[Connor had remained at his house in Londonderry after Bill Clinton's visit, feeling a need for a change in scenery for a bit. What he hadn't been expecting... waking up close to midnight with a splitting headache. By morning, he found the explanation on the news. So now, he's sitting in his dark kitchen with a whiskey bottle in hand. Said bottle ( Read more... )

[It seems like any other day, but as with every other August 15th for the past twelve years-- two at this spot, since the memorial was built-- Connor ignores the shadows of old pains and scars starting to creep in on his back. A note on his door in Belfast tells any potential visitors that he's gone to Omagh for the weekend. Should anyone go ( Read more... )

[The year is 1972. The date? Friday, July 21st. Welcome to Bloody Friday in a Belfast hospital. Almost an hour has passed since the bombings that afternoon and now Connor's in a small private room, his chest has been bandaged up nice and tight and his arm's up in a sling. Occasional screams echo from up and down the halls, but Connor seems to be ( Read more... )

[It's a nice, warm day in Belfast with clear skies and a light breeze. Most people are outside having a great day. ...But not Connor. Nope, he's sitting at his desk with a piece of paper that's got half a letter written. A few empty liquor bottles litter the floor around him in a sea of crumpled wads of paper. Half a dozen more different liquor ( Read more... )

[It's May third and Connor's already made his appearance among the politicians. He finished making some last minute food supply runs to ensure the bar he hijacked for a party below his place is fit for a decent birthday party, for both his family and anyone else who might stumble in. The drinks are on the house today in honor of the occasion, and ( Read more... )