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Post by Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland on Feb 23, 2013 17:15:26 GMT -8
omg guys ;;A;; <3333333 thank you
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Post by Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland on Feb 17, 2013 12:15:47 GMT -8
Bang
Do you remember, Donald?
Bang
Dearest Donny, do you remember?
Stop. Reload. Breathe.
Those people you killed?
Bang. Bang. Bang.
That family of six.
A seethe. Pain trickled down his neck. There was throbbing in his head--this voice just kept on coming back. His fingers were shaking from the magnitude of the gunfire. Shaking… shaking… wanting to grip something—to strangle, to take, to steal, to kill, to… Stop.
They were such a loving family too.
He could feel it. The thousand needles began to puncture his hear. The tips were laced with poison—the poison of anger, of resentment, and of sorrow.
A pastor, his wife, and his four children. And you killed them all… all in cold blood.
“No…”
They all had such pretty eyes. Three of the children had eyes reminiscent to their mothers. Such a pretty blue.
A gasp. A desperate gesture for air.
Oh… but you remember the youngest one’s eyes?
Donald doubled over, falling down to his knees as his broken body convulsed from the pressure of his emotions. With eyes wide open, he was hyperventilating as he clutched his face. The bony fingers bent inward, grabbing on to his skin as if he was ready to pull it off of his face.
They were all red from the blood that seeped into her pupils.
Mutilated screams heralded the dangers of the night. He screamed from the chest, thrashing and flailing. Flipping things over, shoving photo frames to the side, ripping pieces of papers, Donald was trying to destroy everything. He tossed the gun in some random direction, only to hear more cacophonic sounds ensue.
Who are you?
A mirror. Donald promptly walked up to it. He winced at the reflection of the man. Eyes sunken, half-shaven, hair tousled, and face placid from sleepless nights and drunken afternoons. With a roar from the gut, he smashed It with his fist… and it all came tumbling down.
He felt the draft come in. Cold, condescending, full of contempt. The light flickered on and off as the transparent white curtain fluttered in the breeze like a ghost. The moonlight peered in variation of dark hues, illuminating the room in a splash of blue and gray.
He could only hear his breathing… Every exhale became more shaky as the lesion on his knuckles stung with pain—it was a superficial pain that couldn’t even compare to what he was feeling. His feelings?
Despair. Defeat. Denial…?
He stood up with hollow eyes in the middle of the chaos. Donald looked around. It looked as if the victim struggled with the perpetrator, going through every object and article in this room to free himself. It looked as if a murder had taken place here.
When in fact. It did happen.
There was a discordant stream of laughter. Filled with twisted mirth, Donald took a couple of steps back and leaned against the wall to support him. Raucous laughter! So many kinds of… laughter!
Laughter, like when he and Iain teamed up against their co-workers during April first, fist bumping during the closing of their ruses.
… like that moment he and Cerys witnessed Rover, the silly golden retriever, do some tricks until the pup got tired and rolled on its back to sleep abruptly.
… like that time he and Aoife tried to climb up a tree when they were young to get an apple, only to see themselves on the ground, surrounded by autumn leaves and dirt.
… like that evening he and Arthur watched an old comedic British film about the Victorian era together in an old cinema.
… like that day he and Peter had to chase the yellow kite Arthur had bought him; they ran all the way down the block just to catch the string.
He choked.
Laughter… after that special moment he held Lili’s hands, his fingers softly around her fingers, as he looked into her twinkling eyes, asked in a breathy tone, “Will you marry me?”
When she said yes, all he could remember was their laughter, ringing into the air like silver bells.
That familiar voice again. “I’m pregnant!”
“Pregnant?” Donald had exclaimed excitedly, laughing as he picked her up to spin her around. He had given her six kisses that day. Six kisses. S-Six people—oh God.
Tears started streaming down his face at the revelation. Six bloody people. Six people that could’ve lived or… six people that died. The devil’s number. This was redemption. It all made sense. Donald nodded to himself as if he understood. As if he understood… as if he understood. Yes. Yes. Yes…
What will you do now… my love?
The man slunk over towards the direction of a familiar object, moving as if he was a possessed creature. The ebony gun, Angel, was lain besides a rubble. He picked it up, staring at it as if he was formulating a goal.
The door opened. He turned his head. A young woman with short hair and a blue ribbon on the side, holding grocery bags. Through someone else’s eyes, she was a fair lass with blonde hair, pastel green eyes, and little rosy lips. Her eyes were filled with bewilderment. Donald had been with this woman ever since he had quit MI6. She had been warming his bed, with him, beside him all this time to keep him insanely sane.
“Donny…? Donny… what have you been doing?” She asked, her voice quivering. The woman looked at the gun and them widened her eyes. “D-Donny is that… a gun?”
Donald lifted the gun up. “I… dunno... Lili.”
Bang.
Tremulous laughter! She never even existed in the first place! |
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Post by Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland on Feb 16, 2013 23:09:54 GMT -8
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Post by Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland on Feb 15, 2013 21:05:09 GMT -8
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?”
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Post by Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland on Feb 15, 2013 18:36:19 GMT -8
 ffft I didn't know if you wanted the glasses or not |D I can add it if you want aeyup |
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Post by Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland on Feb 15, 2013 16:14:43 GMT -8
"Shut up, it's not Chipper. It's Zwingli for you,"
Donald sucked in a breath, stifling laughter. Instead he smirked at his impish reflection on the window, as of the two of them were celebrating in the success of their ruse. He decided not to push it, opting to triumphantly pop a crisp in his mouth. The man was used to this kind of behavior so it didn’t bother him at all. In addition, he was confident that those words were not meant to do harm. At least that was what he was going to tell himself anyway.
But well it looks like he was forgiven for his little quips. Aoife didn’t seem to mind all of the munching too. Oh—on the second thought, never mind. He only had to take a short gander at her side to realize that she still had that expression on. That expression of perpetual unhappiness. He let out an inaudible sigh as he leaned against the window. Meh. He kind of wished he took this mission with Sadiq and Raffie instead—at least they were more fun. Yet this was probably a good and balanced team of ‘stick-up-the-ass’ and ‘good fun’, if he can put a word for it.
“Are y’sure yer all righ’ with bein’ decoy? If not, yer can always change yer mind an’ I can take over.”
“Absoolute-ly-not!” Donald butted in, making sure to drawl out the words to cement his point. “Chipper is capable—yes, he’ll b’fine, yea? Ye caen’t predict much o’ ‘bout th’ lawless. Fer all we know, maybe his grumpy demeanor’ll is convincin’ enough te them! ‘Ave a little faith in ‘im wouldya—unless ye think ye can pull off a grumpier face than him.”
He forced a cheerful grin, one that belied how he felt. Inwardly, he was thankful that Iain decided to pin that job against Vash. Not that he didn’t care about Vash, it was just that he didn’t want Aoife anywhere near needles and knives—just two of the many things he was expecting to see in this upcoming mission. Admittedly, he wanted to make sure his twin was going to be all right here, for that was the reason why he was so tenacious about being a part of the party. He had been debriefed about this mission before Aoife mentioned it—and this was certainly not going to be a walk in the park.
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Post by Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland on Feb 12, 2013 16:55:31 GMT -8
i want to plot with you!! ;o;
With either Donald or Nicoleta uvu It'd be fabulousss
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Post by Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland on Feb 11, 2013 16:05:55 GMT -8
Ahh, the skies were cloudy again. White, white, white—a little gray path there—right was that a sliver of sunlight? Nope, the whole damn sky was just gray. Sheesh. There was nothing to really romanticize because this weather had been very constant—since the beginning of time, probably. Associating gloomy days with London was typically common knowledge around this area. Therefore, he couldn’t really probe the right hemisphere of his brain to poeticize the day. Regardless of the weather, the vista would still be a pretty sight from his living room. His condo had sturdy glass panels on the outer walls to give the décor an illuminant touch.
Well, what was there to expect from a multi-million condo? Sure, the house tax sometimes took a pinch—but there were perks to being a Kirkland, and one was that there was an infinite supply of money. Somewhere. Yet Donald chose not to befuddle himself with these little fiscal details. All he knew was that he had a home that he rarely used. Rather, he let some poor college students rent out his condo for a good bargain, for the deal only called for four things.
One, the house must always be clean no matter what—or else Donald will “fuck [their] shite up, haha”. Two, they must keep away any social workers and/or women that request for Donald. Three, if Donald says out, then it really means “out”—no legal shenanigans allowed. Lastly, they must always invite Donald to any crazy parties hosted at this place because it is “purely common courtesy, lads”!
So far, it looked like the couple of kids were keeping their end. By far, Donald was not daft—he chose a couple of worthy and reliable boys and a girl (she was lesbian or something—he had no clue) to take care of his den. It had been a couple of months since their first night in. They appreciated him, at most, even going far as to buying him gifts. So far so good.
It was only slightly awkward during the multiple times he had seen people fornicate on his bed and his bathroom. Eh well—he was twenty eight. His lawless days were a reminder that nothing can really get worse.
Whistling cheerfully, Donald sauntered over to the condominium complex with a paper bag full of groceries. The most obvious object that was peeking out from the crinkled rim of the bag was the endearing eyes of L.C. Leprechaun, a character from the American-brand ‘Lucky Charms’. Well, perhaps it was the most stereotypical thing for him to eat, but that still didn’t change that he loved eating it. Those fucking marshmellows were good.
Then he stopped in his place when he saw Iain in front of his door. The ginger blinked and grinned.
“Oii. How’sit goin’ there Iain?” He chimed with a silvery tone. “”tis rare te see ye standin’ at me doorstep—without a call. If I’d known I woulda been in there earlier.”
With ease, he walked over to the door and pressed the little button on the intercom box near the door. “Oi lads ‘im here. Put yer pants on n’ get outta there, yea?”
“Snappers these days ye’knowwhotimean?” The ginger glanced Iain and simpered as he took out his card and swiped it across the security scan. Following that act, he put in a five-digit code to elicit a ‘beep’ from the knob. Donald opened it and then stood by the door to let the Scotsman in.
“Well, welcome te me humble abode, Scottie.”
| Notes: Snappers = Kids ♣
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Post by Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland on Feb 6, 2013 21:31:54 GMT -8
In truth, he barely knew her, yet that moment he had shared with her made him feel as if they were always friends. Stupid--probably, but their meeting was 'fateful'. Yes, that was one way to describe it. Star-crossed? There was a more poetic version but Donald dared not to venture into it. He was a sensible man, after all, one that minded his wits and state of equilibrium. To stray too far, negatively or positively, was certainly a hazard. Eventually Donald thought nothing of it. It was but a casual meet-up. Still, he was still unusually elated since that moment. The evening was already dark. The street lights and store lights were on, illuminating the street with vibrancy. Closing time was looming - many people had no business on this street anymore save for a few with the after-hour wanderlust. Donald called a cab and then hastily got in. "Where to, sir?" The ginger shrugged as he clumsily set the two flower bouquets on the foot of the seats. He had been carrying that thing around all day. "Jus' keep drivin' straight n' I'll tell ye when te stop, mate.""For a special someone or something?" "Nae, this aren't the gifts. I already gave the prettiest flower te that 'someone'." He snorted. "Well 'tis a premature gesture but I suppose th' thought counts."Not responding, the man pushed the gas, the engine revving to life. Donald reclined as the passing street lamps streaked across his person. Every couple intervals, the light would hit his face, revealing his pensive expression. Then the dark momentarily crept back hide his handsome features. This rare and quiet moment compelled Donald to dwell a little more. Perhaps it was a gesture of goodwill, of courtesy, or of friendliness--he did it anyway. It was a thank you, really. He simply felt obligated to do it. He had placed a gift near her door in a precise and calculated place. Onlookers from inside the store would not be able to discern the gift; yet, were one to walk out of the store and close the door behind them, he or she would see a little bag of almond biscuits, a card, and that stargazer lily on a lonely stool. It was conspicuously assigned to Lili, since her name was on the card. Well, it would suck if she missed it. Donald began to imagine her reaction, silently musing to the sound of the car's humming. If she saw the gift and opened the card, it would say: Hope you don't miss me that much!Signed by a small smiley face. | Notes: xxx ♣
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Post by Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland on Feb 6, 2013 7:49:40 GMT -8
Ohh a date uvu. Yes well he'd be on his best behavior. I'd love to see this happen actually!
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Post by Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland on Feb 5, 2013 22:50:43 GMT -8
Donald tilted his head slightly, thoroughly engaged in what she was saying. It was rather astounding how much this little flower spoke. He took her as the shy sheep upon initial glance. Yet there she was, almost talking as much as he was—and that was saying a lot! Literally! But there was little to no room for complaint here; he was too busy smiling while actively listening to her. Not often did he choose to just listen to anyone (or at all for that matter), but he found himself pleasantly content with hearing her speak.
There was just this authenticity that coursed effortlessly from her words, like how the water flowed from the stream into the lake. It was just very calming, very natural.
He was able to notice the German in her tone. German was often stereotyped as a very rough and abrasive language, especially from his parts. The kids would mimic the Germanics by roughing their voices, going down lower octaves to mutter angry-sounding gibberish. Now that he was older, well of course he knew they didn’t sound like that. It just so happened that Lili exemplified everything contrary to how his childhood had depicted the language. “Aye. Tho’ I am Irish, I actually doen kno’ a whole lot of the actual language. See, ‘tis kinda lost unfortunately. I know tidbits, one er two, a few probably—so sadly I’ve got nothin’ te compare English to. Regardless, English caen be a bloody confusin’ language. Not te mention it sounds ugly—so yes! I mean nae, I am not offended.”
And he swore he was going to jibber-jabber more but he found reasons to halt. A phone number—hm! Such progress! He was stuck in between surprised and not very surprised. Actually no, he was just surprised. Sure he had high confidence in regards to being personable but he didn’t exactly expect much from this. Yet here he was, delightfully surprised. Yet as they conversed, he felt as if his time to leave was looming closer. Priorities. Argh, he had other things to do too. Such was life. The moments of grace and felicity are always short-lived.
If he could, he would’ve stayed the whole day. Yes, the whole day just doing what he liked best: talking, smiling, and connecting. Those three things sound mundane, yet it was honestly the only reason why he was sane. Somehow, Lili made it so easy to do such things concurrently.
“I hardly ever leave, to be honest. But if it pleases you I’ll make a special point to wait for you in particular.”
Here came the killer combo. Donald gave her one of this radiant grins, the corner of his lips spreading up. Dimples on his face. Even his eyes looked like they were smiling for a moment before he gave her a wink. Following that, he raised his hand, pointing two fingers up and flicked his wrist, as if he was saluting her farewell. "Until next time, Miss Lili." He chimed.
When he turned away, he drew in a breath. Whoa, this was new.
My God, it just became a little harder to breath. Breathless? He could blame so many things—for one he could blame the flowers that were nuzzling against his shirt. The moment he stepped outside, back to the city, the honking horns, the sound of the rushing cars, the footsteps of the strangers, and other sounds of London’s ambiance, things just felt a little different. Just really different.
There he was, the bloke with a bunch of flowers in an arm passing by pedestrians that hardly gave him a gander. Before the crosswalk, Donald looked down and then plucked out the stargazer lily from where it was nestled. Fingers delicately on the step, he tilted his head as he scrutinized it. The colors were not processed into his brain like a normal person, but he could still discern its vibrancy by the way a couple of people glanced at it. It was a conspicuous beauty, one that could seize attention without even trying. It was buoyant, it was quirky, a pretty little thing that had no place in the bouquet. The bouquet was pretty in its own right, but it was just so calculated. So symmetrical. The stargazer lily really didn’t belong because of its unique shape, the way its delicate petal curled inward.
The light signaled the ‘GO’. Donald walked on. Instead of turning to the cab, he went to the closest crafts store. Well, he was him trying. | Notes: xxx ♣
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Post by Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland on Feb 4, 2013 8:09:14 GMT -8
omg guys this was the best thing to wake up to thank you so much ;A; <33
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Post by Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland on Feb 3, 2013 13:18:16 GMT -8
”Anythin’ ye say.” Donald replied casually with a wink, in hopes if breaking her stern expression. Surely, there had to be a weakness somewhere in that cute mask she had up whenever she feigned sternness. Of course, she smiled again. God knew how much cheerfulness Donald was able absorb from just one smile. It was as if he was watching a flower bloom. It was a mysterious source of felicity.
Towards her comment about his attempt on the English accent, the ginger made a simper. Good thing it worked out lest he would’ve made a fool out of himself. During moments like these, he had to thank Arthur for being around him so much—well, not anymore. When they were kids, he had a penchant for mocking the lad. It seemed to pay off through this moment. “Ha-ha! Perks o’ livin’ ‘ere fer so long. The Londoners speak n’ a way the Irish see as pompous—on the contrary the Londoners see the Irish accent as n’ uneducated one. Americans, tho’ seemed te like it—ah anyway, I try te not speak like tha’ often. I feel like I lost a piece o’ meself, yeknow-whot-I-mean?”
He ran his fingers through his hair out of meaningless whim. It was probably a natural compulsion in response to how surprised he was at Lili’s response to his volunteering suggestion. She sounded… ecstatic—ah, no it would be rude to assume a word of that magnitude. Still, he was grateful that it was a ‘yes’ and not a ‘no’.
“Consider it done, Miss Lili! A helpin’ hand—ah ye can call me whenever ye like. Oh!”
Now he had to subtly ask for her number. “Right that wouldn’t do without me digits right? May I, if ye will, have yer phone number? Communicatin’ wold be much easier.” Practical, logical, and suave. Following the request, Donald promptly pulled out his phone to get number down—assuming that she was going to give it to him, that is. “It’s nae problem at all—‘bout the star flowers. I caen always wait ‘nother year. Regardless I’m going te be able te see bundles of ‘em durin’ Easter. They hold a lotta significance te my religion—er maybe jus’ me ‘cause I’m a bloke who actually pays attention te flowers.”
Naturally a restless person, Donald paced around the shop, still within the proper and comfortable conversational zone. He eyed a little tulip and peered inside out of curiosity, only to have his attention averted to the window when she mentioned the weather. “I bet th’ mountaens aere lovely. ‘ve been te much o’ a city and meadow boy te really see a glimpse of its majesty up close. Might take a trip one day, who knows?”
His lips formed a wry smile as he sauntered closer to get a better look at the flower Lili was interested in. It would be best to not talk too much about colors. He didn’t want to weigh her down with any counter-optimistic phrases about living a colorless life.
“Another one? Need to decorate some dark, dull space, huh?”
“Oh boy,” Donald immediately thought of Iain and Vash and chuckled in an instant, stepping up to the counter to pay the fees in good humor. “Ye ‘ave no idea ‘ow dark n’ dull th’ people I hang ‘round wit’. Yet I ‘ppose this’ll be fer an entirely different intention alone.”
“They’re cute little flowers, very pretty. Actually, all of the Stars-of-Bethlehem are pretty, I think. They aren’t… Hm—showy! Showy, or pompous. Very small and unassuming, waiting patiently for someone to notice them. And then you do, you love them.”
“Precisely why I like ‘em. Those little buds—they represent some serta humbleness n’ hope. Bah—n’ o ‘course I love dissect th’ symbolism as if they are all pieces of Victorian literature. Pray, if I go on I’d be ‘ere fer hours.” Donald moved his eyes to the two vases. The stunning flowers stood prim and poised in their own vases. The stargazer lily looked at him haughtily, as if it wanted him to take the bouquets home immediately. He collected both of them, cradling it in his arms as the petals and leaves tickled the sides of his face.
“Likewise, absolutely! You’re ‘haps the sun te my day—ah, symbolism. The pleasure was truly, truly mine.” Donald simpered as he transferred one of the vases so that there was two in one arm. He expended a hand, that cheeky smile not once leaving his countenance. “As much as I wold like te stick ‘round, I’ve got te scurry home. But worry little, I’ll be back in due time. But when I come back, ye’ll be ‘ere, right waitin’ fer me right?”
Of course she would. He knew that she would but he wanted to know if she wanted to be there next time he arrives. Donald used words as a form of a verbal contract—when one person confirms the idea, he cements it in his mind without little worry. There he was, holding bundles of flowers in front of a girl who was probably too good to be real. At least if she accepts, it’ll take away one less fantasy and possibly make it real. | Notes: xxx ♣
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Post by Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland on Feb 3, 2013 11:19:37 GMT -8
I AM SO UP FOR THE FAMILY REUNION THREADD
and I am glad you liked it <3 <3 <3
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Post by Donald Finn O'Neill-Kirkland on Feb 3, 2013 10:36:08 GMT -8
AhEMaoife.
Donald is the charmer, not to worry uvu <3 The flirting won't be too over-bearing--it's just somewhat obvious he thinks she's pretty. Though he'll be keen enough to make sure Aoife isn't around to hit him ene
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