The Odyssey, Part I [V-Day Event; Donald]

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	The scent of the docks almost reminded him of being at home in Burgas… Almost. It was the middle of winter, and in the place of the smell of warmth and sunshine, there was only the scent of ship fuel and stagnant river water. Perhaps it wasn’t the most ideal place for a late afternoon walk, but there were worse places, and it was a change of scenery, at least – the nostalgia factor aside. Marko didn’t like being aboard boats, usually. He became seasick easily, particularly on larger vessels and on rougher waters. So long as he was on dry land and just watching them, though, he was happy enough. Today was his day off; he was dressed in a heavy winter coat, over a shirt and jeans, and worn out ankle boots he hadn’t really thought about replacing yet – no one around would have suspected he was MI6’s resident doctor, and that was without counting the cigarette held between his teeth. He’d had a conversation with one of the fishermen, whose ship was docked on the jetty near to where he stood. The man had been preparing his ship for work, early the following morning, and out of having nothing better to do, really, than out of actual interest, Marko had listened to him prattle on about European quotas, and how in the ‘good old days’, fish was plentiful. But then it had started raining, albeit in a fine drizzle, and the fisherman had finished up, left the scene and headed home. And then the rain began to get thicker and heavier, and Marko somehow didn’t blame him for leaving. He finished his cigarette before the rainwater could snuff it out, dropping it to the tarmac and crushing it beneath the heel of his boot afterwards. Looking to the dull grey of the sky above, he sighed a little through his nose. Today was droll as hell… Perhaps he’d have to go home and see if any of his colleagues were free from work and free for a drink. It would’ve been better than slouching in front of the TV for the rest of the day, anyway.
Words: 360	Notes: -
Tagged: Donald	Credits: Aquarius of BTN

[Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland]

A breath in and a breath out.

The sea-salted air was chilly yet brisk, fresh, and fulfilling. Overhead, the gulls made their cries as their white bodies flew around in the sky, searching for food as how they always did. Of course—the waves. The sound of the rolling and crashing ocean had always been known to give a lulling effect. Its rhythmic ebbing and flowing gently nudged the boats on the harbor. Consequently, the ships were bobbing up and down by the mercy of buoyancy. The fact that it was a dreary English day still didn’t take a toll on its beauty. His Irish optimism was a little hard to beat.

Therefore, Donald’s glowing smile was hard to miss. This wasn’t his first time here actually—nope, he had visited this place numerous times before. Regardless, the vista was always enchanting enough to take his breath away. Sure, it wasn’t the most majestic harbor all around (some areas were a little dinky), it didn’t stop Donald from appreciating the crisp air and the open sea. Not to mention that some of his fondest childhood memories consisted of times by the shore.

Belfast. A beautiful place, a beautiful city situated by the sea. Almost everything about it was all ‘ships’ and ‘fish’. With that said, fishing was a commonplace practice for all ages and boat-marveling was a normal pastime. Every since he was a lad, he had always wanted to go out on an oceanic adventure. The happiest of days were all in Belfast.

But he wasn’t in Belfast, neither was he the wee lad he used to be. The ginger felt a sense of calmness trickle into his spirit. Things had changed since then… but the sea was eternal. It looked as if it hadn’t aged a day.
Then it began to drizzle.

Donald opened the palm of his hand to catch the drops. His fingers curled in as he shoved his fist into the coat pocket. There was suddenly a disturbance that overrode the petrichor. The scent of a cigarette prompted him to look at the side, where he saw a figure of someone familiar. Curiously, he strolled over to get a better look, only to have his suspicions confirmed.

“Marko! Ah, a surprise te see ye ‘ere!” He exclaimed energetically as he reached out to give his well… coworker a strong and lively handshake. “I mean—boy, ye exist outside o’ work! Ye know, it’s kinda like seein’ a teacher outside o’ school. YeknowwhotImean? So whot’s keepin’ ye ‘ere at the wharf? Recreational purposes? Ooor... are ye a fan o' boats and th' water?”

[Deleted]

	He was ready to turn to leave and head off and maybe make a few of those calls to the others on the way when an energetic, familiar voice startled him. “Marko! Ah, a surprise te see ye ‘ere!” He was startled, if only because the owner of the voice had come out of nowhere and had started shaking his hand like he was intent to pull it off – in the middle of what had otherwise been a quiet scene at the docks. He hadn't even heard him approaching; asides from the small heart-attack he'd given him, he didn't mind, and once the initial surprise had worn off, a friendly grin spread across his face. “Ah, hey--” “I mean—boy, ye exist outside o’ work! Ye know, it’s kinda like seein’ a teacher outside o’ school. YeknowwhotImean? So whot’s keepin’ ye ‘ere at the wharf? Recreational purposes? Ooor... are ye a fan o' boats and th' water?” That was true. It wasn't every day he saw an agent outside of the SIS building, after all. And if he did, it was for a reason; he would have been called to their aid whilst on duty, more than likely. “Eh...” He fought a second time to get a word in edgeways; impossible until the other had stopped talking completely. He then shrugged. “Well, er... Not really. I just wanted some fresh air, so I ended up taking a walk around here.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Reminds me of the city I lived in before I came to London. Kinda.” '...Sort of... Not really...' He added, mentally, before deciding to be a little more accurate with his statement, “Well, in bad weather, anyway.” Before he ended up elaborating on that, he decided to ask Donald instead, “Why, what brings you here?”
Words: 303	Notes: -
Tagged: Donald	Credits: Aquarius of BTN

[Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland]

“Well, er... Not really. I just wanted some fresh air, so I ended up taking a walk around here.” "A walk... all th'way 'ere? Well doc, ye've got some fine taste te this place. Oi've--" Donald coughed and cleared his throat as he chuckled. "Whew, I've got som' kinda accent mix there. Anyway, this place makes it fer a good retreat!" Donald was listening... listening, yes. Yet it was much more eager to talk than to listen. Oh, he was quite curious about this city Marko spoke up. Though the questions and curiosity remained, he was not able to grasp the opportunity to ask about it as swiftly as he intended. Instead, the other inquired about Donald, which was perhaps the best way to divert the Irishman to a new conversational topic. Frankly, Donald would be able to give an hour of an impromptu speech about himself without any remorse. "Here te check on me boat. Like I said, I am a regular te these parts o' town. Bein' near the waters is one way te make me forgit that me job is equivalent te... " Donald theatrically glanced around and then lowered his voice to a hush as he moved a palm to the side of his lip, "... te bein' James Bond. It's a stressful life and ye and I both know 'ow hard the boss grinds on us--on me! Christ." With a grin he straightened up and laughed loudly to reveal those words' light-hearted intention "LikeBond 'imself, who has always gotten 'em tragic 'Bond' vixens, 'I've got another form o' a woman te meet. And boy I've got te tell ye about her." He took a step back and rubbed his chin pensively as an exaggeration. "She's sturdy, reliable... hmm, a bit rough on 'er edges. Fast-faced n' a little big, nonetheless beautiful n' timeless. I'll introduce ye to 'er in a little bit. She's 'round here." To bridge the conversation back to Marko, he slid his hands casually into his pockets and asked, "So what city did ye come from? 'Ere? Out of seas?"

By Captain of BTN and OTE || Only for Icy's Use

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	Donald's pattern of speech was... Well, English wasn't Marko's native language, even if he was fluent by now, though he basically caught the gist of what the agent was trying to say, it was with some difficulty. At first he was going to ask what the hell kind of woman would be found down at these docks (probably not a very classy one, he supposed), but it soon became apparent that the term had been used as a metaphor. “You have a boat?” Marko was genuinely surprised. “I wouldn't have thought an agent's pay would be enough to buy one.” He rubbed his chin in thought, raising a brow. “Or cover the maintenance costs, anyway.” He added this upon realising that maybe Donald hadn't bought it himself; maybe it had been a present, or maybe he'd won it in a competition or something. Not that he had room to tell people what to do with their money, but he was aware agents didn't get paid too well, nor did they exactly have very luxurious places to live (which was why Marko would find them snoozing in the Room of Rest occasionally, something that often irritated him, especially if there were people in there for recovery already), and so that was why he had asked. He turned his attention to the question asked of him, nodding his head a bit. “I was born in Grad Sofiya, which is inland, but I spent most of my childhood on the coast in Burgas. There's an industrial port there; so there'd always be a hell of a lot of boats around.” He rubbed the back of his neck, half-chuckling, “It's a tourist spot, too, which also means a hell of a lot of loud, vomiting Brits. I guess it's a lot like London in that way.”
Words: 302	Notes: -
Tagged: Donald	Credits: Aquarius of BTN

[Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland]

"I built it!" Donald exclaimed with pride. "Well, not entirely from scratch, ye see. I bought an old model and then tweaked it a bit. Nothing grand but it's still a spectacular boat. And, you're right! I hardly have enough pounds fer meself. Let's just say I have been lucky enough to catch up on payments. Doing odd jobs just stack up and it's a great deal easier with connections."

Those connections were the reason why Donald had been able to maintain such an easy-going and friendly demeanor. It could be said that he knew about a quarter of the people in London personally, especially those who owned business and little shops. Being constantly on-call meant that he had no set time to be away. He didn't want to spend his days, waiting at home to be called to duty; rather, he took his time to socialise in the community. Despite the general gloom and cloudy weather, he found that many of the Londoners were pleasant people. Most of the denizens were immigrants who were trying to adjust to the British life so it wasn't too challenging to befriend people. After all, he owed most of what he had to the community.

"Never been to the Balkan area though I'd rather go to an area that is not like London." Donald replied with a cheerful chuckle. He had been trying very hard to actually like London. It was far too cramped for his liking; if he could choose, he would rather be stationed in a more open area that had a little more vitality. "Well, fantastic! So you're a port boy, eh? Me, well! I've always been fascinated by boats and ships and the big blue, sparkling sea." He turned to face the sea as he pointed at the horizon. "It's like it's beckoning us. It's as mysterious as a woman, just waitin' for people to explore her all around. Isn't that right, buddy?" He asked with a joking glint in his eye before he patted Marko on the shoulder.

[Deleted]

	Well, that sure explained a lot. Obviously Donald didn't spend his entire life just waiting for MI6 to call him in for a job, he had to support himself some other way. But even then, he agreed and said he barely had enough money... Marko didn't say anything to that. Best not to, he figured. There were worse hobbies than a boat to spend money on... Like smoking... He put that passing thought quickly out of his mind. “Ah... Yeah.” He added, taking a moment to think it over it. “But in the Balkans, you only really find the Brits in the tourist areas... Wherever there's sun, sea and property to monopolise, I guess.” He raised his shoulders in a shrug. “Or ski resorts. The rest is safe.” The only reason Marko had actually enjoyed learning English during his childhood was that it enabled him to eavesdrop on tourists. It had proved useful in the long run, but at the time, he couldn't have cared less otherwise. With a pensive frown, he glanced out to where Donald was pointing, studying the horizon carefully. 'As mysterious as a woman, waiting to be explored'? The only thing 'mysterious' about the view was the big, grey overhanging fog. “Eh... I dunno.” He said, slowly, matter-of-factly; it was likely that he'd taken Donald's metaphor too literally (which wasn't to say he hadn't understood it, his English skills weren't exactly subpar, at least not to that extent – he was just used to having everything spelt out clearly to him most of the time, and so either cut-and-dry or sardonic answers were often the best anyone could get out of him). “Doesn't look like it's 'sparkling' to me.” On the contrary, it looked pretty dull and choppy, typical of how it would be during poor weather.
Words: 301	Notes: -
Tagged: Donald	Credits: Aquarius of BTN

[Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland]

"Sounds about right." Donald replied with a nod. There were a bunch of things he could've said, but he decided to keep it tucked in his pocket. There were a lot of things to be said about the Balkans, especially from all the blathering he had heard from his father. But, well. He had met a couple of really good folks from that area, Marko included. His mind immediately conjured the face of a certain woman, and his face made a brief twist in discontentment.

"Ah, hm yes--" he went on. "I hope te get meself over there one day and git out of this place. Though I might be a toasted ginger if I stay out there fer too long. I git red as a beet. Not a good combination with me hair, y'see? Not that I can tell. Colorblind. Still, I don't think anyone would like te see that."

Ah yes. The great perks of being so light skinned. It was an excellent coat of defense in the sunlight, he would say. It could burn the eyes of the living.

Donald laughed when Marko didn't sound convinced. He assumed it was because of his use of gibberish and metaphors. He would blame his granddad for that, his ma's father. The old man had his ways with words until the grave, and Donald managed to soak it all in to make up for what was lost.

"Sparkling." Donald repeated with a little more enthusiasm. He lifted up his hands and wiggled his fingers for an added effect. "Shimmering, splendid even." Ah--he just quoted that song on accident.

"Just an ordinary day here in the good ol' UK. It sounds great deal better than sayin' that the clouds piss rain eh? Sometimes it can get so gloomy that we just make believe that the weather is gorgeous." He finished with a glance upward.

The rain was dying, its last breath in a sea-salted breath. He had always preferred a bit of sunshine, just because of how inconvenient rain can be whenever he wanted to do something outdoors. "Well," he began as he shoved his fists into his pockets, "I'm going te tend me girl. You're free te tag along if ye like. She's very pretty."