Information

Maire has a minion!

Firearm the Steeko

Maire

The

Sun Mahar
Owner:

Age: 1 year, 11 months, 3 weeks

Born: May 31st, 2011

Adopted: 1 year, 11 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: May 31st, 2011

Pet Spotlight Winner
August 8th, 2012

Statistics

Level: 5
Strength: 13
Defense: 13
Speed: 15
Health: 13
HP: 10/13
Intelligence: 0
Books Read: 0
Food Eaten: 0
Job:

Redesigning profile, brb

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The lights were already dimmed, the small crowd hushed in anticipation. I peered two astoundingly bright blue eyes around the curtain; most of the people here were probably just family or close friends to the performers, but in a nine-year-old's eyes we couldn't have had a grander audience. No, wait, there was one improvement that could be made. A rather large gap was cut into the front row, devoid of little plastic seats, with a "reserved" sign taped to the floor. Whoever sets up the seating always left plenty of room for Mama's wheelchair right up front. After all, she came to every performance.

Except that one. Little brow furrowed, I ducked back behind the curtain and whirled about to look for one of my teachers, who were flitting about and trying to put their herd of chittering little girls in order. I tried to raise a fuss that my mother hasn't arrived yet and she will be so sad when she finds we have started without her, but before I can I was put into my place and the curtain is lifted.

Even in my distraction, I didn't miss a beat. At such a tender young age dancing already came as natural to me as breathing, fluid movement and impeccable balance was second nature. Mama was not the only one that told me I was going to go far. But even as I went through the motions I'd been practicing for months, my eyes were trained on that vacant seat. Sometimes I lay awake at night and I wonder, had I strained my ears and listened, if I could have heard the sirens of an ambulance blaring through the city, as if that would have made a difference. I probably wouldn't have even made the connection.

After the show, one by one my fellow classmates rejoined with their parents and got lavished in praise, and I sat on the edge of the stage watching the door. Perhaps something had happened. What, my innocent mind couldn't comprehend, but Mama wouldn't miss my show for nothing so whatever it was must be very important. Well, she would be here as soon as she could, so I could wait.

The police arrived almost an hour later.

The two officers conferred in low murmurs with Mrs. Hopkins-- who had been kind enough to sit and wait with me-- and after a moment of conversation and Mrs. Hopkins putting her hand over her mouth in shock, one of them slipped away to approach me. I straightened up in my seat and watched her, mindful of the manners Mama had taught me. The police are our friends, she always said, and they made the world a nicer place.

"Hey kiddo," she said with a slight smile, as I clasped my hands in my lap. I didn't think I'd ever seen a woman on the police force before; there must not be very many. "It's Maire, right?"

I corrected her pronunciation, proudly repeating Mama's explanation of our Celtic roots, though I had been born here in the States and never actually been to Ireland myself. She listened with a patient smile, which only encouraged me to continue, but before I could she held up her hand to stop me and sighed, that friendly flickering. "Now, Maire, listen. I'm afraid I have some bad news about your mother, sweetie."

After that, my brain went numb and her voice droned on senselessly in my ears. Bad news? What kind of bad news? The very thought that something was wrong brought tears like a million pinpricks to the back of my eyes, and I was only barely aware of the nice officer trying to comfort me and carting me away to their car.

She said something about taking me to the hospital to see Mama right away, which she did. And it was a good thing, too-- I only had a couple hours to say good-bye, and then Mama was gone. Daddy took me home then, somehow able to ignore my hysterics without breaking down himself. That was always our problem, I think; he was just as dependent on her as I was.

That was the last day I ever danced, the day my dreams of growing up to be a great dancer died. I raised myself far more than my father did, and between that and school-- and a job, by sophomore year in high school-- I never had time for much fun or friends. I replaced my dance slippers with a badge, my pink frills and sequins with a gun. Today I work with the risk of getting shot and killed any given day, earning crappy wages and ignorant hate from the majority of people, just for doing my job and trying to keep the community safe from bad guys and plain idiots alike. I'm good at what I do and I don't care what others might think; most of my coworkers say nothing can bring me down and nothing can get to me. I am invincible, indestructible, fireproof. They don't know the half of it.

I don't regret a thing, but sometimes, when the job starts to wear on me and I question if any of this is worth it, when the only thing that can bring comfort is a glass of scotch or three, I have to wonder how much different life would be. Was it the right choice to opt for the police academy rather than college?

But most of all, were she still here, would she be proud of me?

---

Maire Sidney O'Connell
25, female, Irish/American
Police Detective
Hot-headed, skeptical, brash, fiercely loyal

Well good, I don't know what I'd do if you took off.

And I won't forget that, trust me.