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wtf? I created the most realistic outfit on site to date. Like wow, you're living in the wrong part of Ireland. [edit] Story: Don Renacemento was a bard who went around singing of the tales of the soldiers who had fallen in battle. Finding a way to rewrite their stories for the humorous city folk that wanted to believe war was nothing but a subject of a song. The souls of countless dead became tied to the words he sang and soon he was finding a vigor within himself that unraveled whenever he performed. Along with the vigor came this weight on his chest. He needed to sing to relieve it, but singing also seemed to increased the tightness in his chest. His heart was pulsed in his chest and at times we wasn't even sure he was actually singing, he just had to try his hardest to use his own heartbeat as a metronome as it pulsed and pounded within his ears, deafening and frightening.

With every breath of false tales and white lies, Don lost himself. His soul was intertwining with the souls he sang for. This wasn't a curse or a blessing, it was just fact. His essence was tied to countless others and what was once a man of comedy and joy became a shell, walking this world and feigning a human for the sake of survival. He was still unaware of what was happening to him, though, he only knew he was going to die soon, even if by his own hands.

So, as he traveled to the next town, thinking of lyrics to describe a massacre that just occurred along the coast line not more than a day's walk away, he came across a peculiar thing, calling out to him and soothing the pain within his chest. Don found himself standing in the middle of a fairy ring of toadstool, relaxed by the comforting aura it emitted within himself. He'd never felt this warmth from anything or anyone else in his life. Not even the embrace of a lover or his mother could bring this sense of contentment that invaded his veins. It was like he was being drugged. He had to have been drugged as he found himself lying down and looking at the face of a woman in front of him.

"You are the souls and the souls are you. Take my burdens and repent with truth. Try in earnest, but they'll never accept the clues. I give you my endless being and my endless youth."

Don had no idea how long he had been out, but when he awoke he was different. His body was more defined and he didn't find himself as self conscious as he was before, although that's not saying much as he was never above walking around naked with leeches attacked to him for the sake of a few coins. Most of all, though, the sensation that was previoulsy consuming him and given up the fight and seemed to find a new prey. He was better than he had ever felt and he rushed to the next pub he had planned to sing out. With his lute in hand, he began to play a merrily tune and began with a joke about how 6 men killed 9 men, but the joke never came out. Instead, a poem about a man and bear erupted from his mouth, causing hysterical laughter from the audience, even when he ended the tale describing the gruesome murder of the man.

A week later a bear that ventured too far out of the forest had brutally ripped a townsman to shreds. Wherever Don went the words he sang came to fruition and the deaths he screamed about were never taken seriously until it was too late. Because of this he found himself never visiting the same town twice. Sometimes the people he'd sing about would come up to him and ask how he knew their name. It was awkward at first but, after the first decade or so, when he truly began to realize what the fairy had meant by "endless youth" he took pity on them, claiming he had been an admirer, and found himself becoming as great a casanova as he was a bard. And so became the legend of the Banshee that swept through Ireland, bringing death upon every where he went, tying souls to himself and heading to where souls were already beginning to tangle with his.

((sorry, my virus is getting the better of me - pretend the spots is freckles okay :P))

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Caitlin MacKenna had spent her early years in Dublin, but moved to the States when she was about five. She went to school there, mostly lost her accent there, and thought she'd live there for the rest of her life. When her grandfather passed, she got a letter telling her she was now the proud owner of MacKenna's Pub. She'd just finished college and she was drifting, unable to find a job she liked that also paid decently. With no small amount of trepidation, she said screw it and packed up her things. The pub wasn't in the famed Temple Bar district, was in fact several miles away off of Dorset and Frederick. It was a bit run down, but it had a view of the Garden of Remembrance off the upstairs balcony. Her grandfather left her some money, along with the pub, but not enough to live in the city - luckily for her there was a flat above the place, and she figured as long as she was careful she could live there until she could afford somewhere else. In the meantime, she set to work fixing the pub up. She'd tended bar during college and was lucky enough to have a good head for numbers. She checked the books that were left behind and realized that any repairs would half to be done on the cheap - she couldn't afford much else. She found a local hardware store and got the advice of the owner, who seemed friendly enough. He lent her some DIY books and she bought the basics off of him: paint, brushes, spackle, a hand-held manual sander, and cleaning supplies. Lots and lots of cleaning supplies. It took her about two weeks to get the building scrubbed, holes patched and sanded, interior mostly repainted, but once it was done she thought she just might be alright. She reopened to a small crowd of locals who'd missed being able to have a quiet drink away from all the tourist spots. She barely made enough to cover the cost of being open for the night, but she had hope. As the weeks went by, her small few turned into a trickle, and a trickle into a stream. MacKenna's became a well-kept secret - locals only, no tourists. Before she'd been there a full six months she was able to hire on a manager and another bartender. By the end of a year she had a full staff and the kitchen was being renovated. She'd been there for 3 years before she realized she could afford not only to move out, but to put a down payment on a house. Her accent had come back like it had never gone, and she was happier than she could remember being in a long long time.

((her name is all Irish. the streets I mention (along with Temple Bar and the Garden) are all real places in Dublin xD))

Amazing contest, here is my entry! <3

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Muirin McClary was named after her grandmother, a 400 year old beautiful mermaid, captured in Lough Neagh by fisherman of St. Comgall.
The mermaid then fell in love with a human and they had 4 daughters, one of them Muirins mother. The name Muirin means "born of the sea" and reminds Muirin every day of her ancestry. Shamanism runs strong in her family and it´s not always easy to integrate these old pagan traditions into modern life. Often men and women alike come to find her in need of protection or retrieval, in times of sickness and trouble of all kinds. At such times, Muirin walks between the worlds as an ambassador and healer or as a guardian of the human soul. She puts on her shamanic traditional clothes, collects some rose leaves for her magic rituals and goes to the nearest source of water, can be a well or a pond, a river and also the sea. Standing in the element of water enlarges her power and makes it much more easy to gain access to the otherworlds. Afterwards, she goes home quietly, these rituals are always a little bit exhausting. Home, she sheds her clothes and puts on her beloved skinny jeans and a flattering tunic, steps into her Prada heels and heads out to the pub for meeting her friends. Laughter, lights, conversation and the feeling she is loved always connect her best back to the modern Irish world - until the next time someone needs her help.....

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Saoirse O’Neill is a 22-year-old woman who grew up in a small village about thirty kilometers west of Dublin. As a young girl she loved to listen to her Móraí (grandma) tell tales of the wee-folk and spirits. Her family wasn’t rich by any measure, her father worked for the local government and her mother stayed home to take care of her four young daughters. Saoirse was the first in her family to finish university getting her Bachelors degree in Anthropology with a focus on myth and lore. Based on her exemplarity grades, recommendations from her professors and getting an article published she won a full scholarship to University College Dublin for her Graduate studies.

Most weekends evenings now, you can find her wandering the historic sites and graveyards of Dublin dressed in clothes of a former era, telling tales of ghosts, spirits and wee-folk to enraptured groups of tourist and locals alike (for a small fee of course, a girl’s got to have a little bit of spending money). Someday she hopes to publish a collection of her own supernatural tales based on classic Irish myth and lore, but for now she’s just going to focus on keeping her grades up and impressing her new professors.

Thanks again! c: Oh, I'll take a screenshot of my HA I think, her infection is getting worse. You don't mind right? x:

thank you! and keep on fighting those fairies ;)

I absolutely love this and want to participate! Four days left... I may be able to finagle my time for this :DF

There was nothing that Brigid Delaney enjoyed more after a long day than a glass of wine and the chance to relax on the extremely comfortable sofa bed in the attic flat just above the pub where she worked. The only downside she could see to the notoriously extremely cheap rent on the flat was the fact that the pub was open at all hours of the day and night. That, and the fact that the second some drunk spills a drink on her uniform shirt, her bra was quickly exposed to the leering eyes of all the patrons. Including that slightly skeevy one from down the road, who ran his hand up her arm suggestively or, when he was particularly bold, rested on her thigh just under the hem of her skirt. But that was the way the cookie crumbled. In fact, Brigid would be more disturbed if men (and women) didn't stare at her because the only reason she could afford the flat she had was because the rent was so cheap. And if she stopped attracting attention to the pub by working there, she would be out both a job and a home.

She sighs, wondering if all of her friends were right when they told her that she would never make it on her own. She wasn't simple-minded, not in the least, but everyone knows money is what makes the world go round and that is something she didn't have. Not at all. Ever since she was a small lass, Brigid has had big dreams, bigger than the small orphanage, bigger than the city of Belfast, bigger than the country of Ireland. She wanted to make it, somehow. And that was the biggest problem: she didn't know how. She could dream all she wanted, but unless she had a plan, she wasn't going to make it anywhere. And so here she was, working the night before one of the biggest exams of her life, the one that would decide whether or not she would be accepted into her top choice school, and unable to study or sleep due to the pounding and laughter of the drunken people below.

She swilled the wine around in the cheap, plastic glass, carefully disentangling her hair from the obnoxious yellow bow it was strung up in, kicking off her flats. Her feet ached, her back protested another night on the couch, and she could feel a migraine pressing behind her eyes. But she set down her glass on the ring-stained coffee table and shimmied out of her clothes, carefully pulling on her faded sweats and tee, remnants of an ex boyfriend. Brigid sat down and stretched out along the length of the couch, her long frame causing her feet to hang over the edge of the couch slightly and well outside the edge of the blanket she tugged over her body.

Maybe, just maybe, the morning would look better.

:D yes you can use a screen shot too :)

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My name is Cat since my whole name of Catrìona is likely to be mangled somehow. I'm Scottish thanks so much, but did my superiors care? No. Red hair and freckles were all I needed to fill out the cliche. I am currently serving my sentence as being the PR department of Seelie Court's Irish division. We modernized. Big whoop. Look how nice and cute the fae are, see the pretty rainbows! Doesn't mean we won't dance in your blood...Especially if I am EVER sent to Los Angeles again. "Golden Hills" my left buttock; those folks have never seen what decent hills look like, yet look at me like I'm the strange one. Ok the glitter is too much but it wasn't my call. Ugh. Seven years, 4 months, and 13 days until I gleefully chuck this job at some other poor blighter. Then, I'm going back to Glasgow, wearing jeans, and never wearing something the sparkles again.

Okay! :D Thank you!

pokes and hugs

Outfit Not Found Hadley Blake, at the age of just 22, found himself fighting a war. Now it would have felt more righteous if he could say that he was fighting for his country, and not against it, however this Irish civil war was tearing not only his country apart, but families too, pitting brother against brother, son against father, their personal views separating them in to two very different groups in a fight that felt like it was going on forever, though really it had only been a few months. Hadley's elder brother had left early on to join the opposition. This had left their mother distraught and unwell, and though they tried, they could not contact him to return for their mothers sake. So far, the opposition was the losing side, with already hundreds dead as their weaponry was minimal and their numbers fewer, however this did not stop them from trying and Hadley had already had a hand in death, a prisoner whom was to be executed by firing squad. He closed his eyes as soon as he had released the trigger, but that hadn't helped with the man's cries ringing in his ears, and the ringing continued now when ever he tried to close his eyes at night. He hoped that it would go away soon, but also feared that it never would. As he lay in his uncomfortable makeshift bed, tired eyes staring up at the ceiling, Hadley hoped that everything would be alright, that his mother would be ok and that his brother would see sense and return home safely. It was these thoughts that would help him drift off in to a restless sleep.

Entered a male HA as im terrible at female HAs lol

Outfit Not Found I decided to go with with the Saint aspect, since it's actually a religious holiday. It's also been turned into something rather racist and offensive.

Background + story: They go by many names and many appearances. As an angel who greets those destined to go to Heaven, they are there to guide and help (after their sometimes harsh and confusing judgement). Thus they take on a form familiar to the person, or at least a form that will help calm them.

On this day they were Nora. A very beautiful woman who sadly died at the young age of 27. Her daughter, Bree, after many years of harsh struggles had passed away one calm night surrounded by family and loved ones, just after her 85th birthday.

* I was pinged, thought I would play since I like to write xD *

Outfit Not Found [Sorry, my zombie skin is still germenating so try to ignore it lol]

Meet Reed Moore [got to love the pun on his name]. He is 32 and lives with his twin sister, Ria, in a secluded wood on the outskirts of Edinburgh, Scotland. The two work as a pair, hired out to the highest bidder. While Ria is more into weapons and chemical warfare Reed concentrates on hacking into anything and everything and building the nifty little devices that would make James Bond jealous. They are, to put it bluntly, highly paid mercenaries. Reed has a very high fashion sense and a thing for leather and bondage. Sorry ladies he bats for the same team and will flirt with anything that has three legs [see what I did there hurhur].

[A little story.]

Being hired to kill a troll and dispose of the body was not exactly the highlight of the evening.

“Did ye hae tae uise that one? Mah bloody nose is goin tae crawl intae mah heid.” The voice was faint, still setting off a slight echo in the deep caverns of an underground sewage passage.

It was dark, damp and fetid, the stench only made worse by the large gelatinous mass that was oozing over the bone and trash riddled floor. Killing the beast had been easy, having Ria pour some sort of acid over it that ate through skin and bone with a horrid stench was just a little too much.

“Mah boots are goin' tae be ruined. Dae ye ken how much ah paid fur these? They're genuine Gucci, a'm positively gutted.” The voice was clearer now with a Scottish accent. The young man who spoke peered mournfully down at his shoes even as he held a handkerchief over his nose.

“Ah amm goin' tae have tae throw them oot wi'-“

“Reed!”

“-what?”

“Ye hae what, fifty pairs o' bloody shoes.”

There was an affronted sniff. “Fifty-seven tae be exact.”

“Soon tae be none ye wanker. Would ye rather hae tae drag a troll thro' th' underground?”

Reed frowned and shot his sister a look, offended. “Ria, ye kin be such a bitch.”

The woman grinned, a flash of white teeth in the shadows. “Ye kin buy a freish pair o' boots. C'mon, our job is done 'ere.” Holstering a small tranquilizer gun she spun and headed toward the left hand tunnel, flipping open a sleek cell phone and punching a button.

“It's done. Catch up wi` me in th' pairk, payment in full.” Without waiting for an answer she hung up and reached back to pull her twin forward and looped her arm through his. Normally she wouldn’t have cared about a carcass but a troll… if the humans found it there would be an all out ‘witch’ hunt. She and her brother might be mercenaries but they knew the importance of keeping some things secret.

“..Ye ken this jacket was made by-“

“Reed!”

“Crivens, ye sure ye ain’t pairt banshee?”

“Sod aff.”

No, no, no. Dublin is in Ireland, not Scotland!

You saw nothing >> I was dead ass tired at the time lmao. I thought it looked wrong >>

I SEE EVERYTHING

I saw it too, remember ;) ... so no telling fibsies now lol :P

</pokes> I finally finished my story.

ooh nicely done! I could actually picture that playing out in my head as I read it :)