Silkie McDonough

Okay, I'm thinking that I want to be there ...so ...The dates ARE October 13, 14 & 15?

Does that mean that you will never suffer the symptoms listed in the study at all, the symptoms will be half as bad or that you have twice as long to get there?

believe me ...the artists wouldn't pay for that! ...a moving modle is tough to draw

I have no desire to buy a pin so I should be okay hu? That should hult the process, right? ...do I need a pin?

I'll be performing with a local Irish performance group 'SAOIRSE' in an original production of "Granuaile and a Plate at Howth" about 16th Century Pirate Queen Grainne O’Malley, at the Philadelphia Fringe Festival. Combines almost all of my interests. Irish, pirates, music, performing, entertaining, a taste of history, costuming, but no visual arts ...hmmm, should I offer to design and paint the the set and backdrop also ....that would add all that isn't already included!

Subject begins to reads Phil's latest post: Laughs at the accuracy of her/his life at the pub in comparison. Make mental notes of how she/he differs from the prototype. Subject reads a bit further: Checks ranking list. Continues to read Phil's post: Checks her/his ranking. Notes where in the study she/he falls. Finishes with Phil's post: Checks Phil's ranking. Reads the two ...count em TWO additional posts from those ranked "Notorious Pyrate" and although having questioned their sanity from time to time considers them friendly and entertaining. Subject determines that since her/his bf/gf hasn't left yet it is safe to continue. Weighs the options of which should be the priority ...after all she/he was in the pub before meting bf/gf! Thanks Phil, it is nice to have a measure to go by! :)

No, no, no! They were two seperate thoughts ...I'm Irish ...my character that is ...I'm American. Anyway, historically the British have caused a lot of problems for the Irish, and Silkie is from Northern Ireland ...If you want a history lesson I can give you one. ...? As to the sheep and VonUber-pyrate ...he was around at the inquisition ...figured he was old enough to sink Montoyas sheep. :)

I've no quarrels wit d'Spanish or d'French. Now d'British... She stops short of spitting on the floor. Taking the paste she sticks VonUber-pyrate and the sheep together then waits to see if it sticks.

There is at least one pyrate out there who would have been old enough to sink his ship. Silkie thinks to herself. Hmmmm ... Silkie starts to put the peices together. Only she has no glue so they don't stick!

Hmmm ...does brown hair that appears red in the sun count? Define long? Is Curly hair a plus or a minus? Why am I asking!? I have a guy ...where were you a few months ago? Well, if it doesn't work out I know where to go. Sacred Tomato, CA Always did say that the man of my dreams lived in CA! Figured the one week I flew out west for vacation he headed east. Did you visit the east coast in 1986? PS: I'm pretty sure that I have all of those other qualities too ...don't get your hopes up ...I think things are going to work out with my guy. :)

Silkie shows no sign of resistance. She tilts her head toward him her soft lips touch his cheek as she cleans what little cherry juice there away. Her lips hover dangerously close to his.

Lemon maid! ...no, I didn't miss it the first time I just had another comment and let THAT "get away" at the time Bloody! ...Dang you’re quick! Laughing, she struggles free herself. She tugs at his hands behind her in a futile attempt to free herself but he holds tight. Get away from ya? Wot makes ya tink I wuz tryin t'get away? Her struggle ends as she plucks the cherry from her chest and smashes it into Matt’s face. He quickly turns his head to feed on the cherry catching her fingers in his mouth, the remaining juices trickling down her hand and wrist. Ever hear o'd sayin "HE chased HER until SHE caught HIM!"?

Silkie turns from Matt to run to the other end of the bar and sees Jacky setting the nearly empty bottle of rum at that end, a mischievous grin on his face. Looking for escape, she, like Earl Flinn, looks for the ever convenient chandelier rope to swing on to safety but alas, this is a simple pub not a castle or even a ship and in this thread the ceiling is almost too low for her to even stand on the bar. She jumps from the bar to a nearby table top, her foot barely avoiding the bowl of steaming hot stew that the barmaid just served to Blackfoot. As she hops off of the table and begins to run a pair of arms wrap around her from behind! She turns to face her captor. …?

CUT! CUT! CUT! Do we have to go over the rules again? What action is posted is fact. Jacky, play fair. The wedge hit you squarely on the forward ...you deftly caught it as it bounced off your head and you can catch the rum but understand you are at least two toppled tables away from it. :) and ACTION! Silkie rolls away from the bar maid and scrambles to her feet narrowly avoiding Matt's grasp. She darts around a support beam and Tall Mike Vanderbulge as he sits tapping his left peg to the music. Matt gives chase but Silkie, with the assistance of Callinish, jumps to the bar and runs the length of it only to find Matt at the far end. She stops short of his reach and looks at Matt with a wicked grin.

Juice in yer eye? Thet comes from not havin any control o'wot ya b'squezin'! Lemon maid! Silkie picks up another used lemon wedge and fires it at Jacky hitting him squarly between the eyes. Then deftly places herself opposite him two tables away and continues to hum with the musicians.

Murin sat in stunned silence trying to grasp all that such an agreement and life would encompass. There was little left of her life in Ireland, hopefully her mother, sister-in-law and nephew. Undoubtedly her brother had faired no better than she and would most likely be laboring in some British colony in indentured servitude, IF he was still alive. She could not go back to Cushendun and remain free. She did not have the papers required to guarantee her freedom on land. This man was offering her the opportunity to live her life as she choose. An offer to join the crew? She had thought fleetingly of that possibility at some time in the past two days but hadn't given it serious consideration. Murin blinked and managed to request, "A moment please?" as her thoughts darted considering the ramifications of this offer. The captains words resonating in her mind, "I cannot guarantee that every day will be an adventure, but this life comes with the promise of freedom fraught with an enlightening education of life in all of its bounties." Freedom and education. Clearly the thought of joining the crew had been dancing in the back of her mind. What other reason would she have had to lift the cutlass in the surgery that morning? There was much she could learn on this vessel. She began to consider her love of the sea. The times that she and Aiden had taken a skiff out on the water. She was always found on the shores enjoying the water. Swimming into the the salty chill when the waters were warm enough. Here the waters were always warm enough. She could think of no better place to live her life than free on the seas. She looked directly into the captains eyes, her chapped lips in a wide smile. "Sea! a mháistir! Go raibh míle maith agat!"* She lifted her glass in a toast took it to her lips and drained the remaining contents. *"Yes sir! 1,000 thanks to you"

"Shouldering the responsibility!" She laughed "Tis goode t'b permitted t'work m'passage t'da next port." She would be more than glad to earn her keep. "What port will ya b'taken m'to?" She feared finding herself in a British port. The chance of being returned as an escape convict was a real possibility. She did not suspect that the captain or anyone she had met on the ship would offer her up to the British but once on land, without proper papers, she would have to be careful. Not that she would fare much better at some port where English or Gaelic were not spoken but she could make do ...she hoped.

Matty luv, wot er ya offerin? S P L A T ! Silkie throws a rum soaked lemon wedge at his head from across the room hitting him just above the left ear. She begins innocently whistling a saucy jig that the musicians quickly pick up on.

Siren, Ransom Silkie raises her tankard to the lasses. Aye, twas a gatering like none otter ever experienced in d'pub afore. I'm tinkin we may be needin Jacky t'release some uv doze Aztecks sos we ken liven up d'place again. Only soul missin here wuz Colonal Walker ...I know he's out der. Sterling luv, no sheep were hurt in the makin uv dis tred. Now, Ray, what time is d'next performance? :) :)

badges or batges?

Judging from the expression on her face William must have been speaking some unknown language or had grown an additional nose. Relationship to Ana? What had he meant by that? Murin blinked at him without comprehending. She closed her mouth and absentmindedly sipped the dark liquid from the glass in her hand without noting the pungent emanation. Her eyes opened a bit in surprise as the liquor flooded her mouth and left a warm trail down her gullet. She hadn’t expected the liquor at that moment, her focus hadn't been on the drink. She smiled sheepishly at the captain. Was he hoping she could fill the position on the Watch Dog? Gathering her confidence she spoke deliberately. “No offense teken cap'n. Uv known harrd work n’m nil ashamed uv det fect.” She drank again from the glass and continued in a lighter tone confidannce began to show in her subdued smile. “I ave skill wit needle n’tred. Ner’ made a sail bot uv mended many. N’tailorin I ken do well enough, nawtin a bit o’experience wont impruve.” She added “Ulways was good wit m’ands." She lifted the bandaged hand casually displaying the the back to the captain. "Hope t’b once again." She smiled sheepishly. The palm caught her eye. Blood had seeped through the dressing. Her mind flashed to the day before when she had used it in her attack on Nathan. She folded her fingers over her palm, laid it in her lap and nervously sipped at the liquor again.

Murin managed to pull her gaze from the table ladened with more wealth than she had ever seen amassed in one place to, make eye contact with the captain. Had she any better attire she would have been embarrassed to attend him in a simple shift but things happening as they did she had no choice and would not let that worry her. Still, her heart pounded in her chest. Again she felt as a child. Unsure of herself, inwardly she shook her head, she had lost so much over the pase three years, her confidence not the least. "Tank ya sur" she addressed him with a light curtsy. "N'tank ya fer everyting yer crew'as dune fer mae." She lowered herself into the chair indicated by captain Brand allowing herself the opportunity to wonder at the contents of the table once again. She blinked, quickly glance at the lass that stood to the captains side, then adjusted her focus to the man before her. His eyes were intense, she could see a torrent of thought behind them though his expression gave no indication of burden at this time. She forced herself to lift her head and meet his gaze directly, she would never cower before any man again no matter the reason.

Surgery Ward Murin lay listening to the ship gradually wake while the dawns light seeped in around the port holes into the surgery ward. Shades of gray colored the world around her. Money’s snoring had stopped. The room was quiet. She rolled over, the bell rang five. She could hear the crew moving busily about their business. Rolling over yet again she thought she would surely go mad if she lay any longer. It had also gnawed at her mind that she had no idea what she was to do once in port. For that matter what was she to do on this ship until then? She had been introduced to the captain but had no opportunity to properly thank him and his crew for her rescue. How could she ever hope to repay them. Her thoughts strayed to Nathan. Had she really behaved so yesterday? Embarrassment rose inside her, and who else had seen? Yes, she sighed, at least Mooney had been the room, and someone had come in as she cried. Good lord! Was it the captain? She suddenly recalled that he had taken Ana's body from the room ...and Billy Flint had opened the door for him! She rolled her eyes at the thought. Yesterdays events played in her mind again and again as she tossed in an attempt to stay still a bit longer. Wood creaked against wood as the ship slowly shifted on the waters gently rocking those who slumbered. Was she moving? The bell rang six. Murin lowered her feet to the floor and sat up on the cot. The air was chilly and damp, it felt like home. She had always enjoyed waking on the water. She felt at peace there, perhaps even more so than on dry land. She went to the port hole, opened it, and gazed at the world outside. Color and light of the bright morning flooded the room. The ship was indeed on the move. They had turned. The view from her window to the world had changed. Gazing out on the new world her heart lifted slightly only to be dashed against the rocks like so much flotsam and foam. She sighed heavily and closed the opening. Now what? Trying to sleep again was not an option. She looked around the ward. The pile of gathered belongings still lay where she had deposited them two days ago. Murin padded to them across the ward. Bending to the floor she grasped the hilt of the sword and lifted as she was reminded of the less than graceful incident with the surgeons mate before it had been placed there. Yet another embarrassment. Again she sighed. She drew the blade from the scabbard. It showed little signs of corrosion. Ana knew how to handle a blade and had tended it. She supposed the blade was hers now. She knew nothing of such things but it felt good in her hand. She lifted it, swung it and promptly laughed at herself. A dagger or a knife she could wield but this? This would take training. She re-sheathed the sword and placed it back on the floor. The pistol was not so well kept as the sword. She gingerly took it into her hand. They had nothing to properly care for the weapon. She knew nothing of such weapons. As a Catholic in Ireland she was not permitted to possess a pistol. Murin turned it in her hand, she had never held a pistol before. Ana had been the one who found it and kept it. Even as she held it for the first time she felt both fear and power. She did not hold it as if to shoot, she simply flipped it a few times, unable to see much detail in the dim light, and returned it to where it had rested. Straightening herself she shook her head, a bemused smile came to her face. Now what? Either the wind shifted or she was now fully awake. The scent of fresh coffee drifted in from the galley. That is what, she answered herself for now and headed to the Galley.

Aboard the Watch Dog - Surgery Ward Murin dreamt, something she hadn't done in years, an odd mixture of memories, from her childhood and innocence and the dark years of her young adulthood. Aidan standing on the a large ship at the rail with the spyglass , Nathan Bly opposite her laughing heartily while mending net or sail, Mr. Lasseter pulling her as a youth from the water beneath a foot bridge, Mister Edward Hodge from the plantation on Barbados in Ireland, the landlord placed by the crown ...all of it juxtapose. Her sleep was restless. The vivid vision of Smyth, the 'work foreman' from the plantation using the whip on Fionn woke Murin with a start. She sat up blinking in the darkness. The lamps in the surgery were dark, the ship quiet, and the oceans rhythm washed against the sturdy ship. She calmed her breathing and lay back again staring into the blackness above her. She could hear everything and nothing at all in the silence and stillness of the dark hours. The ships bell sounded. Murin contemplated the hour as sleep overtook her again before the next bell.

Matt lad ...was that a request fer a song? Silkie obliges, her smooth alto painting the canvas with an Irish lament ...what else from the Irish? Laments and drinking songs ...and dancing tunes!