A Patron Saint [OTA, tag Damien]
Fiona wasn't terribly religious, but she went to mass a few times a year most years, including Christmas, Easter, Ash Wednesday, the anniversary of her sister's death, and St. Patrick's Feast Day. It was a cultural thing, really - started as a way to show pride in Catholicism, to mark herself as part of a group that opposed the Protestant government, and the terror.
Of course, she'd learned that terror came from both sides, and she'd had a falling out with the IRA years ago, had to sneak out of the country. She'd expected to start a new life, but even that expectation could never have prepared her for the village.
Haurvatat was nice, though, most of the time. Simple. Boring, too, but at least she didn't have to worry about her past catching up with her. She really didn't need to mask her accent here, to pretend to be American, to pretend she was just a regular girl.
Because she wasn't. She had been an IRA operative, a bombmaker, a sniper, a gun runner. Despite that, she tried to stay moral, tried not to hurt anyone who didn't have it coming. Tried to make sure she was one of the good guys.
All of this and more was running through her head as she knelt in her bright green dress, waiting for the evening mass to begin. Funny, how a church could still do that to her, make her reflect on her life and the choices she'd made.
[[ooc: Saturday Evening Mass... catch her there, or before it. I think she and Damien will probably go out for a talk and a drink afterwards.]]
Of course, she'd learned that terror came from both sides, and she'd had a falling out with the IRA years ago, had to sneak out of the country. She'd expected to start a new life, but even that expectation could never have prepared her for the village.
Haurvatat was nice, though, most of the time. Simple. Boring, too, but at least she didn't have to worry about her past catching up with her. She really didn't need to mask her accent here, to pretend to be American, to pretend she was just a regular girl.
Because she wasn't. She had been an IRA operative, a bombmaker, a sniper, a gun runner. Despite that, she tried to stay moral, tried not to hurt anyone who didn't have it coming. Tried to make sure she was one of the good guys.
All of this and more was running through her head as she knelt in her bright green dress, waiting for the evening mass to begin. Funny, how a church could still do that to her, make her reflect on her life and the choices she'd made.
[[ooc: Saturday Evening Mass... catch her there, or before it. I think she and Damien will probably go out for a talk and a drink afterwards.]]