Aedhán O'Riordan / Background / Cillian MacNamara / Flash Fiction / Gideon O'Faolain / Impartials and Immortals / Irish History / Ryan McLaughlin / Trifecta / Writing

Trifecta Week 82: Club

Hello, all! As I said in last week’s Write at the Merge post, from here on out we’re alternating stories. Sometimes it’ll be Gideon, sometimes it’ll be Alesander. Right now it’s Alesander, and the word is CLUB. The definition:

 

trifecta 82

 

If you didn’t catch the previous, ah, shenanigans, they can be found by clicking each of these links. Now then. It’s still December 1916, and Gideon’s out of jail! For now, anyway. Enjoy!

Cheers,

Murphy

Word limit: 333
Actual: 333

“Happy buggering Christmas,” Gideon’s companion muttered, lip lifting in distaste as he shoved open the door of a London pub. “Tcha!”

Gideon glanced over but made no comment. The other man had grown up Catholic in Derry’s worst neighbourhood; that gave him as much right to hate the English as Gideon did—more experience crammed into less time.

“It’s food.” Both men moved unobtrusively, but their entrance drew notice: at the far end of the bar, two heads turned slightly. A glimpse of eyes—one pair blue, the other the colour of sherry, both too pretty for men. “You needn’t stay,” Gideon added mildly to the annoyed sound beside him.

Dark, disdainful eyes darted sideways. “I won’t hunt Englishmen,” was the reply, loud enough to muffle the man lecturing his drinking fellows on the “Sínn Féin Rebellion.” “That stiff upper lip’s rather bland.” Gideon snorted; his companion smirked.

“I imagine this isn’t the sort of club you’re used to.”

“You might be surprised.”

The other man’s lip twitched, but he made no answer; his jaw was tight, eyes fixed ahead as though he could look back through his skull at the lecturer behind them.

“Very sad, really,” the man blared. “They don’t know what we did for them, those Irish, and they rebelled. So we had to remind them, of course.”

“Did you now?” Gideon asked softly. On the bar his fist was taut, ready to swing.

“I wouldn’t,” said a mild voice.

Gideon looked up into patient blue eyes he knew from Frongoch. Opposite, his companion stared into golden ones. “Why the sodding hell not?” the latter demanded.

The golden-eyed man flicked his eyes up and down. “Another prison stint would kill you, I reckon.”

“He’s right.”

His companion swore. “I won’t eat here.”

“Fine by me,” said the blue-eyed man as they all moved to the door. “I’m Cillian MacNamara.”

“Aedhán O’Riordan,” added the gold-eyed man expectantly.

“Gideon O’Faolain.”

“Ryan McLaughlin,” the dark-haired man snarled. “Bloody pleasure.”

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10 thoughts on “Trifecta Week 82: Club

    • Thank you! I really wish I could have used the modern connotation of club, but alas, chronological. 🙂 Glad you liked! 🙂

  1. Great dialog – very well paced. It was a little hard to keep track of who was talking (I gather you were trying not to divulge the names too soon), but otherwise I really liked the tension between them. Nicely done! Thanks for continuing this story via the Trifecta prompt! ~Christine (Trifecta Guest Judge)

    • Thanks, Christine! I wasn’t entirely happy with that, was afraid people would have issues discerning who was speaking, but you’re right, I didn’t want to give it away as each of those characters are MCs of my novel’s first four books. 🙂 Beyond that I had a lot of fun, and I’m glad you enjoyed reading!

    • Thanks so much! I had a lot of fun with it. It took some wand-waving to get it down to 333 words, let me tell you, but I think it turned out well. 🙂

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