It's hard to leave when you can't find the door. Part 1.

Because she already knew the children after spending the last several months undercover with them, Camilla, reluctantly, agreed to stay behind and watch over the remaining Scion children. Putting our heads together, Nate, Laurel, Gunnar and I got the process moving to protect young Brendan Gair and facilitate his formal adoption by Laurel and prevent his being returned to his abusive former foster family. I mostly worked the legal angles, getting to know the librarian at the UC Berkely Law Library very well, and chatting up law students on the finer aspects of California family law.

Time was of the essence though...the computer files confirmed that we needed to head for Death Valley, specifically to the Furnace Creek Inn, a place with the highest recorded temperature ever measured in the USA and last known place of employment of one Mr. Tim Pavertos, suspected enemy Scion, now deceased. After reviewing the computer files, Nate and Jack grumbled about Laurel and Gunnar's trigger-happy ways. As for me, I had no complaints, just wish for this last one Gunnar had been less talky and more shooty.

Anyway, it being only March, the weather this time of year was going to be comparatively mild. At least there was that.

To my surprise, Laurel returned from the trip to Los Angeles with an industrial size deep freeze, in which she had already placed the recovered body of Bridgitte.
Laurel installed the freezer in the garage and told the kids to stay out of it.

We geared up and headed out. It was one very long, 8 hour road trip. When we pulled into the parking lot in Nate's Reno Sheriff's Department SUV, we all noticed a white van of the same make & model of the cultists who had stormed the hotel...the raid where I nearly died. Nate and Gunnar wanted to take a closer look. I decided to accompany Laurel into the hotel.

The woman behind the desk greeted Laurel and took her information, booked her 2 adjoining rooms in a small suite on the first floor. Her expression went from cheerful to malevolent in a flash...words were exchanged and I didn't hear everything, but something to the effect of "see how you like it!"; my hand slipped down semi-consciously to touch the butt of my Sig Sauer P226 inside my jacket but by the time my hand made contact the woman had mysteriously vanished. Jack, who had been waiting in the lobby, had jumped up from his chair at the same time I reached for my pistol, and only seconds later Nate burst in the front sliding doors running, followed closely by Gunnar. Jack asked pointblank "WHAT was that about?" but Laurel just shook her head; nevertheless, the haunted look in her eyes said "I am SO fucked..."

"Fine," said Jack. "...but before long, we...you need to talk about this."

"I concur.", I said, coming up next to Laurel. Laurel wiped away a tear and just gave us a quick nod.

A rather confused hotel manager in a suit approached us, asking if he could help us or if we would be interested in a room.

Laurel put on a cheerful face and said "Yes, could you please confirm our reservation is still valid", handing him the paperwork and room key cards.

"Certainly", said the manager, pulling up the reservation. He went pale when he noticed the time the reservation was made (a few minutes ago) and who the computer said had made it (him!). "Now that...is most odd..."

Laurel interrupted "So do we have rooms for tonight or not?"

"Yes, yes, of course, of course, madam. The reservation is there, here are your keys back. It's just...I'm baffled by the fact that the computer says I made the reservation just a few minutes ago, when in fact I was concluding a meeting with the cleaning staff and...well, never mind. Have a delightful evening. Dinner is served at 6pm, black tie required. Dinner jackets are available for rent if the gentlemen need them."

We did need them and should have known, this being a five-star hotel.

I went along with Jack, Nate and Gunnar to pick up my Dinner jacket. It had been a long trip and we were all tired and hungry. Against our better judgment, we sat down to eat in the hotel restaurant. It was a fine meal, but as we ate, I noticed Gunnar's facial expression change as we ate. There was something about this food not to his liking. "Trust me guys, there's something not right about the way this food tastes", he stated. Wish he'd spoken sooner. I definitely felt dumber for having eaten this meal. It was a foolish tactical mistake, and now we'd been drugged.

There was a drunken disruption nearby and a belligerent gentleman was arguing with a steward, only to be approached by a well-but-provocatively dressed woman wearing a white dress that left little to the imagination. She took him by the arm and lead him away from the dining room, his mood considerably lightened, as if he now had not a care in the world. I unscrewed the cap to my hip flask and told Aisling in Gaelic to follow the pair as closely as she could but not to get caught and not to push her luck. She agreed and flew off, her long silvery white hair trailing a bit behind her. She kept below table-top level, flying unseen by the other guests, who were enjoying their meal and the ambient atmosphere of the restaurant. After several minutes she returned and gave me a full report of what she'd seen. She started to say it in Gaelic, but I urged her to go ahead and tell us all in English, to save me the trouble of translating for her.

Aisling blushed as she described as factually as possible the den of excess she'd borne witness to, however briefly. I gathered from her description that the remainder of The Order's SWAT wannabees were probably in no condition to harm us or anyone by this point. Probably drugged many times worse than us by now.

When the bill came at the end of the meal, Nate noticed that the amount was way below what it should have been for this many people for such a multi-course meal.
The plate captain explained that we'd been given a special discount on the house. Gunnar showed him the late Tim Pavertos's business card and said he came here specifically because of Tim's suggestion and that he would like to thank him for such a gracious meal. We were informed that Mr. Pavertos's father had actually authorized the discount for our party. Gunnar expressed a desire to thank him personally. The plate captain looked nervous and stated that Mr. Pavertos's father is a very busy man but he would be happy to relay the message of gratitude. Gunnar handed him his own PI business card with cellphone number and said fine, when the gentleman had time, his secretary or whomever could call for him then to arrange a meeting. The plate captain agreed and took the card obediently.

Jack mentioned something about "seeing about getting a job here; I'm headin' to the kitchen..."; Nate said "wait up!" and they were both out the door. I announced I'd like to take a walk to digest my meal and went outside. Gunnar and Laurel indicated they were heading back to the room. I felt a brief flash of jealousy but ignored it.

I'm coming to terms with my emotions for Laurel, recognizing the crush for what it is. A reaction to PTSD. Laurel and Gunnar have a history and I've got no right at all at t'all to blunder into the middle of that. I'm increasingly able to transform the crush into a blander, more general fondness for Laurel, which has improved Aisling's mood as well.

Feeling a bit lighter on my feet, I remembered what Ogma had said in my dream, and rounding the corner of the building, I looked around me to make sure nobody was watching and began to slowly levitate into the air, onto the roof.

For a two story building, this place had insane amounts of security...like, INTERPOL HQ levels of security. I'm sure at least one camera caught my upward ascent on film. I only hoped it was only a mere mortal watching it who might doubt his own eyes and not a Scion or God or Titan who knew better.

I landed on the roof. Nevermore flew up to me and asked what I was doing.

"Nothing much, just checking out the security on this place. You seen anything suspicious in the surrounding area?"

"Nope." said Laurel's dark winged sentinel.

"Well, I'm headed back inside. Aisling, if you could help me with the locked door here..."

"Certainly...do you need some light? I think I can get this door open without it, but if you need to see better let me know...", Aisling said.

"No, conserve your power. Just open the lock and that'll be grand."

"Done." said Aisling, opening the locked door with amazing speed.

I ducked inside, climbed downstairs to the main hallway on the 2nd floor, found an elevator and headed down to the first floor, heading back to our room.

When I entered, Gunnar was busy turning the room upside down looking for bugging devices, traps, whatever he might find. Laurel was resting in an easy chair, looking very lost in her own thoughts.

I updated them about all the pure savage levels of security this place had, stuff that even INTERPOL would be jealous of. Gunnar seemed duly impressed. Nate and Jack came up not long after, relating their adventures in cooking and that Jack had landed a job, starting in the morning!? Gunnar had also let us know earlier that the van in the parking lot was definitely of the same type owned by The Order, he'd even found (empty) weapons racks inside. I updated Jack and Nate on the hotel security arrangements I'd discovered after dinner.

All of us thought about the last time we were gathered in one hotel room together like this, and nobody felt up to getting any shut-eye. I transformed Gae Bolga to its full form and laid it up against a wall and sat down to read an eBook on my Smart Phone...J.P. Donleavy's The Ginger Man, to be specific.

Unexpectedly, there was a knock on the door at 2am. "Who is it?" said Gunnar, bracing against the door, guns drawn.

"maid service?" said a female voice uncertainly.

We had hung out the "do not disturb" sign, so this was very doubtful.

Gunnar opened the door a crack and said "I don't believe you. Who are you and what do you want."

Gunnar evidently detected there was no threat, for he opened the door wider for the rest of us to see. Standing in the doorway was another beautiful young woman, this one with olive skin even darker than Laurel's, with long, dark, curly hair and a beautiful but low cut, revealing white dress...

"I apologize for the deception. The Master will see you now." she said simply.

"This isn't what I had in mind when I handed over my business card." Gunnar started to protest.

"Yes, well, be that as it may, the Master is ready to see you now. You will come, please?" she demanded more than asked, despite the rising intonation. English was probably not her first language, I surmised.

"Give us a moment to, uh, straighten ourselves up." said Gunnar.

"Certainly" she said.

Gunnar closed the door, grabbed 2 of our M-16A2 assault rifles (which I'd modified to M-4 carbine size) and managed--somehow--to hide them both inside his overcoat. My Mossberg 500 pistol-grip shotgun was hidden securely under my GARDA duty jacket, my Sig Sauer P226 in its concealment holster. I returned the Bolga to compact form and put it back on my belt.

"Let's move out..." said Gunnar, opening the door.

The woman bowed to us and beckoned us to follow her...

There were voices down the corridor, I thought I heard them say...

What's the craic?

Sorry for being remiss with the updates, gentle reader.

After stepping out of Laurel's shower (she had put Irish Spring in there for me, I noted. Corny, as they say here, but a sweet touch nonetheless) I finished fitting the Mossberg 500 with a shorter barrel and adjusted the sling so that I could conceal it well under a decent sized jacket or raincoat. I have taken to sometimes wearing my GARDA duty jacket about town, as nobody around here in the Bay Area knows feck all what it means anyway. Anyway, it conceals this modded shotgun rather nicely.

I know, it was time to stop screwing around and get down to business with the broken computer from the compound.

I pulled the machine into my bedroom and got to work. After patching the last piece of the computer together with spare parts and jury-rigged parts I (well, ok, Aisling...) borrowed from the UC Berkeley Computer Science Department, I looked at my handiwork and expected it should hold, at least for awhile. I threw the switch and the familiar click-whirr of the hard drive kicked on. A half second later the cycle of the HD skips back and then forward erratically telling me that this hard drive didn’t have long for this world, but ordinary no mortal mind would likely have been able to bring it up to this point.

Thinking quickly, I attached the closest storage device I could find to the computer. After sifting through what is salvageable and what is too far corrupted to save, a small list was returned on the screen:

It read:

Which file do you wish to copy?
File Name Date Last Modified
compound_gamma.eml
07/11/09
2010_4th_quarter_leads.eml
10/02/10
2011_1st_quarter_leads.eml
01/03/11
cipher.xls
01/03/11
re_black□_suspic□ou□_activi□ies.eml
02/11/11
more_suspicious_activities.eml
02/27/11
gamma_schedule.xls
02/28/11
personnel_transfer_request.eml
03/02/11
re_per□ission□for_exec□tion_ord□r.eml
03/04/11
site_x_recon.eml
03/04/11

Nate took a break from (playing games/watching movies/whatever) with the youngsters and takes a look over my shoulder.

“Hmmm…cipher.xls looks promising."

(well, duh, I thought)

"...and Site_x_recon.eml might give us a lead as to where they’re going to set up next or where the next target is. The execution order is probably for Azzizza. Could it give us an idea why they executed her?"

(more importantly, evidence that they're responsible, I thought)

...I dunno, at the very least, cipher and recon."

I nodded in response to Nate, and said “I am assuming this ‘Compound Gamma’ is their name for the place we just overran.”

Scanning over the file directory, I decided I definitely wanted to copy the following, ranked in this priority order:

cipher.xls
site_x_recon.eml
more_suspicious_activities.eml
2011_1st_quarter_leads.eml
personnel_transfer_request.eml
re_per□ission□for_exec□tion_ord□r.eml
compound_gamma.eml

…those are what I would aim for as priorities.

If the machine is still intact and even if the remaining files will be severely corrupted, my secondary priorities are to recover (again in priority order, from highest to lowest):

re_black□_suspic□ou□_activi□ies.eml
2010_4th_quarter_leads.eml
gamma_schedule.xls

Cipher and Recon were obvious choices, had already picked them mentally before Nate walked in. I decided on "more suspicious activities" in the hopes that it would make references back to the original "suspicious activities", at least in summary form, and it was more recent info. Execution Order was an obvious choice for any police investigator to make. It's hard evidence. Personnel transfer request would perhaps lend insight into the group's movements, who was in charge, who was a member, etc.

Most interesting to me was what I found in the file on Compound Gamma:

compound_gamma.eml
07/11/09

J,
Research into Compound λ has revealed promising data. The compound seems to be a mixture of two separate elements, both of which seem nearly impossible to come by. The first is from a lotus flower indigenous to the island of Djerba off the coast of Tunisa. Our agents in the field of divine inquiries have ascertained these lotus are likely the same lotus referred to in The Odyssey. The second element was easier to identify as we have encountered samples in the field before. The second element is titanspawn ichor, but it seems to be extremely more concentrated. We believe that this sample could very-well contain ichor from a titanic force of immeasurable power.
Tests prove exactly what Mr. Black boasted, subjects who ingest even a single cubic centimeter per day were observed as far more pliable to conditioning. It is the council’s decision that you should continue to do commerce with Mr. Black and acquire as much of this substance as you can with the funds that will be wired to your account.
From this point onward Compound λ will be referred to as Sway.
As always; be well in God’s eyes,
GM

It was the last file I managed to salvage before I heard a loud POP and began to smell melting computer components as the screen blacked out for good.

“Laurel should check out this entry on Compound Gamma when she gets back. Chemical compound, not military compound...(I mock slapped my forehead) I am one thick headed mhic sometimes…” I said aloud to no one in particular.

“I agree” said Aisling.

“Didn’t ask you.” I quipped.

Upon returning from the road and reading the file, Laurel amended her own notes on the compound (her detailed investigation of the vials we recovered) to reflect that, if the botanical source is in fact Djerbian then it cannot be definitively concluded that the flower in question is N. caerulea and not Ziziphus lotus. Either way, she was pleased that all of her deductions were correct and that her logic was sound.

She also remarked to me with that warm California smile that makes me melt like butter, “this is tremendous work, salvaging what you did. We’re really lucky to have such a genius with us.”

I needed that. Totally made my day; I feel like a new man, or more properly, back to my old self again.

A visitation.

I finished attaching the pistol grip to the Mossberg 500. Re-adjusting the sling and barrel would have to wait until morning. I put it away into the inexpensive nylon case I'd bought for it and zippered it shut. I was exhausted and it was late. I could hear the soft echoes of Aisling's snores from inside the flask that is her mobile home.

I was in one of Laurel's guest bedrooms, with a window facing the San Francisco Bay. I could see the lights of the city off in the distance.

I faded off into a deep sleep.

Not unexpectedly, I found myself back in Ireland, on the sacred Hill of Tara. I saw Ogma standing before me, and I immediately dropped to my knees and averted my eyes.

"Rise, my son.", He spoke to me softly.

"To what do I owe the honor, my father...?" I murmured.

"Not been feeling yourself lately, have you?" He asked, apropos of nothing.

"No," I stammered.

"Perhaps your piety has been slipping a bit of late? It has been some time since you were last in America, and the first time on her other coastline, yes?", Ogma asked rhetorically.

I nodded twice. "I have been struggling, yes, father."

"But what has your misfortune taught you?", implored Ogma

"That sometimes I need to depend on others?", I offered.

"Yes, and?", asked Ogma, in a Socratic manner.

"That I have perhaps been neglecting my geas to you.", I said, looking at the soft grassy ground of Tara.

"Not once did you consider visiting the very modern campus of UNLV....", sighed Ogma.
"...and you, a computer scientist. At least today you came to your senses and visited UC Berkeley; You do know what you need to do, though?"

"I do, father." I said, not lifting my eyes.

"You know Aisling needs reassurance that you are keeping pious and committed to the pursuit of knowledge.", He continued.

"I do, father.", I repeated.

"You have at least drawn emotionally closer to your teammates. Especially this Greek-American woman."

I blushed but said nothing. Ogma let this last sentence hang in the air, and let me writhe in my own conflicted thoughts and fantasies about Laurel. I keep telling myself, "it's just the PTSD talking.", and I know it's true...but it doesn't make it any less painful or my heart any less sick for the moment.

Ogma broke the silence, an act of mercy...

"You do right by the boy Gair, but take care you do not overshadow or smother him. He is a divine cousin, not your brother. We will confer more on this later.
Now look at me my son."

I looked up as I was commanded, into father's eyes.

"I have allowed you to be humbled for a time; your suffering was not without purpose. I am sorry for the pain I let you endure, but I sought to impress upon you the seriousness of these endeavors, and to give a kick to your complacency. You have not been yourself lately. When you wake you will feel differently about yourself. You will find you can do things which seemed only possible in dreams. You will find things you believed you could do in life were merely shadows, dreams, phantoms. It is because you are less pious than many of my Scions that I made you endure this. I expect you to re-dedicate yourself, Breandan, from this day forward. Aisling, too. She has not been put to good use. Your failure to lead her has caused her present confusion, especially with respect to her emotions."

Ogma paused to let the winds gather and blow through Tara before continuing.

"I have been discussing your situation with Lugh. Since you live part of the year in Lyon, France, which was named for Lugh, it seemed appropriate. He will let you understand the ways of the sky and winds, as I have asked. Pursuit of divine knowledge is as equally valid as pursuit of mundane knowledge. But as regards mundane knowledge, you have dallied long enough. Your teammates are counting on you to salvage the computer you recovered from the compound. I am expecting you to do your utmost to help them recover the data. Yours is the best mind for the task. Spend time with the UC Berkeley Computer Science faculty if you must, to regain your confidence."

"This I promise, my father.", I said.

"Good.", said Ogma. "Now rest until the sun rises over the bay of San Francisco."

I awoke with a fuzzy head, and my face wet with tears. Then I remembered Ogma's visitation clearly in every detail. I breathed deeply, looked out across the San Francisco Bay from my window, and decided a shower sounded mighty good to me.

Corrigan Brothers - There's No One As Irish As Barack Obama

This video is just for fun, says Brendan. Apropos of being in America again, he says.

'Tis the sorrows of a Scion.

Alas, further investigation of the boy Gair's family roots revealed that his only connections to Ireland are his divine ones. Not the sort of evidence I can take to the Irish consulate, then. 'Tis a pity, and one of the sorrows of being a Scion, especially when your pantheon is rooted in an island halfway round the world from where you live. Not unlike Gunnar, actually. Yes, 'tis truly a pity. I was relishing the thought of invoking a UN Human Rights case against the State of California for failing to protect an Irish citizen...

Still, I feel strongly that the Sanderson's don't deserve custody of this boy in any case. I'll pull what strings I can and serve as his advocate to the best of my ability. Dual citizenship would've been the strongest card I had, but now I'm going to probably need the help of Nate and Laurel to protect Gair and look out for his interests the best I can.

I also feel the need to use our down time waiting for Jack's return to make a spiritual connection to both Ogma, and to Manannán mac Lir.

I need to know what the gods will are for not only for Gair but for myself. I know what I feel in my heart, that I must protect this lad, but I also don't want to interfere with divine will.

I also think I need to modify this Mossberg shotgun a little. I'd like to replace the stock with a pistol grip, adjust the sling, and shorten the barrel a bit so I can conceal it under a black raincoat. I need to get more confident with hurling my divine weapon, Gae Bolga, as Ogma intended, rather than using it strictly as a melee weapon, as if it were just another pole-arm.
Ogma himself was well known for hurling objects great distances in the time of the ancients. I should strive to be more like him in my ways and actions always.

It would just be convenient to be able to rush in with a heavy back up-weapon like the Mossberg in more compact form while I go retrieve the Gae Bolga from the body of my opponents.

Brendan, meet Brendan

We piled into the van and began the road trip to Laurel's second home in Berkeley, California, in the San Francisco Bay Area.

I made conversation with young Brendan Gair, showed him my Garda badge, explaining to him that I was an Irish policeman, come all the way from Dublin. I also introduced him to Aisling, though I told Aisling in Gaelic she needed to behave herself in front of the boy and that we'd have a proper talk later. Aisling was a good girl this time and was very nice to young Brendan, whose eyes lit up when he saw her.

I let the boy simply talk, talk about all he'd been through in recent years. Outwardly, I maintained the taut, strictly-business demeanor of a police inspector, nodding and making agreeable noises as if I were interviewing a witness to a crime. Inwardly, I found young Brendan's story heartbreaking. His mother had said such horrible things to him, and his stepfathers had been such abusive arse-holes. I'd investigated cases like this in North Dublin in the late 1990s, and recognized the type. This boy was the divine son of Manannán mac Lir, but from where I sat, a fat lot of good it'd done him up to now.

But perhaps it was part of Manannán mac Lir's plan that I should meet young Brendan. I also felt sure that Ogma would want me to stand up for this young man, down on his luck. He said he never wanted to see his stepfather Brian again...the brute who had extinguished a cigarette on the boy's arm, more than once. I reassured young Brendan he never had to live with or see Brian ever again, that was a solemn promise from me to him. He smiled such a happy smile when I said that.

Since Ireland's immigration policy is not unlike Israel's, and since it shouldn't be too difficult to prove young Brendan's Irish heritage, it'll be no problem obtaining an Irish passport for him and dual citizenship with the Republic of Ireland. Once Brendan has dual citizenship and an Irish passport, I'll be in a much better position to assume (temporary?) legal guardianship over him. I checked on my smart-phone and found the address of the Consulate General of Ireland in downtown San Francisco. For the time being, I plan on keeping Brendan close by my side. More long term, just have to see what he wants and is willing to do.

My mother's still alive and living on her librarian's pension in Dublin. Although it would be quite a culture shock, I could leave Brendan in her care in Dublin and see to it he gets a proper education in one of the state schools in the Dublin Metro area. I've also got plenty of friends still on the force in Garda who will keep an eye out for young Brendan in my absence. So far, California hasn't been much of a dream to this lad, more like a nightmare. A change of scenery, a connection with the Auld Sod...it might let him commune more closely with Manannán mac Lir, closer to the Irish Sea.

He would, I know, stick out like a sore thumb, with his Yank accent and American sense of fashion. But Dublin's a pretty diverse and modern city. I'd feel much worse for him if my mother lived in Cork, say, or smaller towns further inland, or if she decided to leave the Republic and move to Belfast where her late husband came from, the long dead IRA man I grew up believing was my father. My mother had met her late husband in Swinging London of the middle and late 1960s...two Irish hooking up amidst all the free love and experimental drugs of the time. It was a good time for the Gods as well, and Ogma was definitely a fan of the hippies, both here in California and in Swinging London and back in the Auld Sod as well...which was how he ended up with my dear old mum and how I came to be.

I would definitely encourage Brendan to hang on to his US Passport and citizenship, however, and to definitely *not* follow in my footsteps into the Irish Defence Forces. If he shows any inclination towards military service--or especially Navy service, considering his divine parent, then I'd definitely encourage his joining the United States Navy rather than the Irish naval forces or even the Royal Navy. If he serves in the Irish Defence Forces, he could put his American citizenship at risk, whilst serving in the American Armed Forces would *not* jeopardize his dual citizenship status with Ireland.

I also have to ensure that my mentoring young Brendan does not cause eventual strife between Manannán mac Lir and Ogma. The gods' ways are inscrutable at times, but caring after young Brendan, who otherwise has no one in this world, seems the only humane and decent thing I can do under the circumstances. He's seen enough hardship in his short life, by heaven. It's time he were able to take a step back and be allowed an easier, more rewarding path to walk on for a spell. I intend to look after him like an older brother. Aisling, too. I'm almost old enough to be his father...if, say, I'd had the misfortune of getting my high school girlfriend pregnant the way some of my eejit classmates did. I was, I fully admit, very bad Catholic at 17 and 18...and while I find Belfast to be a thoroughly unpleasant place, but it was good for one thing...Condoms. I'd slip over the line to NI and buy up a healthy stash and sneak it back over. Repeatedly. I got very good at smuggling contraception of all kind back into the Republic, using the best for myself and selling off the remainder to the highest bidder. I also never arrested any teenagers I caught doing this while I was a patrolman in Garda. I developed a reputation as a cop who didn't give a fiddler's fart about that kind of stuff, which gave me some leverage when it came to pumping information on crimes of a more serious nature, like burglary, rape or murder.

I feel the need to stand by younger Brendan until the lad is able to mature and stand on his own two feet. If he wants a university education, I want to help him do that. If he doesn't, the American Navy is a fine choice as well. I know I can count on my mother's support in this. I plan to remain with Interpol for now, despite the necessity of spending so much time away in Lyon, France. It gives me the clout I need in the human realm to get Ogma's work done and advance his interests vis a vis the other gods. I need to communicate with both Ogma and Manannán mac Lir on this, but I can't see them objecting to strenuously, at least not to begin with. If Manannán mac Lir would like to step up and send another of his Scions to be young Brendan's mentor, let him do so. If not, I plan to until Brendan is actually able to take care of himself.

I do regret the culture shock that life in Dublin will mean, but I daresay it'll be an improvement over the hell this lad has been through far to much out here in sunny California. I admire Nate's zeal to see Brian prosecuted, but the system out here has clearly failed young Brendan. Perhaps he should have a chance to connect directly with his Irish roots back in the old country. It might renew his sense of purpose, give him ambition again. Could do the same for me as well, of course.

In the meantime, we've got some time to kill in the San Francisco Bay Area. The bureaucracy of the Irish consulate will take some time, but we do need to find some kid-friendly activities in this area to keep them occupied while Jack is away returning the little he-man twins to their mum in Spokane, Washington.

After that, we've all got to trek down to New Orleans, hopefully in time for Mardis Gras. I was initially hopeful if heading to Chicago with Gunnar in time for Saint Patrick's Day, to see them turn the river green...but that may have wait until next year. Gunnar seems to have snapped out of the funk he was in, and he and Laurel seem to be back to being lovey-dovey..."If you're going, to San-Fran-Cisco...Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair..." (yes, my hippie mum sung that song all the time from her Swinging London days, even though she never set foot anywhere in America outside of the city limits of Boston).

The sunrise this morning over the Bay, with the Golden Gate bridge, was, I admit, truly breath-taking. Laurel really has a nice pad here, and Gunnar is one lucky bastard.

Irish Slang & stuff :), Part 2.

I don't know if Aisling sounds like this or not, but she'd definitely be familiar with the vocabulary. All I know of this YouTuber is she's NOT from Dublin, but I don't know where she is from.

I don't think I can bring Brendan to say "What's the craic?", though...however authentically Irish that sounds...