Scene 2 || Vivisepulture

[Aoife O'Neill]

“You really didn’t have to do this, you know,” Aoife had muttered for what seemed like the hundredth time that day as she had watched her twin brother carrying her small suitcase into his apartment.

It was a surreal moment; a moment which had been brought on by an equally surreal week. Not so long ago, Aoife O’Neill would have scoffed if someone had said that she and Donald would have been able to rekindle their old relationship and make amends. The past five years, her mind-set had been far too clouded by strong emotions – anger, distrust, betrayal. However, somehow those emotions had been smothered out in no more than a few hours. The twins had reconciled, and it was a welcome change.

When M had announced that MI6 would be granting the redhead a paid vacation in order for her to recover from… everything that had happened, Aoife had been stunned. MI6 was known for overworking its employees, and being rather stingy with pay-rises and holidays. She had been even more surprised, however, when Donald had appeared and insisted that Aoife spent her week long break staying with him.

That was how she had ended up here, now sitting on her twin’s couch whilst he flicked through TV channels, searching for something which could supply their evening entertainment. The two of them really had hit it off, and had spent most of the evening joking around and laughing, for the first time in so very long. It was with a pang of regret that Aoife thought to herself how she wished it had been like this much sooner.

But, the evening was soon interrupted by the sound of a chime, followed by a prominent silence. Aoife looked up from her glass of Guinness to see Donald looking at his phone with an expression… an expression she couldn’t quite read. Was it concern? Anger? Surprise? It seemed to the woman as though her twin was trying to hide what he was thinking as he continued staring at the device in his hands.

A frown residing on her face, Aoife sat up and leaned over, trying to get a glance at whatever was bothering him.

“Is something wrong, Donny?”

[Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland]

For sure, Donald did not expect this to happen, and he wasn't so sure he appreciated the roller coaster of emotions. When Aoife had disappeared a while back, Donald was struggling on the 'right' way with his worries. In short, their sibling relationship was strained, thanks to some unconventional rites of passages to "manhood"--in other words, Donald's life of crime exalted him in all the wrong ways. It was no wonder why Aoife hid a dagger when Donald got himself out of jail. Ever since, her stingers were always out, and he could only get so close without being shot down.

Regardless of past histories and the like, Donald cared deeply for Aoife, as he did with all members in his family. His lawless days were numbered with ruthlessness, but it was not without passion. When God showed him a new way, Donald's passion remained; his love and desire to protect others were inscribed onto his soul. And for such a dutiful act, God rewarded Donald with a blessing. Aoife was mysteriously placed in a hospital with gifts. When all was said and done at the hospital, the twins became closer. At least--amends were made, to an good extent. Progress was little, but at least there was a flow.

After the discharge, Donald insisted on having her stay with him. All was well as they relived the time that had been stolen away during their adolescent years. They were twins, different by the mark of gender and personality, but similar in their fine taste for meat-n-potato dishes and washes of Guinness. Rover took on a quick liking to her, and the giant golden bag of fluff kept thinking that he was meant to be Aoife's lapdog.

The ring from his phone could not have been more innocuous; he had heard it many times before, and it usually had alerted him of silly messages and reminders about buying groceries. His casual and good-natured demeanor faltered the moment his eyes met the screen. It was surreal, one altered reality after the next. Donald wondered if he was still dreaming, and if he was, this was the nightmare that had replayed in his slumber for the last five years.

His staring caught Aoife's attention. God, he wished it didn't. Donald slid the phone in his pocket and feigned a grin with ease, though his eyes were grey and distanced.

"I actually gotta get something really quick." Donald glanced at Rover and the pooch bounded towards him, licking and chewing at his fingers. He gave Rover a swift pat on the head as he got up from the sofa.

"Hold on a sec." Before Aoife could say anything, Donald went to fetch his coat from the hanger--the one with the hidden gun in its pocket. He had a passing thought to better equip himself, but the fury was fanning in his chest made him lose the thread. Donald had to get there, quick. Someone tampered with something that should not have been tampered with, and for all that he had done, he needed to find out the problem and rectify it.

It could be vandals--though, it could also be... him.

With his back facing Aoife, Donald scowled in the security of the shadows. As he buttoned up his coat, he heard Aoife say more.

"I'll talk to you more 'bout this later," he assured. "HQ asked fer a small favor and they need me ASAP. See ye in a bit, sis."

Donald instinctively pressed the buttons to set up the security, but he felt a strong tug on the tail of his coat. Rover did not want to let go. Donald sighed, gave the pooch a small reprimand, and then gave it a long kiss on the forehead. "I'll be right back, bud."

With that, he spirited off, keeping his pace as a man with a mission. Behind the closed door, Donald was livid.

[Aoife O'Neill]

Aoife O’Neill had been trained by MI6 to identify liars and know when people were not being completely open with the truth. It was an important part of the job, and thus she herself had become almost an expert in seeing the signs. The forced emotions which were clearly used to mask true feelings, distant words which were clearly trying to avoid something, vagueness and ambiguity, diverting away from the real issue… They were all tiny little things, but each one added up together to create and paint a picture – like pieces of a puzzle it all fitted together to show the final outcome. It was because of all this that Aoife knew her twin brother was lying to her.

As the younger twin had been rummaging around his apartment and preparing himself to leave, Aoife had watched him with pursed lips and a raised eyebrow. Her entire being radiated the fact she didn’t believe his indifferent cover story. No, there was something else going on. What it was exactly, she had no idea. She may have been smart and perceptive, but Aoife was no mind reader (unfortunately).

Adjusting her position on the sofa so that she was now watching Donald; or in this case, staring at his back as he put on his coat; the redheaded woman rolled her emerald eyes at him in distinct annoyance. Just when she thought they were getting along again, Donny had come along and built up another wall between himself and her. One step forward always meant taking two steps back with the twins. Admittedly, Aoife was just as guilty of this, however this time she could see that something was wrong – and it wasn’t her.

“Don’t lie to me, Donny. Something’s clearly bothering you, so what is it?” Her question was clearly laced with a hint of irritation. But, much to her growing displeasure, it was almost entirely ignored and pushed aside by her twin.

"I'll talk to you more 'bout this later. HQ asked fer a small favor and they need me ASAP. See ye in a bit, sis."

His answer had left very little to be desired, though Aoife found herself too tired to even try forcing a clearer answer out of him. There was only so much stubbornness one woman could produce, and tonight really wasn’t the night to be starting up a pointless argument. Letting out a huff of annoyance, she flopped back down into her original position, giving Donald a facetious wave of her hand over her shoulder.

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” the way she had sighed out those words made her seem exasperated at the situation, as though she knew that trying to get information out of Donald Finn O’Neill-Kirkland was like trying to draw water from a stone. It turns out that the two Irish twins could be just as stubborn as each other, on occasion. “Just hurry up and don’t be gone for too long. Father Ted will be on soon, and I want to watch it. If you’re not back here by then, I’m starting without you.”

She wasn’t sure if her words had ended up even reaching him, however, because no sooner had she finished her sentence she had heard the door close shut behind him. The woman momentarily glanced over her shoulder at the closed door, before letting out a heavy sigh and turning her attention back to the TV. Rover soon re-joined her, and was already making himself comfortable by curling up on her lap. With a warm smile, Aoife gave the dog an affectionate cuddle.

“You miss him already, don’t you, boy?”

Of course, the animal gave no answer, and seemed content with the attention his owner’s twin sister was busy giving him.

Shaking her head slightly, the redhead gave one final glance towards the door behind her, muttering quietly, “I wonder what he’s up to.”

Oh, if only she had really known.

[Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland]

When he stepped outside, he felt an arid breeze, a level of dryness that made him want to cough. The weather had been fluctuating as of late, a fickle thing, and the winds were especially uninviting at this hour. The hollow gusts flushed against his ears as Donald went for the garage, a howling greeting. He pulled out his keys, the metallic bunch clanked as he pressed for the garage door slid open. Gears and machines hummed, and Donald continued to jingle the key ring of stuff--important stuff. If there was anything worth saving during a hypothetical 'burning house' situation, one of them would ought to be his key ring holder with all of the things attached to it.

Donald entered his car and then started the engine. The grumble of the car was rough, like a defiant stallion, but a stroke of good luck quieted it down. It had been a long time since he had last driven a car because he had never really felt the need to get somewhere in a hurry; time was a slow amble for him. Yet the situation had changed, and the urgency prompted him to leave with his old habits aside. The pocket that held his phone seemed to burn through the layers of clothes; the messages were still in there.

He set the gear to reverse, made a three-point turn, and then went off without much greeting to the peaceful neighborhood. The street lamps illuminated his face for a few seconds at every third of a block, and each time, it revealed Donald's tense expression. He didn't feel good; it was a foreboding mixture of fear and anger, two sides that was warring against each other. What prevailed, however, was his sense of duty, and 'honour'--a word that tasted like ashes on his tongue. He was bound to the pursuit of penance, and this honor was the only term he could use to save face.

The blackened, sentinel black gates were in view, it encircling what was known as one of the oldest graveyard in England. A place that would normally harbor peace looked so disturbed and disgruntled to him--for something had robbed it of its peace.

Please... Please...

Donald parked his car on an empty lot, and it was no surprise that it was completely deserted. It did not make him feel any better to the slightest. He locked up the car, pocketed his keys, an then made a calm trek to the nearest entrance. The willow trees swayed to the whispering winds, as if to beckon him toward a begotten path. It swayed away from the entrance, however, and whatever sign nature tried to give was smitten by Donald's objective.

Leaves were crushed underneath his feet with every step. Donald did not try to go about this with stealth, especially so when he began to climb over the blacken iron of the gate. With his strength, he made it over with little struggle, save for that one instance when the tip of the spire caught a brush of his jacket. Donald landed on us feet, crouching on his knees to break the blow of the fall. When he stood up, he surveyed the area.

The tombstones were countless, a myriad of ancient soldier stones and crosses that have been left for memories. The blue moonlight gave it an ethereal glow, but it also created harsh shadows that made the statues look bestial and cruel. The nearest willow leaves swayed once more.

Her eyes were a yellowish brown... Or was it... Blue?.

He traversed through these hallowed grounds, and the deeper he went, the more lonely he felt. Mumbled of his past began their groping, imagined screams and wailing drowned the silence.

He stood in front of the grave of the Marose family, a beautiful family. They were buried together. The girl's eyes were blue, according to the documents.

Donald swallowed his anger as despair and confusion surfaced. Why would anyone do this--who knew? No one should know... No one. The girl's eyes were blue, the girl's eyes are gone. The winds were so dry, he felt as if he was swallowing blood.

[Deleted]

The night was cold, bleak, and frigid. Almost theatrical, the setting was soon become like something from a movie. The climatic final scene in which the protagonist would meet with the antagonist and finally be rid of him. Séamus Ó Ceallaigh was the protagonist of his own story, after all, and tonight was the night he would end up victorious.

Yes, his methods in order to get to this stage were hardly what one could consider morally correct, and nor did he intend to stop such actions. He was fuelled on by his own, very specific moral code, however. Loyalties had been broken so many years ago - Séamus had been betrayed in his eyes. This was something... unforgivable. Something which meant Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland had to be punished for. The Tiger had waited far too long for "justice" to finally be served, and the Archangel would repent for his sins.

Their hands had been stained crimson by blood over the years. Blood which both men had spilled. Both men had even claimed to have caused so much death for all the right reasons - Ó Ceallaigh punished those he believed had sinned (even if his views had been warped and twisted over the years as his heart had turned darker), and Kirkland vowed to remove all those who wandered in the shadows from the face of the earth, like the terrible zits Donny boy believed they were.

That was where the Tiger was lurking now; in the shadows, patiently waiting for the right opportunity to pounce and take down his prey. A terrible howl of the wind rushed through the looming tombstones, its menacing sound frightening enough to send a shiver down most people's spine. In the dark, shrouded and hidden by the blackness, Séamus waited. A small group of four men, some of his most loyal followers, were behind him and making hushed conversation amongst themselves. Séamus paid little attention, however, as he lit up a cigarette and inhaled a deep breath of nicotine. The crimson tip, burning bright in the night, may have been the only sign to hint towards his presence at the graveyard. Otherwise, he remained invisible.

Another long drag from the cigarette was taken, before iced blue eyes caught sight of a silhouette emerging through the heavy fog. Lips curled up into a cruel grin at the sight, and quickly the burning cigarette was thrown to the ground and snubbed out with a brightly shined leather shoe. So, Donny boy had received his message.

Someone's found something you probably want to have kept hidden.The Marose family will never get a peaceful slumber at this rate.

And thus, the trap was set, baited, ready. Right on cue, the prey had arrived. Séamus simply remained in the shadows for a moment longer, watching Donald as he stared at the grave. The past had finally caught up with him, it seemed, and now it was about to strike.

The moment's reprieve was over. No sooner had the wind dropped slightly, the Tiger silently emerged from the shadows and stalked up behind the ginger Irishman. One of Séamus' gloved hands was wrapped tightly around a heavy pistol, which was slowly raised up high above his head the moment he was standing behind Donald. Then, suddenly, it was brought down with brutal force and smashed into the ginger's skull without remorse. It was unsurprising that the man instantaneously crumpled to the ground - the blow had been forceful and hard enough to knock a man out, rendering him unconscious.

With another small smirk, Séamus poked the lifeless body which now lay in a heap on the ground by his feet with the toe of his shoe, before glancing at the four men and giving a curt nod of his head. No order was needed to be voiced, for the men knew exactly what to do. Emerging from the dim, they marched over to the lifeless male and pulled him upright, two of the men holding him upright by the arms. Donald's head was dipped forward and his eyes closed, his current state making him completely unresponsive.

Letting out a low, dark chuckle, Séamus bent down slightly and titled his victim's chin up slightly. Had his green eyes been awake and open, they would have been in direct contact with the frigid, cold blue irises of The Tiger. Séamus examined the man's face for a moment, then chuckled once more and shook his head lightly.

"Oh dear, Donny boy," he chided quietly, even if his voice fell on deaf ears. "You really should be more careful when you're out alone, late at night. You could get seriously hurt."

The dark haired Irishman quickly released the ginger and straightened upright, his more mirthful expression hardening as water turns to ice. "Bury him." His command to the four men was curt and blunt, leaving no room for argument. Thus, the body had been lowered into the large coffin of the dug-up grave, Donald placed amongst the bodies of the family he had slaughtered all those years ago. It was a wonderful sight to meet Séamus' eyes. Finally, Donald O'Neill-Kirkland would be put to rest.

The open coffin had been lowered into the grave, allowing Séamus a moment to stand over it and take in the sight one last time. It was starting to rain now; the low growling of thunder highlighting the bleak tone and rapidly deteriorating circumstances for the Northern Irish man. His dark hair was becoming drenched, the black trench coat which hung off his body weighed down with heavy rain water. Yet Séamus didn't seem to care. He was too busy revelling, no, basking in the glorious rays of his victory. Even if it was the dead of night, the sun was shining down on him. Oh, this was too easy. So wonderfully easy!

Before the coffin was closed, the leader of the TRS had thrown down an item into Donald's eternal resting place - a walkie talkie. After all, he couldn't not grant Donny boy one last conversation before he passed. Then, the lid of the coffin was closed over, and soon Séamus' men got to work on covering the grave over with the wet soil once more. It took a long time; hopefully long enough for Donald to have woken up from his brief slumber and come to the realisation of where he was. So, by the time the men had finished their work, Séamus was already reaching for his own walkie-talkie to give the Kirkland his wake-up call.

"Rise and shine, Donny boy~" Séamus sang into the device, the smile which had never once left his face growing increasingly crueller. "I hope you're making yourself comfortable in there. After all, you'll be there a while. It should give you long enough to reflect and think about all you've done. Maybe you can use this time to beg forgiveness for your sins, please God."

The rain was falling more heavily now, drowning the earth and turning it into thick mud. Séamus decided it would be a good time to leave - he didn't want to ruin his shoes, after all. So, he and his four men made their way back to the car they had parked in the secluded area behind some trees; all the while the Tiger continued his chatter with his victim.

"I hope you're not claustrophobic or anything. Might make that whole situation a little bit unpleasant. But it's all right; you won't have to put up with it for too long. I give you a couple of hours before you suffocate in there, tops."

A couple of hours. That was only if Donald was lucky. Very lucky.

"Don't worry though, Donny boy. I'll keep you company until your time runs out."

Now that Séamus was in the comfort of his warm car, he had all the time in the world to sit, chat, and gloat a bit before he would go to finish off the rest of the job. Hm, he would probably have to tell Donald about his plan at some point - it was bound to make the redhead even more nervous than he probably was now.

Tonight really was a good night.