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Post by ``Jennifer MacKenzie on Jul 11, 2009 12:51:17 GMT -8
If life were a boat, Jenny's would be a ratty little row-boat that could barely stay afloat. There'd be cracks and holes left and right, and the entire structure would be sagging. It'd be sinking, slowly, but surely.
She was walking through the streets of Dublin and thinking that there was so much she'd missed. Back home, she'd been a middle child of sorts, and her life hadn't amounted to much. She'd also never been more than five miles from home.
But here she was in Ireland, witnessing the Irish life with her own two eyes. And thus far, she'd been impressed.
There was liquor all around, and the land was lush amd green, truely worthy of the title "The Green Isle."
Dublin itself was a grand, grand city, from what she'd seen so far. The roads were cobble, the buildings high, the people richly dressed. They had a sort of air to them that implied that life was a-okay, and the festive air was heartening.
Which was odd, really, when there weren't any festivities going on at the moment, save for the usual drinking parties. But maybe that was it. Partying constantly made for a happy heart and happy state of mind.
So busy was she musing that Jennifer didn't noticed the lump in her path until it was too late and she'd already gone crashing to the ground.
"Whoopsies," she said, getting to her hands and knees and looking to see what she'd tripped over.
It was a person. "Agh!" she cried. "Sorry, sorry, I'm really sorry," she added, appologizing effusively as she scrambled to her feet.
[word count] 262
[listening to] "mary's eyes" by gaelic storm
[mood] super!!
[tagged] jennifer mackenzie, patrick meagher (anyone who can further our plot)
[notes] BUAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!
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Patrick Meagher
Intermediate
BEGGAR
Rank: Street urchin
Age: 19
Status: Single
Horse:
Beasts:
Pets:
Weapons:
Element:
Ancestry: Mortal Born
Powers:
Alternate Form:
Race: Human
Posts: 84
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Post by Patrick Meagher on Jul 12, 2009 12:02:39 GMT -8
(One Hour Earlier)
Patrick leaned against a building, panting. He hadn't eaten a decent (for him) meal in about a week, and he was feeling the strain in his stomach. His head was also pounding, the pain almost blinding him. To make matters worse, he hadn't seen Trippy in over four days. The dog usually found him once a day, or at the least, once every two days. He wasn't sure what this meant, but there was a possibility that his only family was in trouble.
It was a hot day in Dublin. To celebrate the good weather, most of the citizens were out on the streets, drinking and singing, and in general, having a great time. Of course, they had water and could retreat to the shade if it grew hot. Patrick had neither of those, and the heat was getting to him.
Someone started singing a popular drinking song in the city, and others joined in:
"In the merry month of June from me home I started,
Left the girls of Tuam so sad and broken hearted,
Saluted father dear, kissed me darlin' mother!
Then drank a pint of beer, tears and grief to smother
Then off to reap the corn, leave where I was born,
Cut a stout black thorn to banish ghosts and goblins!
Bought a pair of brogues rattling o'er the bogs
And fright'ning all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin!
One two three four five,
Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road
And all the way to Dublin, whack follol de rah!"
Patrick barely listened. He hated liquor, especially since it had caused his family to be torn apart. His father had left his mother to care for her several children while he was out drinking. Thinking about his father brought back memories of his family, and Patrick was taken to an emotional plane that he hadn't visited for several years. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he feebly pushed off the wall to stagger through the crowd. No one took any notice of the clearly ill young man, thinking him drunk.
While he was meandering through the crowd, Patrick was suddenly taken over with a fit of vertigo and nausea. At the same time, his headache seared through his temples, completely blinding him. Dropping to his knees, he vomited, then promptly passed out, unable to handle the pain.
~~~
Patrick returned to consciousness just seconds before he felt something or someone fall over him. Blinking, he tried to remember where he was. Then, he noticed a young girl on her hands and knees beside him. However, instead of red hair, he saw deep brown hair.
"Myrna?" he asked, his voice coming out as a croak. The girl rose to her feet quickly, and Patrick couldn't believe it. Standing in front of him was his sister, the same sister who had left him all those years ago.
"What are you doing here? Is Fidelma with you? What about Fintan? How are the twins?" he rambled on, clearly hallucinating.
[word count] 402 (not including song lyrics)
[listening to] 'Fisherman's Lament' by Great Big Sea
[mood] pretty good
[notes] Yay for hallucinations! Song credits: 'Rocky Road to Dublin' by D.K. Gavan
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Post by ``Jennifer MacKenzie on Jul 12, 2009 17:48:06 GMT -8
"I beg your pardon?" Jennifer said after the man had spoken. Clearly there was a case of mistaken identity, and most likely the man was drunk.
"I know no Fidelma, nor no Fintan. And how the feck am I supposed to know where the twins are?!"
"And who's Myrna?"
Jenny was said to have a very unhealthy helping of curiousity, and perhaps that was true. But she was fifteen, and adventurous, and in a strang enew land. The man looked harmless enough, any ways.
Harmless enough indeed, and a good deal out of it, if his ramblings were anything to go on. And on a closer inspection, the Hebridean found her observation to be quite apt.
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