They darted out of the flyer and after a quick left and right turn, they were inside the Roisin Dearg and hit by a cacophony of sounds. This was a dingy twenty four hour establishment and it mattered little that daytime had officially returned. The pub was packed with people, mostly men and women in their thirties and up all actively involved in conversation or with their arms thrown around one another.
He reached for Tabitha’s hand and led her to a little enclave around the side where they would be less noticeable.
“Right, what do you want to drink Tabitha?”
“Are you serious?”
“Very much so, we’ll stick out otherwise. You have two options – Guinness or Guinness. Leave the scarf on by the way. Almost everyone here is pale skinned. My friend would usually only arrive about an hour from now.”
“Guess I’ll have a Guinness so.”
Ciaran went to the front bar.
“Ba mhaith liom dhá Guinness, le do thoil,” he said to the balding middle aged barman.
Then he shuddered. There both of them were on the screen just behind the barman with a warning in Irish that they were “thar a bheith contúirteach” (extremely dangerous).
He took the two pints and shuttled back to Tabitha.
“It’s a bad as you feared,” he whispered to her.
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