Into the Cave (Sept 4)

[Snick]

After dinner, where he struggled to get his fingers to cooperate well enough to work a fork, Pratt moseyed on down to one of the beaches of the island. A particular one he frequented in previous years for a very specific reason. Luckily, the tide was low. Repeatedly cracking and massaging his knuckles, he stood at the edge of a tide pool, watching interesting little creatures mill about. Every now and then, he glanced in the direction of the school. Did she forget? Did she get held up? Had she changed her mind?



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Siobhan stopped after dinner to slip into her Keds and hoodie before meeting Pratt to walk out to the tide pools and sea cave. Then she made sure she had her wand. She stumbled a little as she climbed over the rocks and moved through the sand. "Gilligan? Are you out here?" she called, getting closer and thinking she saw his shadow ahead. "It's me, Ginger."



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"Ahoy! Ginger!" he called to her, hands cupped around his mouth. "Watch your step!"



Pratt played a bit of hopscotch around the various crustaceans and things to aid in closing the distance quicker. Without the fear of witnesses, he would have picked her up and carried her. Instead, he offered his hand in a way that screamed 'friend zone', almost like a handshake. Keeping this relationship a secret was important to her, so he was really trying. Perhaps too hard. Once they got to where they were going, that would change.



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She stumbled her way along the rocks until she caught up to him, stumbling a little and catching his hand for balance. "I'm glad it's low tide. I love to watch all the sea life scuttling along the rocks here. They're all so busy." She looked around to see if they were being observed.



The sea cave was only twenty feet away, and quite safe until the tide came in. Furthermore, there was soft sand inside and it was out of sight.



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"Careful," he smiled winningly and squeezed her hand. "Yeah, even the non-magical ones are interesting."



Over and around the tide pools he led her, and into the cave. He had to duck down, as the ceiling wasn't high enough for him to stand his full height. Once she was in and settled, he sat beside her in the sand. He was nervous. This could be considered their first date.



"So..."



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"So, we get to talk alone . . ." She crossed her rubber toed Ked over his. "So, Gilligan, what'cha wanna talk about?" She smiled, showing her dimples.



"I hope you're not mad that I just went ahead and told Makepeace and Arwen. I figured we couldn't hide it from them long, and since we are all keepers, it had better be a secret we keep all together."





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"I'm not mad," he intertwined his fingers with hers. "I want to tell everyone, really. But I know we can't let Lorccan know, so I'm okay with keeping it on the DL."



He snickered after motioning his hand to indicate down low and making a 'gangsta' face. "I mean, it's not like you're ashamed of being my girlfriend," Pratt's smile shrank an iota. "Right?"



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"No, I like funny boys. Always have. . . . I'm proud to have you as my boyfriend." She squeezed his hand.

"But my parents," she sighed "are very Irish Catholic. It means different things for Lorccan than it does for me. Are you Irish, Pratt?" she asked hopefully.



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"My mom's side of the family is. Irish and Catholic, though they don't really seem very Christian-like after a few beers or when their favorite Quodpot team faces off with their rival," he rubbed her hand with his thumb, smirking. "But I'm not catholic. Is that a problem?"



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"Depends on how long we last and if my parents find out. But we'll cross that bridge if and when we come to it." She sighed.



"Look, this is the rule for Lorccan--get good marks so you can support a family and uphold the family name, don't get a girl into trouble, work hard, be a man, respect women, marry an Irish witch if you can.



"But the rule for me is--stay pure for marriage, only marry an Irish Catholic wizard, uphold all the Irish Catholic traditions and pass them on, get good enough marks to pass, be a good homemaker, have lots of children . . ." She sighed.



"You see the difference? But I'm the straight A student, not Lorccan. I do keep all the Irish traditions, however." She patted his hand. "Don't worry. I'm not dragging anyone to the altar. Not even you. Not for ten years or more if I can help it." she added with a laugh. "But I wanted you to know what kind of crazy family I come from."



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Marriage? Children? For a moment, Pratt could feel his stomach looping around itself. Before the panic could take hold, but not before it showed on his face, she assured him she wasn't in any rush to have those things. A great gush of air escaped his lungs.



"Double standard," he tried to recover, hoping she hadn't seen the fear in his eyes. "I can pretend to be Catholic, if the time comes. But this is just our first date, so I'm not too worried about it right now. Not that I think we won't last, I hope we do, I just... I don't want to get married and have kids. Right now, I mean. Maybe someday. We haven't even kissed yet."



Pratt groaned. This was going swimmingly. Funny that his foot tasted a lot like salty sea air.



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She laughed. "I wouldn't know what to do anyway . . . nobody's ever kissed me." She looked at him with a funny half smile. "Are you experienced? You've had a lot of practice?"



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Oh, Siobhan was such a girl. Asking loaded questions like that! Pratt, the idiot boy, didn't hear the ticking on the inside of that unmarked package.



"I wouldn't say I've had a lot of practice," he shrugged, wearing a cocky grin. "But I know what to do."



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''How much practice have you had, Pratt?" she asked... "And with whom?" She pushed him back in the sand angrily, her hands on his shoulders as his back hit she sand, an angry grin on her face. Then she stopped... "Of course, if you've only had a little practice . . . but how many? Am I just the girlfriend of the week?"



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"Just w-" He started to answer, his grin quickly fading as his eyes widened. "Oh, god, what di- Unf! What did I do?"



Pratt whined, completely confused and a little frightened. He'd always heard redheads had tempers, but this... This was unexpected.



"Just one, I swear, and I didn't even kiss her, she kissed me," Pratt swallowed hard. What was he doing? He wasn't some little coward. He wasn't going to let her intimidate him. Without warning, just a (slightly crazed) look of determination, he reached up and pulled her down until their lips met. After a brief, closed-mouth liplock, he released her.



"And now you've kissed as many people as I have," he paused. "Or had, before I kissed you. Shhhcrap....I didn't really think that through very well..."

[Snick]

Siobhan's first kiss was a little different than she dreamed of, but it didn't leave anything to be desired. She grinned, embarrassed as she moved to her side. "Sorry, I guess I have a bit of a temper. Forgive me?" She smiled shyly. "I like the way you kiss."

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When she released him, Pratt dropped his head back against the sandy ground, thinking 'Wow'. He may have even mouthed the word, he wasn't sure. Her taste was still on his lips, making them feel a little numb. He'd kissed her. He'd really kissed Siobhan O'Brien.

What a surreal moment, now that he was beyond the initial shock of his own actions. Every nerve in his skin was tingling. The blood pumping through his veins felt like raging rapids, and so hot, it gave him the feeling that lava might come gushing out of every orifice at any moment. Pratt had been wanting to do that for a while. Inclining his back with his elbows, he looked to her.

"I suppose I forgive you," his grin was askew. "It was kinda hot, actually, once I got past the pants-peeing trepidation."

Pratt winked. Despite the apparent persiflage in his tone, there was a lot of honesty hidden behind it. He liked that she didn't have anyone to compare him to. Much better for his confidence. Plus, someday, he might be the one she compares to other guys - hopefully with him as the superior kisser. Turning onto his side, he faced her with his cheek in a palm and his legs pulled in just a bit.

"Thanks," he wasn't sure how he was supposed to accept the compliment without sounding conceited. "I like the way you taste."

That sounded creepier than he intended, he blushed and averted his gaze.

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She'd liked the kiss. It was an excellent first one. But it wasn't like the ones she'd read about in those romance novels she'd sneaked out of her sisters' rooms when they didn't know. She supposed that would come later and with more practice. She certainly didn't need to learn it all on the first date. Oh no! What had Mother said about never kissing on the first date? Her face fell. Never before the third date. But maybe that was just in Mother's day. Or in that musical she liked . . . Music Man. People didn't really do that, did they? She couldn't talk about what she was thinking about, so she changed the subject.

"Do you come to this cave a lot? It takes about six hours for the tide to go from low to high, right? So we're probably good for two at least."

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"Yeah, roughly two hours. I come out here about once a week," he answered, drawing circles in the sand with his finger. "Sometimes more. It's a good hiding place. And even when I wasn't able to, uh, self-medicate, it still helped relax me a little bit. Just sitting here, watching the tide come in. I've never had anyone in 'the hole' with me until now. I'm glad you're here."

He smiled sadly, thinking of all the times he'd crawled in here to drink a potion. Maybe he wouldn't have to ever again. Pratt looked up from his sand circles, wondering if she really understood just how difficult it was going to be, how difficult he was going to be.

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"I'd love to play my music in here, but I'd be be afraid of my violin getting hurt or dirty. I bet it would sound awesome though... great acoustics."

SHe squeezed his hand. "How did you do today without your anxiety medicine?" Siobhan examined his eyes--clear and relaxed --"Am I going to be anti-anxiety medicine enough?"

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"I dunno. I guess I did alright," he shrugged. "First day, so not that difficult or stressful. Class- and drug-free-wise."

This wasn't the first time Pratt went without a fix. The first day was never bad, but once every last ounce of it was out of his system, things got a little hard to handle. He had never made it over the hump before. That difficult point between dependence and freedom. He always gave in to the craving.

"Let's give it a little more time before deciding, hm?" he smiled crookedly.

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"I'm here, Pratt. Even if I need to come over and give you one of those foot rub things like Makepeace does, we'll get through it together. "Or maybe I'll just give you one of these." She smiled and leaned over him and kissed his lips gently, trying to remember how it was done in her sisters' books. Soft, soft, slightly firmer, lips parting a little bit . . . letting her lips shape to his . . . there was more in the books, but it was a lot of grown up stuff and she was just going with what made her heart flutter. She liked him so much. She pulled away gently. "I'm here for you, Pratt. And now I've kissed someone too . . . so we're even."

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"Hmmm," his eyes stayed closed for a moment after Siobhan pulled away. "Best medicine, ever."

He considered saying he'd need her to do that again, so he could make sure. But Pratt didn't want her to think he was saying she needed practice. She most certainly did not. For never having kissed anyone, Ginger was far ahead of the curve. Pratt felt as light as a feather.

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So, he liked the way she kissed him. She grinned from ear to ear.
After a minute, she decided to present him with the problem that was dancing in the back of her mind and let it come to center stage.

"So, my anxiety medicine is playing my violin so my mother doesn't nag me and remind me to be a good girl. When am I supposed to practice? I don't want to make everyone in the lighthouse crazy. The dorms have practice rooms. They're silent. I'd love to go up and practice by the light!" she said, her face suddenly glowing, "But it's hardly quiet. I haven't dared practice since being made a keeper. Mom would kill me if she knew. I'm supposed to practice an hour or more a day. Mom got me a new violin this summer, for my birthday... a good one. I can't just ignore it. Do you have any ideas for me?"

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"Imperturbable charm," he answered. "You can put it on your door, or any door, really, so people can't hear anything from that room. But you're good at it, aren't you? Why wouldn't we want to hear it? I mean, unless you plan on practicing at two a.m."

Pratt wasn't sure what kind of music she played, but he liked just about anything besides country and rap. Even classical was among his preferred genres. That particular out-of-place taste was a remnant from his days as an up-and-coming business mogul.

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"You'll get tired of it. Quickly." She laughed. "I'm sure I drove most of my family to the bar down stairs or wandering the streets like Lorccan."

"But tell me about your family. I know about the brooms, of course, and that your brother is stuck up, and your baby sister is new this year and cute, but I don't know much else. Tell me your stories."

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"They're... like any other family with millions in the bank," Pratt said in his unique voice. It was actually a little reminiscent of a young Christian Slater, low and a little nasal with a slightly strained sound. "I actually have two brothers. The brat and the rat. Phobos won't be starting for a couple years. My dad's ancestors came from England, started the business. My mom's family is very large. Very irish, very catholic. Most of them are still in Ireland. I don't have any aunts or uncles on my dad's side."

Girls in his father's family met unfortunate fates very early in life, and once a son was produced, it was as if they stopped trying for more. This conveniently left each generation with one sole heir, at least for the past few generations. His mom insisted on having at least four children. She really wanted two boys and two girls. Phobos was close enough, he supposed.

"My mom's family hates my dad," he shrugged. "He's not Irish or Catholic. But... he's got money, so they accept him."