An rud is annamh is iontach

language moodboard: irish / gaeilge

Helma

so sorry, should’ve said something earlier!!!]

“John Joseph Mary, y’look like somethin’ outta Outlander.” She’s talking about the book she never read, but the show she watch’s Sam Heughan’s Butt for.

* Has no idea what that even is or means so he’s just going to stand there looking at her, a large brow arched as the only external sigh of his confusion. * ..Aight..

What’d’ya mean just by ‘aight’. Sayin’ yer handsome. N’ slightly lookin’ bear loike. *she’s just kind of staring at him, how couldn’t he know about the good scottish bum of a man from a good series.*

“Yer shorter than our braithars.” Which was true, most of their brothers towered over them all things compared. Still, she had to try considering she was shorter than Saoirse.

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“Since ye cannae jist murder yer enemies.. I reckon I’ll tek a whisky.. if ye ha’e wan.. or failin’ that a lager.. meybe Carlin’?”

“fack if yew were moi enemy y’d be dead already, mate.” Funny man. “Good god man, Yer in Dublin, course there’s whiskey.” Getting the bartender’s attention she held up two fingers and mouthed off ‘Whiskey’. “So... why y’ere in Dublin.”

So it turns out jumping over that fence was a mistake… but it looked awesome, right? [He’s in so much pain actually, his face, arms and knees are bruised pretty badly. Whats to say: he fell face first on the ground]

I have no idea what you just said, but I’ll gladly take some Whiskey, I’m sure that’ll help. 

She took a flask from the inside of her purse, unscrewing it and offering it to him. She looked at it and took a quick swig before handing it back over to him.

Let him just think about this for a moment.. It’s taken Hugh a lot longer to get to Dublin than it usually does when he’s on a bender. Where’s the chubby raccoon and his wee rat? Still, she’s offering him a drink and he can’t say no to that. “Aye, I’ll ha’e a pint wit ye..”

“Good choice, mate.” She waggled her index finger for him to follow as her heels clicked the rocks of the alleyway rubble. She turned, opening a door to a little “hole-in-the-wall” pub. “What’s yer poison?”