At last the dancers were released from the photo shoot, and Irina came bouncing back Mick's way, a smile on her face. "They showed us our head shots. I loved mine. I thought I looked really cute."
Mick grinned down at her. "Of course you did. So are the lot of you a team, is that it? All the Americans together like?"
"Oh, no." Irina shook her head, ponytail swinging. "It's every man for himself out there. A dog eat dog world. There are five of us. Americans, I mean. Regional champions, because it turns out there are a lot of Irish dancers in the US. Most other places only have one or two representatives. India has three, though, and like I said, there are two women from Japan."
"I don't see as many men, though?" They'd fallen into step together, wandering toward the old fort walls, although Mick had to keep an eye on his pace so he didn't outrun Irina.
"There never are, in dance. There are about fifteen of them here, I think, which is quite a lot, out of a hundred. Most of my classes never had any." Irina looked Mick up and down with an impish smile. "I don't suppose you'd like to start?"
Mick laughed. "I'd break the stage, jumping up and down on it like that. All those lads are little things, compared to me."
"And we don't do lifts the way ballet does." Irina grinned up at him. "Probably just as well. You'd throw people through the rafters."
We wouldn't throw our mate through the rafters!Mick's gorilla said in alarm.Only anyone who threatened her.
We're not throwing anybody through the rafters,Mick promised.
Good.The gorilla paused.What are rafters?
Mick fought down another laugh, then realized Irina's comment was worth one, and let it out. "A wee little thing like you? I would so. But I'd rather not."
"Not unless I can cling to the rafters like a monkey," Irina agreed, then, turning her gaze to the fort, added, "This place is amazing. I mean, it's older than my entire country."
"And it's the new fort!"
"What!"
"C'mere so." Mick led Irina up to the ramparts, gesturing to the far side of the harbor. "Over there is James Fort, a hundredyears older than this one. There was something else there before it, too, but these ones, they're both star forts, did they tell you about that on the tour?"
"No, they were mostly trying to keep us together so we could be photographed. What's a star fort?"
"You see how the bit we're on sticks out from the rest?" Mick gestured at how the walls angled out from the main hexagon of the fort's walls, then waved toward the other two bastions that did the same thing. "James Fort is a bit like this too, and from above they look a bit like a star. The shape of them meant cannon balls rolled along the angles and lost power instead of cracking straight through. Charles Fort here was built expecting enemy attack from the sea, which is why it's so well-fortified on this side. Unfortunately for the lads building the thing, right about as they finished it, cannon range was extended, so the enemy just went…" He turned around, pointing toward the hills above the fort on the landward side. "Up there. And shot straight over the walls into the fort with their new, fancy cannons."
"No!"
"There's not a word of a lie in it."
Irina clapped her hands over her face. "What's the saying? You're always prepared for the last war?"
Mick nodded, glancing skyward, where clouds scuttled across the blue at a fast clip. "Though at home here in Ireland I think of it as always being prepared for yesterday's weather."
"Oh, no, is it going to rain?" Irina looked up, but Mick shook his head, smiling.
"I don't think so. Well. It's Ireland, so, yes. But probably not right away. It's just I can't count the number of times I've expected today to be like yesterday and dressed either too warm or too cold for it."
"I'm from Washington State, so the temperatures are a lot like they seem to be here, but my town doesn't get much rain, soit's harder to dress wrong for the weather, I think." Wind came up and caught her ponytail, flaring it around her face, and she smoothed it absently.
"Washington State? That's where Seattle is, isn't it? I thought it rained loads there."
"It doesn't rain as much as people think, it just rains all thetime." Irina squinted. "That's true but sounds wrong. I mean, it doesn't rain hard, but it's misty a lot."
Mick barked a laugh of recognition. "Ah. A fine soft day, we'd say."
"That sounds about right. But anyway, I'm not from Seattle. I live a couple hours away, across the Sound in a town called Sequim."
"Squim?"
"Know how last night you were telling me there's separated by a common language, and then there's the fact that Irish is actually a separate one?" Irina twisted her ponytail over her shoulder. The wind blew it in her face again immediately and Mick fought the urge to brush it back again for her. "Sequim is a local word, or at least, derived from one. It means 'shooting place,' basically. It was good hunting grounds for the S'Klallam tribes who live on the peninsula."
