#daithí so small....

[buglaur]

i'm making a character page

[leathfaic]

I can take over the world because you're mine

"Dare." 

“Fuckin’ again?” 

Bear shrugged at Daithí's exasperated expression “No rules against picking the same answer a few times in a row.”, ignoring Vice’s “Oh you are an arsehole and should be glad I like you so much” noise. It was something between an annoyed huff and a snicker and she had it down perfectly, it did its job every time, making Bear incredibly glad to be loved by someone like Vice and feel a little called out. Leaning to the left they pressed a quick kiss to Daithí’s pouting face before snatching the bottle back and taking a hefty swig.

To be fair ‘a few times’ was relative, Bear was aware they hadn’t picked anything else all night. Had been subjected to a few of Vice’s creative ideas for it too. Taking a shot while standing on their hands. Guessing how many fags were left in Daithí’s pack (easy, none since Bear had stolen the last one hours ago.). Were pretty sure they also had to do Daithí’s laundry for a whole month. As if the sneaky fucker didn’t already put some of his into both their and Vice’s laundry basket. Acting all surprised when he was handed the clean clothes back. Not that Bear really minded, sighing and exchanging a knowing look with Vice whenever it happened. Now they just had an official excuse. But with all of them, Bear had successfully dodged having to reveal any embarrassing truths so far. 

“Fine, a dare then, pick something else.” he leaned in and pressed a kiss of his own to Bear's cheek. 

Proving that Bear's quick distraction hadn’t worked on him at all.  Instead, there was that flicker in his eyes that he always got when he challenged Bear. That warranted another big gulp and a contemplative stare at the label. The label stared back, Tullamore Dew Honey, a bottle that had ended up in Bear's hands not at all by accident. Same with the bottle of Jameson that was currently pointing accusingly at Bear had found its way into Daithí’s. 

The last deployment had been a crushing success, a mission of unusual size putting all able operators into the field and everyone else into a field base to ensure it would run as smoothly as possible.  

The entirety of the Apocrita in motion was a sight to behold and a terror to confront. Their enemies never had a chance, just the way Bear liked it. 

No casualties on their side either, something else Bear liked very much. The worst injuries were scratches, bruises, and minor cuts. Many had been limping but seemed fine already. 

So they did the only thing that was left to do after coming home, got out of gear that had been worn at least three days too long, showered and bitched about small things. And then without previous agreement assembled in the gym, the largest common room on the base, and celebrated what they’d done. 

It was an awkward affair at first, until someone, Aspen? Badger?, had the good sense to get everyone a bottle of one of their preferred poisons in hand. 

Suddenly shoulders sagged, and stress melted away. It wasn’t even everyone drinking, but the initial relaxation was enough to drag everyone along, even if it was just hot cocoa in their hands. Maybe not the healthiest way to deal with post-op tension, but if you had to get an entire base coming down with it at once, certainly an efficient one. If nothing else most of them would sleep soundly tonight.

By now most of the party had dissolved, and Daithí’s drink ended up mostly in him and Bear, Vice preferring whatever American thing she was drinking. Whatever it was it kept her a disgusting level of sober in Bear's eyes. And yet it had been Vice, all big puppy eyes dragging them to an empty room giddy with excitement when she proposed the game and Daithí had just wordlessly taken the last swig of Jameson putting the bottle down between them. Both looking at Bear who’d been about to explain that spin-the-bottle sounded so fucking childish. Who had sat down instead because fuck it, those were their lovers and they were nothing if not putty in their hands anyways. So maybe it was childish, or maybe that was the all-famed German seriousness sounding off and about to push a stick up Bear's arse, who fucking knew. 

A long look at Daithí, then at Vice. Both of them looked back expectantly. “Fine, fuck, Wahrheit.” they growled. It was ridiculous how the two of them made Bear crumble. How their heart did a little leap at the joined cheers. 

“So that one is easy honey,” Vice was way too quick on the draw with that, probably prepared it well ahead “Mommy or Daddy issues? Which one is it for you?”

Bear just stared. And then opted to drink again. Remembering that it had been Vice’s turn to dare them from the start. So much for Daithí and distractions. 

“Both actually.”

Dai inserted his hand between Bears and the bottle, stealing the drink away. Fair considering they were sharing this like they had the other whiskey before. Terribly rude considering Bear's dramatic need to drink between every spoken sentence.

“It’s stupid and dramatic and you definitely need to get me again with that bottle before I tell you that bullshit.” 

“Alright chief sounds like a lot to unpack, but I’ll make sure to remember that.” Vice gave them one of her winks that had Bear roll their eyes and grin before she added in a softer tone “But only if you do wanna talk about it.” leaned over for a quick reassuring kiss.

Bear just shrugged. "Dai's guaranteed to get a fucking kick out of it and you're going laugh your arse off. It's fine." 

They finally leaned forward to spin the bottle again. 

Don't you fucking dare stop right here again. 

The bottle, wiser than one would expect from an inanimate piece of glass skidded past bears position as it came to a stop, pointing slightly to the left of Daithí, but clearly still on him. 

"Wahrheit oder Pflicht?" 

Daithí smiled back wide, "Just to show you that it doesn't hurt mo chroi, I'll take Truth."

Bear wanted to groan. Wanted to hide their face in Vice's shoulder and tell her how unfair it was that Dai managed to make their stomach flip with his endearment. Only that would mean they'd be so close to Vice that that would get them too, her warmth, her smell, the persistent hint of engine oil that made Bear consider rolling around in a substance definitely not designed for it.

Fuck, the whiskey was definitely getting to them. Who the fuck thinks about rolling in fucking engine oil while having romantic thoughts. Fucking ridiculous.

"What's the story behind that one?" Bear leaned forward, pushing their own thoughts aside and pointing at the spot they knew to hold the tattoo on Dai's left bicep. 

It showed a bottle with a ship on rough waves in it and a person that had either fallen or crawled halfway through the bottle's neck with only their legs and arse sticking out.

Bear loved it. Loved the fucking whimsy of it, loved tracing the lines of the waves when Dai fell asleep between them and Vice. But they'd never asked about it. Might as well now, the mood was about to drop either way soon.

"Ah, always loved Alice in Wonderland." he smiled weakly and took a swig from the bottle. "Was a nice fantasy world to flee to when home was…wasn't fun. Thought I'd have my own little potion bottle to carry around with me." 

His words were full to the brim with unspoken, unhealed hurt and Bear felt the need to launch themself across the space between them. 

"Hey," Vice's voice interrupted Bears thoughts "You told me it was a bottle of Jack Daniels the first week here." 

Daithí’s sadness vanished, immediately replaced with a mischievous grin. 

"Why did Bear get the truth and I didn't you little fuck?" 

Bear leaned back, smiling and letting the gentle bickering commence.

"Because I have known them for more than three days now! And because it's funny when random people believe it and start interpreting that mo chuisle." 

Vice huffed, trying not to be immediately pacified by the pet name and obviously failing. 

"Used to tell civvies in Germany that the one on my thigh was a sex thing." Bear grins, granting Vice a few more seconds to seem unbothered. "Always worked, especially considering the fact I was usually gone in the morning.”

“Filthy-mouthed liars, the two of you.” Vice mumbles, still accusingly but also leaning over to kiss Dai on the arm, where the fabric hid the tattoo and then on the mouth, still trying for a pouty smile but quickly losing that battle.

And Bear is still too occupied with smiling warmly and widely, feeling the damn butterflies in their stomach do loops when looking at the two of them, to even consider threatening the bottle that Dai spins it again. 

That turns out to be a mistake. It’s like the damn thing can fucking smell their moment of distraction. 

“Oh darling,” Vice is definitely back to fully amused, “I don’t think you can scare it into moving more.” Well maybe not, but Bear can certainly try. Technically it would move if kicked, couldn’t point anywhere when shattered right?

Could see Dai open their mouth to assure them it was fine if they didn’t want to talk about it no doubt. Couldn’t have that though, Bear considered themself lots of things but certainly not a coward. 

“Truth it is.” 

They just held out their hand and Dai, bless his soul, handed the bottle back with no hesitation. Bear let the honey sweetness and the smoothness of the whiskey wash over their tongue, watching their lovers exchange a look, glancing back at them, then looking at each other again. 

Almost sweeter than the honey in their drink, their concern about hurting Bear. In the beginning, the care had been almost irritating, something they had decided they’d never feel again. Vice could never have known that though and even if Daithí knew parts of it. If. Even he wouldn’t have been able to understand. 

And so they smashed through all of Bear's walls like they were paper thin and Bear, who’d already been fighting a feeling of belonging with the whole new force they were assigned to had been overpowered and outmatched. Fucking flanked. Point blank shot by cupids arrow. The little bastard even double-tapped. Probably instinct since the last projectile stuck in Bear really hadn’t done a great job. 

Outgunned like that even Bear had to admit that fighting was for once, not the way to go. Love is the sweetest surrender and all that bullshit. 

Daithí sighed, somewhere between exasperation and fondness when Bear blinked back from their brief swooning session, sure that it had been painted all over their face, “What the fuck is up with all those parental issues love?” 

“Short version is I ruined my father's life and forced my mum to be a mother which was the last thing in all existence that she should have been, or wanted to be really.” 

Bear could feel the urge to keep drinking build up and instead passed the bottle to Vice, who took a small sip before she grimaced and handed it to Daithí immediately. 

“So the part that sounds like a bad sitcom is my father, yeah?” Unbidden their father's face came to mind all red tousled hair and blue eyes, always looking sad. Yeah, no wonder that. 

“He’s the Irish one,” they knew that already but it mattered so Bear just went on “grew up all proper catholic. Was really into it too. More than most people are. Always had one dream when growing up, wanted to become a priest, or bishop if he could. Hell, I don’t fucking know, might have been shooting for Pope in his little catholic daydreams.”

There was a look of confusion on Vice’s face now that was only matched by the one of foreboding on Daithís.

Without even thinking Bear took the bottle back and made the swig count before handing it to Vice.

“Had it all laid out too, proper catholic school, got into the Trinity College in Dublin, guaranteed a spot in seminary when his bachelor was done. Should have gone swimmingly.” 

Und das war des Pudels Kern, es hätte alles glattgehen sollen. Nicht das Konjuktive hilfreich waren wenn Bärs ganz eigene Magie im Spiel war. 

“They did some exchange programme, you know, get the weans out to see the world before they swear themselves off to their god. Freshly reunited Germany, deepest Rhineland-Palatine, all nice and conservative. Got some fine old churches to ogle too. Stayed in a lovely little town called Kusel. Not the biggest but it turns out there was a disco that the local youths frequented.” 

Somehow the bottle was offered from their left again, Bear didn’t even question it, drank and kept it. 

“Kinda easy to see where this is going, even theology students go for a dance sometimes. And sometimes they get drunk. And drunk people tend to forget how dedicated they are to god and might just hook up with an equally drunk girl. Not even 18 and equally as stupid as her male counterpart.”

At least Bear couldn’t fault their father, they knew the pictures her mother kept of her youth. She’d been stunning before constant anger painted permanent lines on her. Light blond hair to her thighs, bright blue eyes, her full lips always smiling back then.

“Da made it back none the wiser, went back to his studies until he suddenly gets called into the dean's office, gets asked all these very pointed questions. Turns out a very upset German woman had called and ripped him a new one. Something about one of their students impregnating her daughter.” 

Bear couldn’t help the disdainful noise that slipped from their lips. The issue could have ended there with a quick doctor's visit, but of course, it didn’t. 

“Both families are awfully traditional. Abortion was never an option. Instead, my father got the bollocking of the century at home, dean had informed his parenrs the second the story had been confirmed. Of course, he had to marry the girl too, she’d already brought enough shame to her family by getting pregnant by a stranger. They were both too scared and young to really say no, got married a month later, all proper catholic too.” 

The amused sound from Daithí’s side made them smile, and they handed the almost empty bottle back after sipping again.

“Can’t be a catholic priest if you’re married. Or divorced for that matter. Not that it mattered, the family would have torn him to pieces if he’d considered divorce. So my father got stuck with a lifetime of regrets and ‘what-ifs’ over a few too many. My mum got told she was the victim so often she just took to it, probably wasn’t that hard with all the trauma of the situation. Only she genuinely liked my father for what it's worth, so as soon as she had someone else to blame she did. ‘Biggest mistake of their lives’” Bear raised their hand mockingly like they were in school “That would be me. Made sure I knew it too. Father dearest buried himself in his work, trying not to be where he clearly didn’t want to be. Mum took matters more into her hands though, words didn’t quite do it for her I guess.” 

Silence hung in the room, heavy and consuming. They could see their lovers trying for words. Words Bear really didn’t want to hear. 

“It didn’t get better when I didn’t turn out like the little princess my mother had wanted as a consolation prize either. Was mostly shit honestly. At some point, my granddad spotted the bruises, probably at my gran's wake, got my father bollocking of the next century he had the unfortunate luck to be in. They got so loud I could hear them from my room on the 3rd floor even though they were in the kitchen. Undeserved too the poor man. But he must’ve relayed at least parts of it. They were constantly talking when we got back home. Never got another bruise from home again. Still wasn’t great, I mean fuck I thought I’d found heaven when I joined the army and felt they were fucking welcoming.” 

Sighing Bear continued, closing their eyes because it wasn’t getting better at this point, not at all. 

“Seems all the talking did something for them, ignited a spark that they’d ignored for 15 years or something. Got really really close again. And bam mums pregnant again. But this time they’d actually tried. That’s where the twins entered the picture. Love the shitheads but fuck, that stung more than any backhand ever could. Seeing them be a loving family all together, how they felt silent when I entered the room, disturbing the beautiful picture.”

There's a hand on their back and Bear knows it’s Vice because it’s coming from their right and because there is the faintest note of motor oil in the air.

“Watched them like a fucking hawk until I left, and every time I made it home after. But they were good with them. No hidden bruises. No nothing, just a happy little family and the weird mistake they’d made disturbing their peace. So I stopped going back and since then they’re just that. Saw them a few times for other family stuff. Grandad usually didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer or ‘I’m stationed in a fucking desert right now’ for that matter. Kept my distance though, better that way. Maybe the twins will reach out at some point, or not. Might be dead when they get to that point.”

Twin protesting noises tugging at Bears heart in perfect synchrony.

“I’m fucking kidding, you know they don’t make bullets that kill me yet.”

When they opened their eyes again Daithí sat next to them close as he could be without touching, just silently offering. There were no tears, no nothing really, the hurt was old, like a scar that caused weird phantom pains. It had long since been buried under more recent pains whose aches were much more prominent.

Bear was glad for the silence, didn’t know if they could take any soft words in that moment and keep their delicate equilibrium intact. It would shatter in a moment of seconds. People never just listened to something like this and sat tight.

Instead what they heard was the door being opened, and Bear found themself rising to their feet in a smooth motion that was fucking impressive for how drunk they knew they were. The instinct to confront whatever disturbed them momentarily overrode the intoxication. 

The reaction was barely warranted as Bear found themself confronted not with a thread but with a group of rather tipsy rookies. 

“Leffftenant!” the frontman of the group mumbled, rising panic clear in his voice even as the word came out slurred. And the fucking fact that despite all their training he missed the two other soldiers in the room. That would earn him a note in Bear's book of who needed to get whipped more into shape. Probably in the morning though, when writing was something they could do without thinking too hard. 

“Privates.” seniority in any army did wonders for the ability to not let your liquor show when addressing people by ranks, that and Bear's talent to roll r’s like they meant it.

“We’re so sorry, we’re just uhm…gonna be going?” he clearly wanted to run, but at least remembered himself well enough to wait for dismissal. 

One that Bear was about to gladly grant him when next to them Dai rose, equally steady. “Actually, Privates, we’re happy to leave the room to you, we were just about to head for a smoke anyways, weren’t we?” 

“Fuck yeah!” Vice opted for taking Dai's hand, all three of them filling the door frame now.

Bear watched in amusement how the man's eyes grew wider first at Daithí’s and then Vice’s appearance in his line of sight. Oh, he knew he’d fucked up. 

“Lieutenant, Sargeant,” he mumbled sounding downright defeated. 

“Oh don’t let us spoil your evening,” Vice laughed “I’m sure Lieutenant Quinn will remind you of this soon enough so you might as well enjoy yourself while you can.” 

She stepped forward and the rookies parted like the red sea. Small mumbled “Yes Ma’ams” and “Sorry Ma’ams” escaped from all sides. 

Tempted to chuckle, Bear schooled their expression before following. Knowing that Dai would be right behind them.

They made their way down the corridor, only falling into step with each other when they were out of sight, almost outside, and securely out of earshot before Daithí sighed “Smoke is actually a grand idea, I’ve been craving one.” 

 “You’re out, sorry.” Bear reminded him and he groaned. 

“That’s why you have me.” Vice smiled wide, “Tell me how much you love me again?” 

“Endlessly, more every time you smile at me.” 

“Aw darling, you know how to make a woman weep.” a pack appeared from somewhere, so quickly that Bear knew they wouldn’t make it out, not when sober but especially not drunk like this, and Daithí kissed Vice before ripping the pack open. 

“And you?” Bear raised an eyebrow at the sudden attention, Vice expectantly smiling and walking the last few steps to the outside backwards so she could keep looking at Bear.

“I was planning to steal from Dai again, to be honest, but if you have something for me Ophe I might go on my knees on the spot.” 

Daithí’s fake protest in the background had Bear smile despite themself, but when Vice produced a familiar yellow packaging from the-gods-know-where they are close to making good on their promise. Of all the things Vice could have on her, it was a pack of Cohiba Club.

“Fucking hell.” There isn’t much else that wants to get out in the moment so Bear makes sure to put all their adoration into it.

Waits until they stop walking before carefully slicing the pack open with a knife, a stupid habit, not needed and technically wasteful. Sentimental to the tenth degree.

Offers both Dai and Vice one of the tightly rolled cigarillos before pulling out two at once. Nods to the fence, just out of the floodlights, a hiding place that Vice had originally claimed. Still, a good bet when looking for her. 

Unlike usual, Bear doesn’t lean against the fence but instead asks Vice for light. There is comfort in the three lighter clicks and Bear takes a deep drag before putting the first cigarillo in the fence, it will burn off slowly, like incense. 

Not quite how Vice did it, but perfect for Bear's own purposes. Doesn’t miss the looks from the other two. This time they just shake their head, even if they wanted to, this one is not on the menu. 

Instead, they let Vice light the rest, lighter clicking three times each, before they puff out more of the same spicy-sweet smoke.

When they notice the other two attempting to position themselves to either side they just gently herd them to their front, bury their nose in Daithí's hair and hold Vice close to their chest. 

Lack of sleep from the mission and the alcohol of the last few hours slowly creep up Bear's spine, they feel heavy and done. Switch positions at some point, resting their head on Vice and holding Dai close. Smile at the way the two of them hold hands, complicated by the cigarillos demanding attention every now and then.

“You know mo chroi, I think there are people who’d love to study the stupidly complicated level of religious trauma you caught, might make some actual money out there.” 

Something warm filled Bear's chest and before they could help it they were actually, full-on laughing. This upset the delicate balance of the already complicated three-way hug. 

A few seconds later they just gave up, all three of them laughing, about the fucking comment, the general situation and just because. 

Bear felt light and slightly stupid. Something deep inside them gave way, the last of the tension they’d been holding on to melting away. They might have their regrets, but tonight wasn’t one, not with Vice and Daithí still so close they all kept touching constantly. Still here and knowing Bear a little better, whatever that might mean down the line. 

They finished their smokes and silently found themselves in agreement that it was really time to head to bed. Preferably the closest one.

Bear let the other one take off and turned back for a moment, saluting both the sunrise and the remains of the cigarillo in the fence.

“Still kicking, Sir.” a single tear finally found its way out of their eye with that and a wink they turned around before they could be tempted to monologue a fucking burned-down cigarillo. Wiped the tear away and fell into a light jog to catch up with their two lovers.

[dmsap7g2]

Elements: Fire

Week 12 - 21/04/23

"Warmth is the power of separation ... the power to determine its own form … actively creates distinctions and imposes forms.”(1)

Fire is generally a high frequency associated sound so through my interpretation, I imagine it sitting atop the foundations of the soundscape of the piece, being present as a more decorative signal sound

When I think about fire as a sound in terms of recreating it and pinpointing the sonic qualities I want to focus on designing with detail, upon research, I've found that fire itself doesn’t make sound but the context of the fire being started which dictates the sound. This is due to the way that the release of energy of fire as a chemical reaction interacts with the molecules around it(2).

How can you describe fire? Fires can crackle, snap, pop, and roar.

Small fires pop - twigs, shrubs

Medium sized fires crackle - wood

Large fires roar or rush - bonfire

Before recording, I took some time to research some methods for recording fire and materials that yield interesting textures for layering purposes. I ended up using mostly plastics and materials for wrapping, but also utilised canvas for more low end sound frequency to help the sounds balance as fire is a naturally mid to high end overall sound due to the popping and crackling of the burning material. I had plans to try and recreate the whooshing of large flames through the air through recordings of real fire, which I was unable to do due to logistics issues, scheduling and weather. My resulting work came through a lightly processed Foley recording of a small fire popping:

- Daithí

REFERENCES

(1) J. Opsopaus. The Ancient Greek Esoteric Doctrine of the Elements: Fire. Web Archive. Last updated 1999. Accessed 20 Apr 2023. https://href.li/?https://web.archive.org/web/20071029052110/http://www.cs.utk.edu/~Mclennan/BA/AGEDE/Fire.html#EF

(2) user191954. Why does fire make very little sound? Physics Stack Exchange. Last updated 2018. Accessed 20 Apr 2023. https://physics.stackexchange.com/questions/426698/why-does-fire-make-very-little-sound

[colleenmurphy]

Full Name: Ronan Daithí Devine

DOB: May 1

Star sign: Taurus sun II Libra Moon II Leo Rising 

Parents: Lydia Keene-Devine & Connor Devine 

Siblings : Ian James Devine ( younger by a year ) 

Occupation: He's had many odd jobs over the course of his life. The first being a rare book buyer for a collector out of New York. The second as an Elvis tribute artist ( please kindly don't call him an impersonator ) and the third as the owner of a small second hand music shop that allows him to be the front man for a band that plays a hodge podge of music at various festivals and the occasional job at the Cross Keys pub on the weekend. 

Herb: Passionflower 

Myers Brigg: INFP

Favorite song (s) - He doesn't really have a favorite artist/song. Only songs that remind him of his favorite people. 

Van Morrison's Moondance and Tupelo Honey will always remind him of his Colly.

Let It Be is the song his mother used as a lullaby when he was a child.   Louis Armstrong's What a Wonderful World and

Morrison's These Are The Days will always remind of his son Lorcan.

Here Comes The Sun will always remind him of his wife's best friend Helene.

Hound Dog is an instant thought of his brother Ian and

Queen's We Will Rock You is Helene's husband Joey to a tee in Ronan's mind. 

Favorite Scent: A forest after a rainstorm and the scent of the ocean. 

Pet: The Devine family has one dog, a mutt found behind the Cross Keys late one night after closing. They dubbed him Magner after Ronan's favorite cider. 

Embarrassing moment: 

- The night he met Colleen he was so tongue tied he could barely form a coherent sentence. Back then next to no one had heard of Devine Intervention unless they were familiar with the festival circuit so when she mentioned that she had hoped that they would play as well as they had had when she'd seen them the last time he was floored. He finally found his voice and felt so self consciously creepy that Colleen just waved it off and gave him her number anyway along with a comped set of meals for the band and half price drinks. 

Tidbits: 

- The song This Time was written with Colleen in mind after she and Ronan moved in together.

- At one time before Lorcan was born Ronan's brother, Ian and his band mates Cage and Angus took turns sleeping in the guest room and the couch in the living room because they couldn't afford a proper flat of their own. Colleen had no objections until their weekly shopping bill increased to three times as much as they normally spent thanks to Angus's huge appetite ( may have also had to do with the fact that she came home early to find Ian was 'entertaining' in the master bedroom.) After that only the Cage stayed on, quietly keeping to himself and contributing anything he could towards food and the water bill. He still occasionally baby sits for Ro and Col if Helene and Joey are busy though other than that he's content to live he bachelor's life and work his way towards becoming a licensed tattoo artist. 

- He proposed to Colleen on the fifth anniversary of the evening that they met. He had asked permission from both Col's mother and the man she considered a second father, Harvey Starling. They were married quite quickly only two months later at the Dublin registrar's office with only their mothers, Joey, Helene, and Harvey Starling in attendance. 

- Has a small rose tattooed over his heart as they're Col's favorite flower. 

-  One of his favorite dishes is Marmite chicken. 

- Was a history major in college. 

[unhinges]

had never considered the weight of the surrounding silence before. to him, the quietness was familiar, the seclusion of the residents not at all out of the ordinary. though daithí felt a great sense of loneliness here, he was never uncomfortable with or suspicious of how the town liked to operate. it was forged that way long before he stepped foot here and would likely continue on the traditions long after he left it behind. nodded in solidarity with megan though, offering a lax shrug of broad shoulders. “ it's nothin' personal, ” told her, features shifting to represent the careful thought he was giving this particular topic, “ most of the families have been here generations so nothing has changed in a long time. everybody keeps to themselves and i guess they must really like it that way. ” a small pause, his blue eyes narrowing at the other before question left his lips, “ what makes a noise loving, big city girl move out to the middle of nowhere anyway ? ”

megan was listening to music on her phone when she happened upon daithí. a small smile pulled at her lips and she slipped her phone and earbuds into her back pocket, "evenin'," she hummed and tipped her head to the side for a moment, taking in his presence. when he spoke again, she hummed, "i mean, i was fine moving in and everything. it's just...things feel a little weird. like my neighbours. they're all very quiet. maybe it's just me. i grew up in a family of like seven kids running around causing chaos at every turn. the town just seems off. it's all a little silent hill, really," she chuckled and shrugged her shoulders. "again...s'probably just me being addicted to noise. i lived in london all my life."

[scribe-the-write-thing]

The crew of the Felicite.

So, I’ve posted about the three main characters -- well, that’s to say POV characters; Jess, Theodor and Cecil. This is an exploration more of the other characters that are also present.

And oh boy its a long one.

Buckle in.

Taglist: @ps-nippets @the-musings-of-michael @quilloftheclouds @cawolters

Beginning, first, with the crew of the Felicite, the vessel captained by Jess.

Aksel Kristiansen

A blacksmith and craftsman originally working from Tortuga -- from swords to metal jewellery, Aksel made his craft at the forge. A found quite a bit of coin in it, too; though that may have also come from making his own forgeries. Aksel met Jess upon her return to Tortuga after Emmerson’s death; and they became fast friends, with him joining her and Theodor on the Felicite, and fighting with her during her mutiny. He became her boatswain, with his no-nonsense nature and efficiency, he was the perfect choice to divide the spoils among the crew, and ration where need be.

“You’ve been here sorting supplies all day; have you even seen the daylight?”

Aksel slams the crate of maps down atop the barrels, looking up at her, thoroughly unamused. And she flashes back a lazy grin in return -- because Aksel would never be truly angry with her, despite his posturing and threats.

“Perhaps if certain people stopped moving them, I wouldn’t have to.”

Theodor -- he always means Theodor when he goes so vague. Certain people. Some members of the crew. Select individuals. He refers to everyone else by name if he needs to; which is a rare occasion, Theodor is about the only one that ever stirrs up trouble for his ridgid order.

Jess snorts, stepping aside to allow Cecil through, waving her hand vaguely at Aksel.

“And this grumpy bastard is Aksel, boatswain. If you need any supplies, he’s your man; but be aware, he’s rather stingy when it comes to rationing.”

“I’m fair. Everyone gets their share of what they deserve.”

She rolls her eyes, leaning sideways against one of the barrels. “Unless they’ve got a little extra coin to throw your way, huh?”

“First come first serve.” He shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. “Though if you’re nice I might put the nicest treasures aside, just for you.”

Daithí Ó Maol Fábhail / Lavelle

A wandering merchant and self-proclaimed bard, Daithi found himself on a vessel from Ireland, eventually settling in Port Royal and making his way as a trader, singing the occasional song for extra coin. After a drunken night in Tortuga, Daithi found himself volunteering on a Privateer vessel known as the Felicite -- and later joining the mutiny aboard it. Daithi is the youngest, widely regarded as somewhat of the ‘baby’ of the group. Daithi finds his closest bond in the newest member of the group, Cecil -- mostly out of being glad to no longer be the ‘newcomer’ despite being there months.

“Perhaps if we’re lucky, Daithi might sing for us tonight.” Jess says, with a hum. “Boy has a voice as sweet as honey, I would swear he was half siren.”

“Awh, Jess, you’re makin’ me blush.” Daithi replies, hopping up onto the barrel next to her. “’course I will. Just don’t let Theodor choose the songs again. He made me sing ‘bully in the alley‘ five times last time.”

“It’s a song that really resonates with me.” Theodor says, with a huff -- though he still sounds amused.

“Oh we heard how well it resonated with you. You always insist on singing along.” Jess chuckles. “You sounded like a drowned cat.”

“I did not!”

“He’s right Jess, he didn’t really.” Daithi shrugs, though his expression quickly melts back into that goofy grin. “I’d say he sounded more like a choking seagull.”

Einari Heikkilä

A gunsmith initially doing business from within Port Royal -- trading underhand to less reputable men on the side. Einari found his most loyal customers in the crew of the Felicite; to the extent that when the law finally came calling, he found his new home aboard their ship as a part of the crew. Einari finds his closest bond in Theodor, with the two most often being found together, despite Einari being relatively quiet himself in comparison. He finds Theodor’s confidence and general loud ways to be something to be admired.

Theodor’s hand is slapped away before he can so much as brush his fingers over the gun.

“I thought I told you not to touch anything.”

“I was just curious,” Theodor grumbles, pulling his hand back and crossing his arms over his chest with a mock pout. “I only wanted to hold it. It’s a nice design, is all.”

“You can hold it if you buy it.” Einari doesn’t even look at him, so focused with fiddling with the gun on the workbench -- at least it looks like fiddling to Theodor; he’s never understood how it’s actually goes towards fixing it. “You don’t exactly have a reputation of being careful with your weapons.”

“It’s not my fault they stop working.”

“They don’t just break for no reason.” Einari says, and Theodor can see the faintest trace of a smile quirking his lips. “I know you tinker with them. Break it again and I’ll shoot you myself. Write out ‘idiot’ in bullets. Send a nice message.”

“Seems a waste of ammo.” Theodor says, with a non-chalant huff, leaning back against the wall. “Jess would kill you in turn for that. You could get the job done just shooting me once.”

Florian Krause

Originally from Germany, Florian is a tailor -- and makes it clear that it’s a profession he feels goes unappreciated. Florian found himself working in numerous villages and towns before boarding the Felicite before its commandeering by Jess, joining her mutiny when it began. Florian attempts to introduce a little style into the life of the crew -- or at least to make sure they aren’t running around in torn rags. Whether it be making warm blankets and clothing, or repairing clothes torn in escapes and battles, Florian is determined to earn due respects for his skills.

“You what?” There’s surprise in Florian’s tone -- but it’s minor. There’s not even anger, or distaste, just some resigned disappointment. Cecil wonders, briefly, how often he’s dealt with this. He doesn’t mean to stare, and knows really that he should leave now he’s done here, but some part of him wants to see how this will play out.

Theodor doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

“I cut all the sleeves off my shirts.”

“Oh.” Florian nods, stiffly. “I thought that was what you said.”

“So can you fix them? Before Jess finds out? She’s going to be angry otherwise-”

“Yes- But first let’s just, go back a bit-” Florian clasps his hands together, seemingly trying to will away his confusion and fully comprehend the situation. “I just have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Theodor shrugs. “Jess was asleep. I wanted to see what would happen.”

“Right.” Florian inhales deeply, closes his eyes -- and Cecil can pratically feel the frustration wafting off of him. “Why your sleeves?”

“Thought my biceps might want to breathe. Just felt like trying short sleeved for a while.”

“Fair enough.”

Jay Burnett

A half Senegalese, half-Haitian originally sailing with smugglers from Haiti, Jay is a demolitions expert with a love for all things fire-power and cannon-related. Jay met Jess during a barfight in Tortuga, after she saved his life from a stray bullet. After a long night of drinking, the two became fast friends; both due to a similar heritage/history and their taste for adventure. Jess brought him aboard for his knowledge, and he has remained one of her closest companions since. As explosive as his talents, Jay has a love for experimenting and finds a willing fellow experimenter (and occasional test subject) in Theodor.

Jess sighs, deeply, adjusting her head to rest against his shoulder -- the scent of smoke and ash drifting to her nostrils almost immediately, but she doesn’t have the strength or the will to move her head away, even if she wanted to.

“You still stink of explosion.” She murmurs, softly, wrinkling her nose.

“Better than you, you still smell like damp seawater.” He chuckles, softly. “And you look like a drowned cat.”

“You’re one to talk.” She replies, nudging his side, shifting her head to glance at the frazzled locks. “You’re actually singed.”

“All for the good of science.”

“You and your experiments. I think Theodor’s still smoking from your last one.”

“Hey, that wasn’t my fault,” Jay says, fauxly-indignant, she can see the playful smile quirking his lips, hear the humour in his tone. “I told him to throw the firework as soon as I lit it. He was the one that hesitated.”

Serefina Cassara

An ex-nun, originally from Italy, who left behind her country and life in pursuit of more excitement in her life. Either stowing away on a ship, or travelling with smugglers, Serefina sought out the Caribbean, soon finding herself in Tortuga and bonding quickly with Jess -- and soon taking up her offer of being aboard her ship, a rarity considering so few allowed female members. Serefina became something of a ‘mother’ to the crew, working as a medic and last form of a moral centre. As of late, she has bonded most with Cecil, taking him under her wing as he is inducted into the way of life aboard the ship.

“So you think... that I- that everyone here, can be a good person?”

Serefina pauses, eyeing Cecil carefully for a while, long enough for him to begin to wonder if he’d offended her, perhaps.

“Maybe not good people, but passable ones.” She says, finally. “They’re trying. And rules are different, here; I don’t think it fair to judge any of them as being strictly bad people. They may do bad things, but they do good too. Neither outweighs the other.”

“But I- and you served as a nun- so you must know...” He trails off, tries to find the correct wording for what he’s trying to get across. “Isn’t everything... against-”

“I think that, if there is a god, he doesn’t particuarly care what we’re doing. There’s plenty of other things to worry about.” She shrugs. “I’d worry less about what he thinks; and more of what you think of yourself. We all have our own codes, our own standards; as long as we’re sticking by them, all else follows.”

[nobleclover]

Late Night (Clover's Story)

Another tour had been fully completed and all the punters were satisfied and captivated. Their guide, a young woman wearing a thick bulky jacket to keep warm through the Baltic weather alongside a thick – padded hat with flaps, had taken them back to their starting point in Trinity College’s courtyard close to six pm. They had spent three hours weaving and winding through Dublin’s Georgian streets, having visited The Brazen’s Head, St. Patrick’s Cathedral and even stopping outside the posh Shelbourne Hotel. The young guide turned around and declared, “So, now we’ve reached the end of the tour! Thank you all so much for participating and I hope you’ve had your fill of spooky stories for tonight! Any questions?”

One German man stuck up his hand and asked, “Ja, have you ever had any encounters with these spectres as you’ve described, on your tours perhaps?”

“Hmm,” she hummed, “well, certainly not on any tours, although I did pay a visit to St. Patrick’s Cathedral as well as Glasnevin Cemetery and I think maybe I saw something that could’ve been a ghost…although, it was probably just the wind shaking the branches!”

The crowd chuckled in unison as an American woman raised her hand before asking, “What would you say is the most terrifying place in Dublin?”

The young guide thought for a moment and responded, “I guess it would have to be the Hellfire Club, which isn’t on this tour. It’s on Mount Pelier Hill and is the ruins of a burnt down Freemasons’ lodge that was the site of debauchery and occultist activities! I remember visiting it on a school tour once and thought of it to be unsettling when we were looking around the ruins!”

No more questions were asked and each tourist left with a discount for any further tours in their pockets. The tour guide scurried off to the nearest gallery to clean off her makeup. Throughout the tour, she had been wearing just one contact over her right eye and concealer over a long jagged scar that had been etched across her eyelid. She precariously removed the contact that had been over her eye for a good two hours and looked up to see a milky white pupil with scarlet veins branching out from every corner of her eye. Her scar ran down from below her eyebrow to the bottom of her eye socket. Despite being used to this garish site and recovering from the events that caused her injury, she looked at her reflection like it was a different woman with sadness and recoil.

As soon as she was done removing the concealer, she pulled out a big white eyepatch with a large four – leaf clover on it. She smiled as she remembered how it was given to her as a thank you present by a young lad she helped out. Pulling it over her eye, she turned to her reflection with a smile and headed off.

The bus ride home was long, people were huddled in their seats looking like hibernating animals with wisps of their breath vaporising into the air. She was listening to music and playing on her phone when a text came in, from Daithí.

Her eyes widened in curiosity, wondering what her old friend would want now. She opened the message which read,

“Hey Clover, you still got those pages of the Dullahan? Ryan, Sharon and I got word that someone spotted one in Carlow and we wanna get some info off you before heading down. See what we’re dealing with.”

Clover smirked as she replied back with, “Yeah, dude. I’ll scan it in tonight when I get home. Just don’t lose your head if it turns out to be nothing okay? XD”

“Haha, nice one,” Daithí replied.

She chuckled to herself at the joke as she put a reminder on her phone to send him the requested information. A few years back, Clover was seriously into investigating paranormal and supernatural occurrences, namely creatures that were regarded as myths. However, due to that incident, she doesn’t do it anymore yet still helps out her friends that were still in the paranormal researcher’s group she left with whatever info she has.

Just then, her mam sent her a text asking, “Are ye home?”

“No. Still on the bus,” she replied.

“Stay safe. Make sure you have your keys and lock your doors when you get in.”

“Don’t worry, I ALWAYS remember. I’ll give you a call when I get home.”

“Okay, Clíodhna. Love you.”

“Same here, Ma.”

The familiar sense of unease returned as she stuffed her phone back in her coat pocket. Sure, Clover was aware of how worried her mother would be about her safety but every time she’d remind her to lock her doors and such, she would feel anxious again that someone or something might be watching her. Like something that attacked her and left her partially blind…

Still, her mother was just looking out for her that’s all. Clover and her mother were fairly close, even despite all the ups and downs in the 24 years of her life. She also mused over how interesting it was that her real name, Clíodhna, was the same given to the Queen of the Banshees. It's as if she was meant to be into paranormal stuff.

As soon as she got home, she sent off the info to Daithí, called her mother which lead to a half hour conversation and prepared a pizza in the oven for herself. Once it was ready, she tucked straight in with the radio blaring beside her. It was gonna be another cold day tomorrow and she had another tour booked as well.

Just then, she heard some small tapping against glass. Lowering the volume down, it grew louder and soon peaked into ear piercing scratching. Recoiling, she checked around to see what the cause of it was. The scratching died down as quickly as it began and reverted to tapping. Checking the downstairs windows, she was shocked to find three long scratches against her patio door. She sighed in annoyance once she realised what it was and stormed off to the fridge. She took out some sliced bread and prepared a bowl of milk for the fae that decided to make her ears bleed during dinner. Once she had everything, she placed it outside and went back in. She made sure to put all three locks on it and tugged on the large handle three times to make sure it was secure.

She couldn’t sleep well that evening. She felt that something was watching her, studying her every move. It had been like that for a few years and she still has trouble shrugging off that feeling. Her desk lamp was kept on for that night in the hopes that she would sleep better, only it didn’t always work, particularly if she was on edge. She was thinking all sorts of things, not just the fae out in her garden but also about her friends’ trip down to Carlow. Turning over, Clover grabbed her phone off her bedside locker and texted, “Stay safe,” to Daithí, before rolling over back to sleep.

At last, she had a much deserved good night’s sleep.