Information

Gallagher_398
Legacy Name: Gallagher_398

The

Sun Pherret
Owner:

seamSTRESS

Age: 14 years, 1 month, 2 weeks

Born: April 27th, 2010

Adopted: 14 years, 1 month, 2 weeks ago

Adopted: April 27th, 2010

Nominate Pet for Spotlight

Statistics

Level: 28
Strength: 10
Defense: 10
Speed: 10
Health: 10
HP: 10/10
Intelligence: 0
Books Read: 0
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Unemployed

Information

Name: Seamus Gallagher
Title: Irish Immigrant
Height: 5' 6"
Current Age: 21

Traits

Helpful, hardworking, pianist, dancer, loyal, irish, determined

Introduction

This is a personal story of a young man, determined to be the best in what he loved. Today, in the year 1873, he is known as the 'Ragtime Rookie', owner of the fastest growing business in Chicago; Gallagher's Ragtime Music Hall, just outside of the city--but according to other sources (including his previous employer) the 21 year old pianist had a rough beginning to his now flourishing venue. Hard work, persistance and a headstrong will is all that Seamus Gallagher needed to succeed in his dream.
Story

Year: 1871, two years previous.

"Eh, Gallagher ol' lad! Time to get up! I'm gonna need some 'elp cleanin' up the bar from last night-- The rest o' the customers have finally gone to their respective 'omes. About time too, thought they'd never leave. Hurry up m'boy!" Called Mr. Ferguson from somewhere downstairs. Gallagher groaned, rolled onto his back and opened his eyes just enough to noticed the sun shinning through his small bedroom window. Another day, another couple of dollars; thought Gallagher. Still, it was nearly double the pay he would have made back in Ireland. But no matter what, he would always miss Dublin-- his hometown was looking better and better with every day he spent in Chicago. The city was no place for an Irish country boy, despite how willing he was to work for a living. It just wasn't the same.
Gallagher eventually got up and sat on the edge of his bed, starring blankly at the room around him. It was incredibly kind of Mr. Ferguson to offer him a room above the bar, in exchange for his assistance. Gallagher also doubled as the entertainer at night, playing a few ragtime tunes and accompanying some of the bar girls whenever the crowd asked for it. Music and dancing had always been Gallagher's forte. Ever since he was very little he had the ability to make up a jig on the spot to any kind of music being played at the time, along with playing any instrument that was handed to him. At the ripe old age of 19, however, he was beginning to make a name for himself in the musical industry; people from all around Chicago were coming to listen to his piano playing, and the ragtime songs he would compose on the spot. But all the respectable people (the men and women Gallagher enjoyed the most) would leave the bar early in the evening, leaving all the thugs and lowlife's to spend the night and cause general mayhem to the bar's condition. This is what bothered Gallagher; the fact that he had to tend the bar, entertain the customers, and protect all the girls at the same time. Mr. Ferguson helped as much as he could, but the years dealing with the stress of bar-tending was finally catching up to him, which is why he had hired Gallagher in the first place.
Stretching and yawning, Gallagher forced himself upright and into his work clothes, right as Mr. Ferguson called a second time: "Hey, Gallagher! I won't call again, you'll be sleepin' in the streets tonight if ya don't getcherself down 'ere!"
"Yessir, 'm commin' sir!" He called back down the stairs. Even though Mr. Ferguson had used this threat quite often before, Gallagher knew that he was much to fond of him to actually throw him out in the streets. Still, he made his way out into the upstairs hallway and turned the corner when a bare leg protruded from the door to his right. It was blocking his path.
"Rosa, 'ow many times do I 'ave to tell ye; 'm not intrest'd!" He said, shoving the girl's leg to one side. "Oh, Gal honey, you say the same thing every day! I could leave a slot open for you tonight, how's that sound?" She said, her eyelashes batting up and down. "Shove it up yer arse, Rosa. I've got work t'do." He said commandingly, striding towards the stairs. She chuckled to herself "Oh, I'll get you yet, Seamus Gallagher!" She ended, shouting over the railing. Gallagher ignored her remarks, instead he searched the room for Mr. Ferguson.
"Gallagher m'lad, I'm sorry about ol' Rosa up there. The lousy hor can't leave well enough alone." Mr. Ferguson said, walking up behind Gallagher from the bar counter. "I'll make sure she steer's clear from you from now on, alright? That's m'boy. Now, could ye scrub down the tables over in the corner? There's a good lad!" He said, patting Gallagher on the back and handing him a wet rag from a bucket nearby. With a nod, Gallagher went to work.
Another day; another dollar. That's all he had to remember. No matter how hard the work was, he would eventually have enough money saved up to buy the one thing he'd always wanted: a music hall, where people would come from all over America to dance and hear his music. After two years of service to this old bar and Mr. Ferguson, he was almost at his goal. Each morning when he woke up, Gallagher would remember that fact. The knowledge of him achieving his hearts desires was what spurred him on, all the way through the hard nights.
Scrubbing the filth off the first table he came too, Gallagher had one thought going through his mind: "Almost there, 'm almost there. Anoth'r day, anoth'r doll'r. 'M almost there."

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