First Meeting

The noise was the quite pattering of little feet.

A child no older than five screeched to a stop just behind Jamie, and he looked up, way up, at the man.

"Yer in my place," the child said fearlessly, his voice thickly accented with a strong Southern Irish brogue.

His green eyes glared up at the man from behind a curtain of messy hair that needed to be trimmed. In his little arms was a notebook and a bulging pencil case.

The large window, kitted out with a window seat loaded with plush cushions, was where Darragh and his athair and mommy spent their time, and this man was stood right in front of his spot.

Jamie looked down at the little pup, a small, amused smile on his lips. He drank more of his whiskey and looked back at him.

"I dinne kenn that this was yer spot lad," said Jamie, smiling down at the young boy.

He moved aside a little to let the young boy pass, curious as to what was in the boy's notebook.

"Well now ye do." Darragh nodded firmly, just to reaffirm that this was definitely his spot and Jamie should never think of stealing it again.

Then he climbed up onto the seat, got comfortable between the cushions and unzipped his pencil case, ignoring Jaime in favour of finding the perfect pen of the many in his collection to use today.

"Dare, you need to stop running off ahead," another voice, with a much fainter brogue, called through the library.

A man, with the same fiery red hair, pulled back into a casual ponytail, ambled towards the two. "You bugging people again, Dare?" he questioned when he caught sight of the man stood besides his son. Really, his son could find someone out of thin air to bother if he tried.

Jamie looked at the man who had entered the room. Fiery red hair... He would've thought that he was a possible relative, if the stranger's accent had been Scottish.

He looked at the man and then to the boy, Darragh. Father and son he assumed, though the boy didn't smell as strongly as his father. A halfing. Interesting. He nodded to the unknown werewolf.

" He was'ne botherin' me," he said. "He just wanted tah get teh his spot."

He drained the last of the whiskey from his glass and walked back over to the table with the decanter on it. Placing the tumbler down on the table, he turned back towards the werewolf and glanced at the large grandfather clock. Half past five. Close to dinner time.

"Oh aye?" Aodh turned a glance to his son.

"I don't recall ye branding it and yours, boy."

Dare shrugged his dainty little shoulders as he sifted through his pencil case, still looking for the pen he wanted to use.

Aodh rolled his eyes good-natuedly. "Children, aye?" he asked the Scot with a fond, affectionate sort of exasperation. Little children had their way of being exasperating little shits, but he loved his son nonetheless.

"Shift yer ass for yer pa." Aodh sat down behind Darragh, scooting until he had one leg propped up against the window, which Darragh immediately leaned against, and one stretched out off the plush seat, heel of his foot resting against the ground.

"All right, boy, we're gonna be doing names today. Mine and yer ma's and yours, aye?"

"And his?" Darragh's bright eyes flashed up to meet the other set of green eyes in the room. "Can I spell yer name?"

Aodh leaned back, his own eyes, a dark silver colour, turning to the Scot as he awaited the man's reply to his son.