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Uphill...
Topic Started: Feb 27 2008, 09:51 PM (378 Views)
Tara Shannon
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It isn’t for the moment you are struck that you need courage, but for the long uphill climb back to sanity and faith and security. ~Anne Morrow Lindbergh

[size=7]Time: July, 2006
Place: Westport, County Mayo, Ireland
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There is nothing quite as beautiful as an Irish sunrise. The world awakens casting an amber glow across the vast expanse of the Atlantic, and on clear days the water shimmers, as if someone has scattered diamonds across the seemingly endless ocean. Away from the hustle of Dublin, a person can sometimes feel as if they are the only person in the world.

Tara Shannon grew up on the Atlantic, but for some reason Boston sunrises never quite possessed this beauty and peace. Maybe it was the pollution of the city, or maybe it was the fact that she can’t really remember a time when she ever stopped to really enjoy the sun rising, because if she didn’t sleep through it, she was busy rushing around trying to get wherever she needed to go, class, work, the gym, to the airport for another show in another city.

It took being injured and losing her title belt to give her the opportunity to get back to some semblance of her former self, as odd as that may sound to some. Well, that was part of it. Really, at that point she really no longer cared about the title, barely even took any pride in it at all anymore. In fact, every time she looked at the shimmering metal all she was reminded of was Brendan and how he beamed with pride when she first won it and brought it home for her family to see. Seeing the belt made her realize with a crushing sense of finality that she would never see his face again, never hear him give her one of his patented “I’m proud of ya, kiddo” words of praise. So when the belt was handed over to Hate, she was almost relieved to see it gone. She even felt she deserved getting hurt. It was almost like serving a penance.

But then Brendan Black was gone.

It was one of those things that was surprising, but not surprising. The sense of pessimism that she had begun to cultivate after being raped in college only intensified after her brother’s murder, and it told her that Shaggy Quinn’s death would be the beginning of the end for her and Brendan Black. She couldn’t even look him in the face without an overwhelming sense of guilt for what she goaded him into doing. She hated herself for that and every time she was around him, she hated herself even more.

Then one morning not long after she lost the belt he simply vanished without a word. No note, no phone call, nothing. She came back from her physical therapy and he was simply gone, not a trace of him left in her apartment. He had even taken the small pink box he had given her for Christmas. And the most frightening part was the fact that she really felt relieved more than anything. She didn’t feel sad, or angry, or hurt, or woefully wronged. She didn’t cry or wail or pound the sofa cushions in frustration or take to her bed for two weeks. No, she sat on the couch, sighed, and shrugged her shoulders.

And that was when Tara Shannon knew it was time to get the hell out of Dodge.

With only the quickest of notice to her family and Rick Rubin, within 24 hours of Brendan Black’s departure she was on a journey of her own, back to where her roots took form.

Back to County Mayo.

She really didn’t know how long she had been sitting on the rock along the craggy cliffs that marked the perimeter of this island nation, but when she stood her limbs were stiff and sore, and the sun was fully up. A gentle mist off the ocean ruffled her black hair and moistened her face, which hadn’t seen a touch of makeup in almost three months. Fisherman’s boats were dotting the waters below, the men who made their living in the seafood trade pulled in their nets and chatted amongst themselves, the occasional burst of laughter rising up to meet her ears.

Almost every summer of her life was spent in the town behind these cliffs. Westport was a small town of about 4,500. It was a town that was a mix of industry and tourism, as well as being known for good angling. It was also the birthplace of Seamus and Moira Shannon.

They met as young kids at St Mary’s. Seamus was three years older than Moira, fourteen years to her eleven years. He was the youngest of seven children, four boys and three girls. He was tall and strong, a good athlete. Moira had obviously noticed him, because he was really too loud and exuberant to miss, but being an eleven year old girl, she didn’t really think of him in any particular way until one day she was out hanging laundry with her mother in their postage-stamp sized backyard. Seamus Shannon rode by on his bicycle, and upon seeing the mother and daughter, paused, smiled a toothy grin, and then carried on his way. Joan O’Neill smiled back and the young man, and then looked down at her daughter.


Joan: Mark my words Moira; you’ll marry that boy someday…

In retelling the story to her incredulous daughters, Moira laughed as she said she thought at that point her mother wasn’t quite right in the head. But believe it or not, shortly after her 18th birthday Moira O’Neill became Moira Shannon.

Moira: Let this be a lesson to you, girls; never doubt your mother.

And even though Moira and Seamus ultimately chose to emigrate to the United States to raise their family, Westport was still home to them, and they imparted the same sense of belonging to their six children.

As Tara walks back towards town she is suddenly gripped by a flash of memory. She’s a young child, maybe four or five at the very most, and she’s running towards the edge of the craggy cliff exuberantly. In her child’s mind she thought she could take a flying leap from the cliff and fly up with the gulls that squawked all around the shoreline.


Moira: Brendan! Brendan, get your sister for God’s sake, she’ll kill herself!!

And then a strong pair of hands were gripping her under the arms and spinning her around, away from the cliff. Surprised, she turned and looked into the wide eyes of her teenage brother Brendan.

Brendan: Tara, are you crazy? You could have really gotten hurt!

Tara: Brendan, I wanted to fly!

And then his worried eyes started to twinkle.

Brendan: You wanna fly, Tara?

Tara: Yes!

And he picked her up and spun her and spun her until they were both dizzy and Moira Shannon was afraid both her children would go off the cliff. Tara knew they wouldn’t, because Brendan would keep her safe.

He always did…

Snapping back to reality, she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment before turning back towards town.


>>>>>>>>>

Feeling a bit revived after her walk back into town, Tara pushes open the heavy front door of her Aunt Pauline’s small bungalow.

Tara: Auntie? You up yet?

Moira Shannon’s eldest sister shuffles sleepily from the kitchen, gripping a mug of steaming tea. She regards her wide awake, fully dressed niece with a sense of bemusement.

Aunt Pauline: Good Lord child, how long have you been awake?

Tara: A few hours. I just wanted to watch the sun rise.

Aunt Pauline: Really now? Was it everything you expected?

Tara: Everything and more, Auntie. You have some tea for me in there?

Aunt Pauline: Help yourself, love.

Tara pours herself a mug from the still boiling kettle, ensconced in its permanent place on the stove, as it has been for the forty some odd years Pauline O’Neill Duffy has lived in this home. Now a widow, her children scattered all over Ireland and England, Pauline welcomes visits from her numerous relatives from all over, most of all her sister Moira’s brood. She watches as Tara sits down at the small breakfast nook with her tea, glancing at the morning newspaper. Sipping from her own mug, she joins her niece.

There was a phone call from your mother while you were out, Tara.

Tara: Is everything okay?

Aunt Pauline: Nothing serious, I just think one of your coworkers has been calling for you. Damian Cross, I believe she said his name was. You didn’t leave him a number?

Damian Cross, aka Lost Soul. Once her nemisis, later her ally, a strong, silent presence in her life.

Tara: I didn't leave anyone a number. Auntie, the last thing I wanted to do was speak to anyone in the business for a long time.

Aunt Pauline: Well apparently he’s very eager to talk to you, love.

Tara sighs. She really hadn’t thought a whole lot about wrestling since her time here in Westport. She wondered if she’d even remember how to wrestle at this point.

Tara: I suppose I can’t put it off forever, can I?

Aunt Pauline: Afraid not, love.

Nodding, she rises from the table and goes the small guest room she’d been staying in. Picking up her cell phone, she goes to the front yard. The neighbors’ tabby cat sits contentedly on the brick wall that divided the two houses. He spent his days there like a feline king overseeing his kingdom, and at night retreated to the comfort of his owners’ bedroom.

Tara: How’s it going, Charlie?

Tara gently strokes the purring cat under the chin with one hand while dialing Damian's number with the other.

Tara: Wish me luck, Fur Face.

Charlie chirps out a cheerful sounding meow as the phone rings several times…

Damian: Taraaaaaaaaaa....

Tara: Dame, how goes?

Damian: So, when are you going to grace us with your presence again?

Tara: Depends on what you have in mind.

Damian: Well, you know EWF is history at this point. But there's so much going on independently. I'm making more money now working the indy circuit than I did in EWF. People are asking for you, Tara. You need to come back. It's time.

Looking around, she surveys the place that has finally brought her back to herself after these many months. She was grateful to have had the time, and while she’d never be completely the same again, her mind was finally open to the smallest possibility of being able to move forward. Maybe it was time for the first step.

She glances at Charlie, who is meticulously grooming a paw. Noticing her gaze, he stops, cocks his head at her, and licks his chops. Ah, well, she should have known better than to look to a cat for great insights.

Damian: Tara? What do you say?

Damian Cross had never steered her wrong before, and she doubted he was about to start now. She couldn't hide forever.

Tara: Yeah Dame, I’ll be there…

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Blonde Doctor
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Awesome, the whole parents meeting thing sounds just like when my Grandparents met cept it was Dublin, but anyhoo back to you that was fantastic keep it up.
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SoCal
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Wow, I can't believe I missed this when it was posted.

Like Dylan said, the parents meeting was excellently written, it had that old timey feel to it. Sucked me right into the RP.

You're quite good at including backstory into your RP's. They progress your character today and add depth to them as a whole. Great work.
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