i told another lie today {BRIGID}

[Moira Finnigan]

For Moira, living with her sister was a huge change. It was less noisy and crowded than living with her parents, and she also had the ability to come and go as she pleased. She had that luxury when she lived with her parents, of course, but never really took advantage of it. Especially now that she had Rory. That wasn't to say she was coming and going like a mad person these days; but she was beginning to relinquish her hold on her son. Sometimes Brigid watched after him if Moira had to run to the store for something, or sometimes the girl a few doors down watched Rory. And the little boy seemed to like her well enough, which was important. Other times, Moira brought her son with her on her adventures.

Job-hunting was especially difficult. Without someone who could indefinitely watch Rory during her absence, Moira found herself turned down for a lot of jobs. So she had decided to start a little business right from the security of the flat she shared with Brigid. A simple "clothes mending" business - nothing fancy. She hemmed trousers or skirts or dresses and resoled shoes. She didn't have many customers (mostly just the people who lived in the building), but at least it was some form of income. The thought of renting a building in Diagon Alley and opening an actual store had been swarming her thoughts lately, but she didn't have close to enough money to do it. She could get a loan from Gringotts, but who knew if the business would even thrive?

Since she didn't have much work and wasn't making much income, Moira tried to help Brigid out around the house as much as possible. She always made sure that Rory's toys and games were kept in a corner, and she was beginning to teach her son to clean up after himself. She also tidied the house - swept, dusted, washed dishes and so on. Moira was so thankful that her sister had allowed her to stay with her, she did as much as possible to show her thanks. Which included making dinner, too.

Today had been a long, stressful day. Moira's last customer had been late to pick up her husband's trousers. In fact, she had come during the middle of dinner and hadn't seemed to notice the intrusion and Moira was too polite to tell her to go. So her dinner had got cold and Rory had made a mess of his, crumbling the rolls in his hands and dropping them on the floor. Brigid was quiet, as she had been the last few days, and Moira wondered if her son's behavior had been too much for her sister too handle. So she walked on eggshells these days, hoping she wouldn't be kicked out.

"He's finally asleep," Moira announced in hushed tones as she exited her room into the living area where Brigid was sitting. There was an uneven air about the room and something told Moira not to sit down. She stood by the chair, staring at her sister. "Is everything alright?"

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((OOC: okay, so, i had some Moira muse and decided to put our long-talked over plot into action. i hope this is okay! if anything needs to be changed, please let me know!))

[Brigid Finnigan]

It had all started a few days ago, when Brigid had found a copy of War and Peace on a shelf. She'd been watching Rory while Moira went out to the shop - she would have volunteered to watch him all night so that Moira could visit Cara or perhaps meet up with Vera, except she had Quidditch practice that night and when Moira returned, it was going to be a swift handover of Rory at best - and had been looking for the boy's favourite blanket when she'd noticed the tome slightly protruding from her bedside table shelf.

Now, Brigid had never claimed to be the most rational of people, and in this case, her impulsive nature combined with her natural inquisitiveness to get the better of her. She had picked up the novel, wondering why the fuck her sweet, fashion-and-family-oriented sister was reading it. At first, she'd assumed that one of her friends had left it lying around her house and Moira had been bored whilst waiting for Rory to fall asleep, because it was so completely out of the norm for Moira that Brigid didn't even consider it a likely possibility that she had chosen it for herself - and honestly, it wasn't a likely thing for Moira to purchase, especially given her limited income - but then it occurred to Brigid that Saoirse and Kieran were the only ones she'd seen around recently, and neither were the type to bring along a novel that thick and just leave it behind.

Brigid had frowned at it slightly, before absently flicking through it, wondering if perhaps it had some inspirational quotes or advice about raising children that Moira had been fascinated in, though she seriously doubted it from what she knew of the novel. In fact, she would have begun to seriously doubt Moira's ability to raise a child if she had actually taken advice from the novel, which would be a shame because she was, in Brigid's opinion, one of the greatest mothers one could be so lucky to have. This concern was quickly banished from Brigid's mind, however, when she realised that the pages within the novel were handwritten, not typed, and did not appear to be from a novel at all.

Upon closer scrutiny, Brigid had surmised that it was a diary. Wondering what on earth Moira had in here that had provoked her to hide it so drastically - Brigid did not consider herself that untrustworthy, especially considering her own work as a spokesperson against violation; admittedly, mainly physical, though she hardly started each day intending to violate people's privacy - Brigid had made to close the diary and put it back where she had found it when a phrase caught her eye: I can still smell him - stale whiskey, grease and beernuts. It makes me sick to my stomach.

The second she had read that, Brigid had frozen, before swiftly scanning up the page and reading all the words, each stabbed out in her little sister's handwriting, all of them coming together to tell a tale she couldn't believe she was reading. She read it again, different phrases jumping out at her - the knife at my throat, doing my best to ignore the pain, been found very indecent - until she snapped and slammed the book shut, breathing heavily. It took Rory tugging at her trousers to remember that he was there, and upon seeing him, it drove home to her exactly what kind of horrors had been wreaked upon her little sister, who was the literal kindest human being in the entire fucking world.

Brigid had shoved the diary back where she'd found it, and picked up Rory, the words on the page still ringing in her ears. She'd disregarded his blanket completely, simply pacing the room with him in her arms until Moira had gotten home, and she had wordlessly handed over Rory before rushing out the door, hoping that Moira had put it down to lack of time before Quidditch practice.

A few days had passed since then, and Brigid still hadn't spoken to Moira about it. In all honesty, the girl's words were still tumbling around her head, and Brigid felt sick to her stomach every time her mind even chanced upon what had happened. The words were streaming through her head, over and over, like a broken record: I thought he was going to kill me. The knife at my throat was all I could think about - and the fact that, if he did kill me, he probably wouldn't have been decent enough to pull my trousers back up, so I would have been found very indecent. I did my best to not cry, because I thought it would better my chances of surviving, but a few silent tears fell. Mostly, I looked at the stars to get my mind off of things, to pretend like I was somewhere else other than on my back, in a field so close to home. I had counted 257 stars when he finally finished.

It all made Brigid so angry - angry at the fucking cunt that had done this to her sister, angry that she hadn't somehow worked it out, or even better, protected her from it ever happening, angry that Moira had kept it to herself all this time and had been all alone—well, sort of. Over the last few days, Brigid had been struck by the sinking suspicion that Tommy knew, just judging from how Moira and Tommy had interacted since the news of Moira's pregnancy came out. And Brigid was furious that he hadn't told her, but at the same time, deeply grateful and proud that he hadn't, because Moira needed someone she could trust to hold her secrets close, and no matter how angry and hurt Brigid was, she would never wish for that to have been taken away from her. Still, she couldn't deny that a part of her was pissed that Tommy hadn't said a thing to her, though she knew that at the end of the day, she would have punched Tommy herself had he made any other choice. Brigid wasn't actually certain that he knew, because obtaining proof would have required either asking Moira - which would have to wait until a much more important conversation - or searching the diary again, which Brigid didn't trust herself to be able to do without setting the diary on fire in her rage.

Brigid was considering all of this when Moira walked into the room. It was the first time they had been properly alone, and Brigid was almost glad of that, because she had needed time to adjust, and while she'd had that, she was still by no means calm about any of it. Glancing up at Moira, reacting to her words and noting the concern in her eyes - in her sweet, innocent eyes that broke Brigid's heart a bit more now - Brigid tried to smile, but failed miserably. All she could think about was how sweet Moira was, and how pissed Brigid had been about the fact that there was no guy around to front up and deal with what was half his doing, never even considering— but no, now she could understand why Moira had refused to tell her when she'd pushed, why she had been so especially distressed when Brigid had stormed out and why she looked so relieved when her sister showed back up. Brigid was suddenly very glad that she'd defended Moira's choice to keep Rory when everyone else had still been going on about the adoption agency, because as torturous as it seemed to have a living, external reminder of that sort of tragedy, Rory was the sweetest child in the world and Moira was brilliant with him. Still, Brigid would never stop wishing that he could have been the product of some other sort of union, as opposed to a violation.

Following her shaky, awful attempt at a smile, Brigid took a breath. "I found your diary," she stated quietly, before exhaling. From anyone else, it would be a confession, an admission of guilt, but Brigid refused to be apologetic for that; she'd have rather found out in some other way, of course, but Brigid loved her sister to death and would never act as if she had done something wrong in this situation, as if Moira needed another person to be on the opposing side to her. Brigid was firmly on Moira's side, as she had always been, though, she reflected, she would understand if Moira was angry with her. Brigid didn't have any energy left to be guilty or angry with herself, though; she was too busy projecting all of her fury on the fucker who'd done this to her sister. "Is—why didn't you ever tell me?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly. She was not leaving this room without getting Moira to open up about what her life had been since that night, but first, she had to get this question out of the way: was it something she had done? Was she a bad sister? Normally, Brigid had all the confidence of a charging bull, but the fact that her sister had kept it from her and all their family, while understandable to Brigid, made her question her effectiveness as a sibling, and until that matter was dealt with, Brigid wouldn't be able to return to her normal, brisk self and try to deal with this situation. However, she didn't expect a proper answer, at least not without some extreme distress on Moira's part first; she couldn't imagine responding to something as earth-shattering as a loved one discovering the thing you'd kept most hidden from everyone, though Brigid had a feeling she was about to observe it in Moira.

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((ooc: first, sorry for the lateness! busy weeks and then i went searching on the old board for the pm with the bits of moira's diary you wrote for me -- i quoted parts of it (only about the night it happened), i hope that's okay!

also, sorry about the length; i felt i should establish how she discovered it, and then, well, brigid is a very opinionated and emotional person who always runs away with me when i'm in her head, sorry! if there's any issues with this, let me know!))

[Moira Finnigan]

Any hope Moira had had that there was nothing bothering her sister went out the door when she saw the failed attempt at a smile. Oh, yes, there was something bothering Brigid - and Moira sensed it had something to do with her. She quickly tried to think about everything that had happened since they had really last seen each other, which had been a few days ago, but nothing came to mind. Inside, Moira began to panic and it was all she could do to keep herself from going into a full blown panic attack. Her hand gripped the chair, her nails digging into the fabric.

And then the words floated into her ears. Moira looked sharply at her sister. She didn't have to guess what part of the diary Brigid had seen, and any doubt that she did have, well... Brigid's question confirmed her thoughts. Moira swallowed, staring at her sister hard; she didn't mean to, but it was the only way to keep herself from losing control of her emotions. She breathed quickly in and out through her nose, but it wasn't helping. She could feel her heart racing in her chest. It was so loud, she wondered if Brigid would hear it from where she sat.

"You had no right!" Moira blurted out, her voice louder than she had intended it to be. She paused, tilting to her head to the side ever so slightly to listen if Rory had stirred. There was no noise and so Moira turned her attention back to her sister. "That's -- that's personal!" Moira wasn't one to get angry or lose control of her emotions. But Brigid had turned the key and the gate was opening now. Two years of imploding were going to come out tonight and still, Moira wasn't prepared. She turned away from Brigid and stomped over to the bookshelf, where she grabbed her diary. She thought it'd have been safe, disguised in War and Peace. She should have kept it in her room. She was an idiot!

Flipping to the exact page that Brigid was referring to, Moira read the entry from that night. She could feel her stomach churning and then slowly tonight's dinner and bile were making the way up the back of her throat. Moira slammed the book shut and ran into the bathroom, swinging the door shut. She turned on the water and then leaped over to the toilet just in time. When she was finished, Moira grabbed some toilet paper and wiped her mouth. She threw it into the mess and flushed the toilet. She backed up to the wall, hugging her knees to her chest, doing her best to keep herself from crying. She glanced up at the book on the edge of the counter and suddenly wanted to burn it.

After another few moments, Moira pushed herself up off the floor. She rinsed out her mouth and turned off the water, wiping her wet mouth on the back of her hand. She stared at herself in the mirror; there was no getting out of this one. Grabbing the book, Moira turned and exited the bathroom. She could feel herself blushing as she made her way back to her sister. She plopped down in the chair and gathering her legs in front of her, hugging them to her chest once more. The book was carefully place between her chest and her legs. She stared at Brigid, her breathing coming easier now.

"I didn't tell anyone," Moira responded softly, having heard her sister's question before she tore off to the bathroom. "I only told Tommy right before Rory was born." She tried to swallow down the lump in her throat, but she couldn't; tears sprang to her eyes. "I tried to pretend it didn't happen. It was just easier - at least, I thought so. It has nothing to do with you - any of you," Moira added, feeling that her sister's question was a little selfish. She sighed heavily and dropped her forehead against her knees. Moira closed her eyes, squeezing out the tears that refused to stop.

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((OOC: your reply was perfect, don't worry! like i said, it made me cry ='[ i hope this one is okay.))