thrice.

"...I knew it!" she said. "Thou art stern... a frickin' henge maedchen! That's why it took me less than a minute to snatch the very kindel keep from thy fork with that dodgy Eachdraidh scam and why thou spookst the weepy creeps out of everyone."

Gormglaith put down the fork and raised a steadfast chin.

"Ta! In two hundred years maybe we'll haunt this board and talk about all the wraithen stuff our clannin has done together."

"Thou, little sister," said Morigan, wagging a finger as Raoghnailt came back with a dish, "art somethin' else!"

"Look at the green..." Raoghnailt rang, "so fallain!"

Morigan eyed it at length, like a chary cat, as Raoghnailt lit down beside her looking clanninishly worried.

"'k, like I botched when I asked for the hemrik, huh?"

"I wouldn't say botched. I'd say kynned," said Morigan, stirring a wave of giggles.

"Hey Gormglaith," said Raoghnailt as she jumped up and lit over to the wall, "this is in the Eachdraidh! It's the kitchen tapestry the Weird sisters loomed when they plighted the Sparkenbanes."

"The Web of wyrd!" said Gormglaith, getting up to see. "How lapping cool..."

After two thousand years the woof woven down the warp was a bit threadbare but its splashed and puzzled hues still shone through.

"Ganders at the norns' knots, I see!" said Tegan, breezing by naked and chalken on her toes, single shock of geal yellow hair damp and lank as she slunk into a wefted, stepped nest calling singsong, "So goes Wyrd as she will!"

Morigan whisked dishes from the board and carried a stack to the kitchen, helped only by four whist stares.

"Fy!" said Morigan as she ran back, throwing up her hands and crushing her eyes shut whilst all broke into laughter. "You let me do it again!"

"What's so funny?" asked Gwenhwyfer, walking in with Bairrfhionn, both now scrubbed and dustless in tidy black longstockings.

Morigan warded at the crumb-strewn tulipwood to more giggles.