may the wind always be at your back...
Real!spouse update: J isn't home yet. Likely tonight. They kept him in last night for observation because he had a fever. He doesn't anymore and he's cranky and ready to come home.
*
I've been working on a Black Donnelly's fic for...well, since I saw the first episode. I scrapped the first one, which was a Jenny POV fic about Tommy and Tommy/Kevin. Maybe it'll happen some day, because it was a good story, but I couldn't get my head around it.
Then there's the St. Paddy's Day story I started for the ficathon and for one reason or another just hadn't had time to work on. Then when I did, it just...wouldn't. I had the idea, the voices were sound, but it was kicking my ass. I wrote, scrapped, restarted seven times.
I think, however, today, I've just finally gotten a grip. You tell me?
ETA: It's not porn, or cest, btw. So it's safe for all readers. At the moment, it's gen, with Joey telling outrageous maybe!lies.
Sneak Preview: The Black Donnellys St. Patrick's Day
Tommy Donnelly hated St. Paddy's Day. He didn't start out hating it. Back when he was a kid, he pretty much lived for the scavenger hunt his ma and Old Man Mulligan's wife put on for the neighborhood. He always found the Pot of Gold chocolates at the end of the rainbow, because, Tommy, he was smart like that. And it didn't matter Jimmy beat him up for it, he always gave the chocolates to Jenny Reilly. But the year his dad got killed, everything changed, and by the time he killed Huey Farrell and Sal Minetta, St. Paddy's Day was one of the worst days of Tommy Donnelly's year.
And that was saying something.
Now, Tommy, see, he hated St. Paddy's Day because Hell's Kitchen from 8th Ave to the River turned into one big pub crawl. If there was anyone sober in the entire neighborhood by dinnertime, he was either part clurichaun or all Salvation Army. Even the Italians are Irish on St. Paddy's Day, and while, hey, it's great they like us one day a year, it just makes things that much more...tense…the rest of the year.
And if there was anything Tommy and his brothers didn't need, it was more tension with the Italians.
But as it turned out, the Italians had nothing to do with why March 18th couldn't come soon enough for Tommy the year Huey Farrell died. Like most of the trouble in Tommy Donnelly's life, it had everything to do with his family. Because the Donnellys are Irish on St. Paddy's Day too.
*
Irish comedian Charles Madigan used to say that St. Patrick is "one of the few saints whose feast day presents the opportunity to get determinedly whacked and make a fool of oneself all under the guise of acting Irish." There's nothing more Irish than pubs and brawling, at least if you believe the stereotypes.
Jimmy Donnelly did. While his brother Tommy busted his ass to get out, Jimmy embraced our heritage. Especially on St. Paddy's Day. So when uptown invaded Hell's Kitchen wearing their "kiss me I'm Irish" buttons, looking ridiculous in every shade of green you can imagine plus some you don't want to, and making asses of themselves with fake Irish accents, Jimmy threw open the doors of the Firecracker to show them a "real Irish pub, laddie."
Now Jimmy being Jimmy, and Irish, he was as drunk as his patrons before the clock struck noon. And when it did, it found taking drinks off the beers on the counter whenever the owner of those beers weren't looking. Most of the time they were too drunk to notice, and when they did, the guys next to them could usually be counted on to mock them for being so pissed they couldn't remember how much they'd drunk.
The problem was, these fake Irish did something no self-respecting Irishman would ever do. They appointed a designated driver. And, wouldn't you know it, their designated driver was a Jew.
Don't get me wrong, the stereotypes of Jews aren't any more true than the stereotypes of the Irish most days, and sometimes they probably make them want to eat babies and pinch pennies. But this guy? This guy went Jewish pound for pound with Jimmy's Irish, and from the time he saw Jimmy drinking out of his buddy's beer, he was determined to have his pound of flesh. Jimmy's.
"I'd appreciate you giving me my money back," the guy's buddy, a stuffed shirt with the kind of body you only get in one of them fancy gyms, said, and right there I knew there was going to be trouble. So naturally, I got behind Jimmy to back him up.
Jimmy tilted his head to look at the guy, mocked him in the smirky sing song voice he sometimes used on Kevin. "And I'd appreciate…" Then he stiffened his jaw, pushed his lower lip out, like to take a blow or give one. "You shutting the hell up."
Now, you could tell the stuffed shirt had never thrown a punch in his life, because instead of laying Jimmy out and starting a bar fight right and proper, he put up his hands. "Look, I don't want any trouble. I just want my money back for the beer you drank."
At his shoulder, his Jew friend, whose name we learned from the business cards was Saul Levitz, made a sour face. He didn't look too tough, but you never count a Jew out. Those people are survivors.
"You don't want any trouble. You don't any trouble.." Jimmy grabbed him by the shamrock tie and yanked him up to Jimmy's face, kissing close. "Shoulda thoughtta that before yuh accused the barkeep of shortin' yuh, laddie."
Jimmy's left hook caught the stuffed shirt in the chin and knocked him off his stool. His designated driver threw a punch, but since Jimmy was hurdling over the counter at the time, it missed him. Jimmy shoved the Jew away and jumped on the stuffed shirt.
And that was when Tommy Donnelly walked in. Good thing too, because the stuffed shirts friends might not have been real Irish or even real fighters, but there were more of them than Jimmy, and Jimmy was straddling this guy with his back to them.
Fortunately, Kevin chose that moment to come up from the basement, because not even Tommy could put away a bar full of angry tourists without someone getting killed. With Sean, whose face hadn't healed from the last beating yet, that made it four to about forty - it was early still - and the Donnellys made quick work of the ones who wanted to fight, while I watched the bar to make sure no one took advantage of the brawl.
I pulled the tap to refill my beer.
"You pay for that?" Jimmy and Tommy shouted together from over the heads of the guys they were punching.
"I'm pretty sure."
Tommy pursed his lips and arched an eyebrow, then threw a glance at Jimmy. I pulled my last three-fifty out of my pocket, and they went back to pounding heads. Right then, I noticed the Jew dodging between clumps of people to stick business cards in jacket pockets, and where anyone was out of the brawl and conscious, he stopped to talk.
Tommy saw it at the same time I did. "Kev, grab the joker with the cards. Don't let him leave."
Kevin's eyes lit up at the mention of cards, but when he realized it wasn't playing cards Tommy was talking about, he muttered under his breath, "Why do I always gotta do the scut work?"
Kevin always complained, it was kind of his thing. That along with making bets he couldn't win, being an even worse criminal than he was a gambler, and having worse luck with women than Tommy - and if you remember Jenny and Marianne, then you know that's bad.
But the other thing about Kevin was, if he knew what to do, he did it. He took orders like a soldier, and didn't mind getting his hands bloody if that's what it took. Pretty much, that was how Kevin ended up stuck between Jimmy and Tommy when the big push to take over the neighborhood started - but that's another story.
Getting back to this one, Kevin collared the Jew and sat him down at a table by the door. By the time Jimmy, Sean and Tommy wrapped up the fight, and got back to serving drinks to the few remaining patrons, making eyes at the short skirt with another blonde and a hot little redhead who'd been checking me out during the action, and shoving the last of the brawlers out the side door, the Jew had listed a dozen causes of action against Jimmy and his brothers. Because, wouldn't you know it, besides being a designated driving Jew, he was also a personal injury lawyer from some big uptown law firm.
Tommy gave Jimmy a what the hell were you thinking? scowl and sat down with Kevin and the Jew lawyer. Real casual, he straddled a chair and leaned over the back, and even though I'd known Tommy Donnelly all my life, I'd have been scared of the calm way he looked at the blood on his knuckles while the Jew talked.
"…and if that doesn't work, I'll have the Health Inspector shut this place down."
When he finished yapping, Tommy's lip curled into something that you could be excused for thinking was a smile if you didn't know better. But then he cocked his head, looked at the lawyer from under arched eyebrows. "Really? Because I heard about a thing once, called, what was it, Kevin?"
Kevin's face did that screwed up thing it does when he's confused, but Tommy was just pausing for effect. Something like that could lose you a toe around Dokey, so he didn't do that much, but it worked on this guy. He got kinda pale.
"Malicious interference with trade." Tommy drummed his bloody fingers on the table. "Or maybe it was slander. I don't know, but I bet the Local's lawyers would be real interested in some rich white guy threatening a bunch of Union sons just trying to make a buck."
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because the Jew got flinty-eyed. "I'm sure the Feds would be equally interested in racketeering."
Everyone knew the Irish and the Italians ran Hell's Kitchen, but the Donnellys weren't those Irish. Yet. "I wouldn't know anything about that." He picked up the card Kevin had pushed in front of him when he sat down. "Prime real estate. Pricey. Bet the firm wouldn't appreciate you wasting your time on a bunch of Micks down in the Kitchen."
He wasn't stupid, Saul Levitz, he heard the message that Tommy and his brothers knew where to find him. Problem was, he wasn't scared either. "I do a lot of pro bono."
Tommy knew when he'd gotten in over his head. It was one of the things that separated him from Jimmy. But knowing you're drowning and staying afloat are different skills, and Tommy was still pretty knew at swimming with the sharks. He did the only thing he could. "You and your friends look like you can afford to pay," he said, then he got up from the table and didn't look back.
When he came up to the counter, Jimmy pushed a beer into his hand. Tommy shoved it back. "Next time, just give the guy his money back, Jimmy, huh?"
"All I did was--"
"Save it. Maybe the jury will believe you." Shoulders tight, he headed for the door. He already had one foot out when he turned back. "Dinner's at six. Ma's expecting you. Be there. Sober."
He didn't say or I'll beat your ass but all of us heard it.
-tbc-
How'm'I doing?
*
And, now in honor of the sneak preview... actually, the sneak preview is in honor of this. An attempt to convince myself that I can really write The Black Donnellys before our first
The Black Donnellys Pornathon
Coming to you starting April 2, at justthatdirty, a community for rotating fandom pornathons.
The prompting post is up. Come help us write porn! Or, y'know, at least tell us what you want to read? :D
*
I've been working on a Black Donnelly's fic for...well, since I saw the first episode. I scrapped the first one, which was a Jenny POV fic about Tommy and Tommy/Kevin. Maybe it'll happen some day, because it was a good story, but I couldn't get my head around it.
Then there's the St. Paddy's Day story I started for the ficathon and for one reason or another just hadn't had time to work on. Then when I did, it just...wouldn't. I had the idea, the voices were sound, but it was kicking my ass. I wrote, scrapped, restarted seven times.
I think, however, today, I've just finally gotten a grip. You tell me?
ETA: It's not porn, or cest, btw. So it's safe for all readers. At the moment, it's gen, with Joey telling outrageous maybe!lies.
Sneak Preview: The Black Donnellys St. Patrick's Day
Tommy Donnelly hated St. Paddy's Day. He didn't start out hating it. Back when he was a kid, he pretty much lived for the scavenger hunt his ma and Old Man Mulligan's wife put on for the neighborhood. He always found the Pot of Gold chocolates at the end of the rainbow, because, Tommy, he was smart like that. And it didn't matter Jimmy beat him up for it, he always gave the chocolates to Jenny Reilly. But the year his dad got killed, everything changed, and by the time he killed Huey Farrell and Sal Minetta, St. Paddy's Day was one of the worst days of Tommy Donnelly's year.
And that was saying something.
Now, Tommy, see, he hated St. Paddy's Day because Hell's Kitchen from 8th Ave to the River turned into one big pub crawl. If there was anyone sober in the entire neighborhood by dinnertime, he was either part clurichaun or all Salvation Army. Even the Italians are Irish on St. Paddy's Day, and while, hey, it's great they like us one day a year, it just makes things that much more...tense…the rest of the year.
And if there was anything Tommy and his brothers didn't need, it was more tension with the Italians.
But as it turned out, the Italians had nothing to do with why March 18th couldn't come soon enough for Tommy the year Huey Farrell died. Like most of the trouble in Tommy Donnelly's life, it had everything to do with his family. Because the Donnellys are Irish on St. Paddy's Day too.
*
Irish comedian Charles Madigan used to say that St. Patrick is "one of the few saints whose feast day presents the opportunity to get determinedly whacked and make a fool of oneself all under the guise of acting Irish." There's nothing more Irish than pubs and brawling, at least if you believe the stereotypes.
Jimmy Donnelly did. While his brother Tommy busted his ass to get out, Jimmy embraced our heritage. Especially on St. Paddy's Day. So when uptown invaded Hell's Kitchen wearing their "kiss me I'm Irish" buttons, looking ridiculous in every shade of green you can imagine plus some you don't want to, and making asses of themselves with fake Irish accents, Jimmy threw open the doors of the Firecracker to show them a "real Irish pub, laddie."
Now Jimmy being Jimmy, and Irish, he was as drunk as his patrons before the clock struck noon. And when it did, it found taking drinks off the beers on the counter whenever the owner of those beers weren't looking. Most of the time they were too drunk to notice, and when they did, the guys next to them could usually be counted on to mock them for being so pissed they couldn't remember how much they'd drunk.
The problem was, these fake Irish did something no self-respecting Irishman would ever do. They appointed a designated driver. And, wouldn't you know it, their designated driver was a Jew.
Don't get me wrong, the stereotypes of Jews aren't any more true than the stereotypes of the Irish most days, and sometimes they probably make them want to eat babies and pinch pennies. But this guy? This guy went Jewish pound for pound with Jimmy's Irish, and from the time he saw Jimmy drinking out of his buddy's beer, he was determined to have his pound of flesh. Jimmy's.
"I'd appreciate you giving me my money back," the guy's buddy, a stuffed shirt with the kind of body you only get in one of them fancy gyms, said, and right there I knew there was going to be trouble. So naturally, I got behind Jimmy to back him up.
Jimmy tilted his head to look at the guy, mocked him in the smirky sing song voice he sometimes used on Kevin. "And I'd appreciate…" Then he stiffened his jaw, pushed his lower lip out, like to take a blow or give one. "You shutting the hell up."
Now, you could tell the stuffed shirt had never thrown a punch in his life, because instead of laying Jimmy out and starting a bar fight right and proper, he put up his hands. "Look, I don't want any trouble. I just want my money back for the beer you drank."
At his shoulder, his Jew friend, whose name we learned from the business cards was Saul Levitz, made a sour face. He didn't look too tough, but you never count a Jew out. Those people are survivors.
"You don't want any trouble. You don't any trouble.." Jimmy grabbed him by the shamrock tie and yanked him up to Jimmy's face, kissing close. "Shoulda thoughtta that before yuh accused the barkeep of shortin' yuh, laddie."
Jimmy's left hook caught the stuffed shirt in the chin and knocked him off his stool. His designated driver threw a punch, but since Jimmy was hurdling over the counter at the time, it missed him. Jimmy shoved the Jew away and jumped on the stuffed shirt.
And that was when Tommy Donnelly walked in. Good thing too, because the stuffed shirts friends might not have been real Irish or even real fighters, but there were more of them than Jimmy, and Jimmy was straddling this guy with his back to them.
Fortunately, Kevin chose that moment to come up from the basement, because not even Tommy could put away a bar full of angry tourists without someone getting killed. With Sean, whose face hadn't healed from the last beating yet, that made it four to about forty - it was early still - and the Donnellys made quick work of the ones who wanted to fight, while I watched the bar to make sure no one took advantage of the brawl.
I pulled the tap to refill my beer.
"You pay for that?" Jimmy and Tommy shouted together from over the heads of the guys they were punching.
"I'm pretty sure."
Tommy pursed his lips and arched an eyebrow, then threw a glance at Jimmy. I pulled my last three-fifty out of my pocket, and they went back to pounding heads. Right then, I noticed the Jew dodging between clumps of people to stick business cards in jacket pockets, and where anyone was out of the brawl and conscious, he stopped to talk.
Tommy saw it at the same time I did. "Kev, grab the joker with the cards. Don't let him leave."
Kevin's eyes lit up at the mention of cards, but when he realized it wasn't playing cards Tommy was talking about, he muttered under his breath, "Why do I always gotta do the scut work?"
Kevin always complained, it was kind of his thing. That along with making bets he couldn't win, being an even worse criminal than he was a gambler, and having worse luck with women than Tommy - and if you remember Jenny and Marianne, then you know that's bad.
But the other thing about Kevin was, if he knew what to do, he did it. He took orders like a soldier, and didn't mind getting his hands bloody if that's what it took. Pretty much, that was how Kevin ended up stuck between Jimmy and Tommy when the big push to take over the neighborhood started - but that's another story.
Getting back to this one, Kevin collared the Jew and sat him down at a table by the door. By the time Jimmy, Sean and Tommy wrapped up the fight, and got back to serving drinks to the few remaining patrons, making eyes at the short skirt with another blonde and a hot little redhead who'd been checking me out during the action, and shoving the last of the brawlers out the side door, the Jew had listed a dozen causes of action against Jimmy and his brothers. Because, wouldn't you know it, besides being a designated driving Jew, he was also a personal injury lawyer from some big uptown law firm.
Tommy gave Jimmy a what the hell were you thinking? scowl and sat down with Kevin and the Jew lawyer. Real casual, he straddled a chair and leaned over the back, and even though I'd known Tommy Donnelly all my life, I'd have been scared of the calm way he looked at the blood on his knuckles while the Jew talked.
"…and if that doesn't work, I'll have the Health Inspector shut this place down."
When he finished yapping, Tommy's lip curled into something that you could be excused for thinking was a smile if you didn't know better. But then he cocked his head, looked at the lawyer from under arched eyebrows. "Really? Because I heard about a thing once, called, what was it, Kevin?"
Kevin's face did that screwed up thing it does when he's confused, but Tommy was just pausing for effect. Something like that could lose you a toe around Dokey, so he didn't do that much, but it worked on this guy. He got kinda pale.
"Malicious interference with trade." Tommy drummed his bloody fingers on the table. "Or maybe it was slander. I don't know, but I bet the Local's lawyers would be real interested in some rich white guy threatening a bunch of Union sons just trying to make a buck."
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because the Jew got flinty-eyed. "I'm sure the Feds would be equally interested in racketeering."
Everyone knew the Irish and the Italians ran Hell's Kitchen, but the Donnellys weren't those Irish. Yet. "I wouldn't know anything about that." He picked up the card Kevin had pushed in front of him when he sat down. "Prime real estate. Pricey. Bet the firm wouldn't appreciate you wasting your time on a bunch of Micks down in the Kitchen."
He wasn't stupid, Saul Levitz, he heard the message that Tommy and his brothers knew where to find him. Problem was, he wasn't scared either. "I do a lot of pro bono."
Tommy knew when he'd gotten in over his head. It was one of the things that separated him from Jimmy. But knowing you're drowning and staying afloat are different skills, and Tommy was still pretty knew at swimming with the sharks. He did the only thing he could. "You and your friends look like you can afford to pay," he said, then he got up from the table and didn't look back.
When he came up to the counter, Jimmy pushed a beer into his hand. Tommy shoved it back. "Next time, just give the guy his money back, Jimmy, huh?"
"All I did was--"
"Save it. Maybe the jury will believe you." Shoulders tight, he headed for the door. He already had one foot out when he turned back. "Dinner's at six. Ma's expecting you. Be there. Sober."
He didn't say or I'll beat your ass but all of us heard it.
-tbc-
How'm'I doing?
*
And, now in honor of the sneak preview... actually, the sneak preview is in honor of this. An attempt to convince myself that I can really write The Black Donnellys before our first
The Black Donnellys Pornathon
Coming to you starting April 2, at justthatdirty, a community for rotating fandom pornathons.
The prompting post is up. Come help us write porn! Or, y'know, at least tell us what you want to read? :D