Posts by O'Carolan.

"Come the day and come the hour! Come the power and the glory! We have come to answer our country's call - from the four proud provinces of Ireland!"

The voice which thundered through the Whispering Pines was raised in jubilant song, its booming volume matched only by the triumphant tone in which it sang. The voice was surprisingly melodic, or perhaps it was just the sheer, radiant happiness of the song that made it sound good. Regardless, it did, and it bellowed tunefully through the pines, easily drowning out the usual whispering in the canopy and filling the dour forest with ebullient singing.

"Ireland! Ireland! Together standing tall! Shoulder to shoulder, we'll answer Ireland's call!"

As the singer rounded the corner and emerged from a particularly dense section of woods, their identity was revealed: a black-and-white Border Collie, with rich inky fur flowing into crisp white, and incredibly blue eyes offsetting the monochromatic combination. The dog was clearly true to his breed's sheepdog roots, being thin and trim, with an agile, swift way of moving and a liveliness in his step. His name was O'Carolan, and he sang as he tread upon the land which belonged to the Rogues, his thick Irish accent and boundless jouissance curiously out of place in the still darkness.

"And I'm O'Carolan, and I must say I'm nothing special at all." there was a laughing note to the dog's voice as he approached after Helios, his blue eyes glittering as they skimmed over the variously-important Rogues already here before landing on Clint. He grinned, a wide and easy smile that spoke of a personality who had nothing to prove, and who above all loved to offer such a smile. "Pleasure to have ya along, sir. I expect we'll be figuring it out together! I'm new myself." his voice was defined mostly by the heavy Irish accent which shaped the words, and secondarily by the intense cheer which was present in every syllable.

The Border Collie was glad to see someone new: he had been meeting plenty of new folks lately, but they all seemed so confident, so comfortable here, so wrapped up in their own lives and histories with this place. It felt reassuring to know that he would not be the only newcomer, would not be the only person trying to catch up with these folks. And, hopefully, trying to alleviate the nigh-on constant mood of sorrow and grief which seemed to have swallowed this place. Surely he couldn't be the only one trying to fix that? Perhaps this Clint would prove a useful tool in his quest to brighten things up.

"Got anything hurtin' you?" inquired the black-and-white dog after a beat, lifting a paw and waving it around as if to illustrate his wish to help fix that. "I can fix it for you if you got beat up after your traveling. Sore spots, cuts, bruises, eh? Anything?" he was a bit bored, really - not like meeting new people wasn't exciting, but this one did not seem like much for conversation, and Caro found himself scanning the thicker-built dog's body with strange hopefulness, wanting to spot an injury. "If not, of course, that's good, very good. Just offering."

"Tough times all around, it seems." O'Carolan offered this observation as he drew up after Seamus and Helios, sympathy and sorrow mingling in his bright blue eyes as he swept them firstly over the Rogues and then over Magi, taking in the details of the various individuals here, and specifically, how they were reacting to the exchange of news. ProClan to AntiClan, eh? The Border Collie found it hard to keep the disapproval off his face, especially considering concealment and trickery was not his forte. From what he knew of the group formerly known as the Kinship Circle, they had been staunchly Pro - what could have possibly prompted such an abrupt and, in his eyes, unfortunate shift?

Pro to neutral he could perhaps understand, but Pro to Anti? There were no two more different mindsets in the world! Their visitor seemed equally unhappy with the decision, and Caro wondered silently if perhaps they would hear of acts of rebellion in the weeks to come, perhaps even something like a civil war. He considered inquiring about this, but eventually chose not to, instead shifting where he sat and letting the subject go. If he could not do anything about it - and he couldn't - there was no point in fussing over it. The same was true for the bad news on the Rogues's behalf; he listened with a somewhat dour expression as Seamus offered news.

Then he spoke up, forcibly injecting cheer into his heavily accented Irish voice. "But in brighter news, the winter weather has been mild and there has been no waves of sickness or any such thing! Plus we've had new faces aplenty joining us, as the lad said." O'Carolan nodded resolutely, as if this reinforcement of the good news would help lighten the atmosphere, and pressed on, his soft black ears flicking up. "Ever explored our lands, sir? Would you be interested in a tour perhaps, or a little looksie inside the church? The Pines are awfully pretty in the winter, as you can see." the bicolor canine waved vaguely up at the snow-laden branches above and tilted his head hopefully.

The various layers of familiarity here were far beyond his understanding, but O'Carolan was there anyway, bounding over after the beleaguered Overseer and settling nearby, watching the exchange between children with bright blue eyes. His interest in their conversations were apparent, but he did not speak, not wishing to burden their youthful visitor with extra people to respond to and extra sentences to process. Instead he amused himself by coaxing a few rich red roses from the soil, watching approvingly as their delicate thorny stems rose and split into graceful silken petals.

There was something wrong with the Overseer of the Rogues. This was painfully obvious, in every possible way - appearance, diction, word choice - and Caro felt a pang of intense sorrow for Saoirse as he settled down at a distance from the others present. He tried to keep track of the names that had been fired off and made a note of the boy who had been promoted - registering him as the son of the weary-looking chocolate point currently giving announcements - and then called out to the group at large. "Congratulations and welcome to everyone!" his own name had not been mentioned, but that was alright. He expected that he had not attracted notice in sufficient time for the Leader to meet him or hear of him, and to process him as a newcomer.

Cleaning. Ah. Yes. Not exactly Caro's specialty, if he was being honest. In fact, generally he specialized in the exact opposite - he relished getting dirt between his toes, growing plants and tearing them up, staining the white parts of his fur with greenery, producing flower crowns and wearing them til they withered, then growing another more flamboyant than the last...he was much better at webbing a door with vines than at removing them.

But hey. Just because you weren't great at something didn't mean you shouldn't try, right? And when the Border Collie heard voices coming up from the tunnels and saw a soft light glowing, he shrugged and pursued them both, poking his head into the shadowy underground space and blinking the aboveground light from his eyes, adjusting to the conditions he now found himself in. A few moment's processing and he understood what was happening. "Ah, well done." said the bicolor dog softly, watching as Trashboat removed the rest of the vines, clearly somewhat impressed.

He paused, and then asked: "Would you like some decorations? Or, uh, new vines? You know, living ones?" he didn't know if the ex-Overseer took offense to the dead vegetation or the vegetation in general, but regardless, he waved a paw and brought an elegant bluebell from the compacted soil underfoot, smiling with pleasure as its soft sapphire color seemed to glow in Azamael's light. A few more waves of his paw and the bluebells were joined by tulips and baby's breath. At last the dog made a circular motion and the flowers wound themselves together, compelled by his magic to form an elegant crown.

Looking pleased, O'Carolan proffered the crown to Seamus and then addressed the boy's uncle. "Stuff like that, you know. May brighten it up down here?"

There was a little figure ahead of him. He noticed it belatedly, a mottled mess of chocolate and tawny and gold. A little cat! Adorable! He found himself utterly charmed by her spitfire exclamations despite their size difference that he fell silent and gave a little bow, feathered tail arcing behind him as he straightened up again. "Sorry." offered Caro, apologetically, as the Irishman processed the border he had crossed and the evident aggression of this girl. "Hi there, young lady! Not a fan of my singing, then?" he gave a smile that was impossibly bright and undeniably roguish, and then proceeded to answer her questions - though, she had actually not asked him any questions at all.

"I'm O'Carolan. It's very nice to meet you." he attempted professionalism and then reconsidered, and promptly gave it up. "Name and business"...all that political stuff...it wasn't really for him. "Hey, want to see something cool? Watch this!" he cleared his throat and extended one foreleg, holding it over the ground and narrowing his bright blue eyes. A few moments passed and soon greenery shot up out of the ground, tiny tendrils of vegetation emerging from the resistant soil and flowing elegantly into one another, intertwining and forming a complex web of leaves and stems. Soon it became clear that a pattern was forming, and the canine took a step back, making more room for the plant life as it grew and grew.

At last the job seemed complete, and he finished the growth process with a flourish, as bright orange blooms erupted atop the greenery. And that greenery had a shape: specifically, letters. And it became clear that he had grown an interrogative sentence, had brought it to life out of the earth, and that he was so full of earnest happiness at this thought that it was hard to begrudge him for it. The letters - which went only up their shins, but which were surprisingly readable for plant-writing - read in flowing green script: "What's your name, young miss?" the bicolor dog beamed and then kept singing under his breath as he awaited a response, his ebullience undiminished by Saturnpaw's arrival.

"From the mighty Glens of Antrim, from the rugged hills of Galway! From the walls of Limerick and Dublin Bay...from the four proud provinces of Ireland!"

There was definitely fairness in comparing O'Carolan to a child: he most certainly was not, of course, and there was an intelligence in his blue eyes that spoke to this. But in other respects he truly did overflow with childlike, or at least innocent, qualities: the excitability, the delight in his country of origin, the total absence of any shred of cynicism, bitterness, or wariness. He seemed utterly guileless and utterly alive, as if his heart beat and his lungs took in air in an unfettered fashion. He was vibrant, to put it quite simply, and no matter how irritating some might find his personality it was impossible to argue against his vibrancy, from his sparkling blue eyes to the vividness of the plants he'd grown to the richness of his voice and his accent.

No matter what sort of agitation he created in the people around him, whether his presence brought amusement or frustration, what remained true was that his presence was noteworthy, simply for its pure brightness. The best thing about this - at least in his mind, for he was quite far from a fool and was also capable of introspection - was that, unlike pridefulness, mistrustfulness, and doubt, there was no competition. He did not have to take life as a zero-sum game. He could be as wholly himself as he wanted and he could work until his last breath to make this true for everyone else, too. It was his life's mission to bring as much vibrancy to others as he had managed to find for himself, since he counted his ability to find that brightness as a staggering privilege.

If that was his only accomplishment in life - for even one person, one single being - he knew he would die a very happy man. Thus he would not have been disappointed if Saturnpaw mentioned she, too, had plant manipulation, as he was not the type to engage in competition: he would have been delighted, in fact. There was something terribly kind in his demonstration, the implication that he was not doing it to show his strength or his creativity or to impress a stranger, but to present some sort of gift, some sort of little pleasure in life, and that he derived enormous joy from the offering...and even more joy from its acceptance, as belied by the Enforcer's slight smile.

"What a pleasure to meet you, Saturnpaw, truly. Lovely name." named after a planet! While he liked the meaning of his own name, he had to admit that being named after a planet was pretty cool, and he dwelt on this as she inquired what his plans were. Oh. What were his plans? Well. He hadn't really had any, actually, beyond doing a bit of exploring. But as he tuned in to his body and his physical state, moving his mental energy from the feline he was currently chatting with and the plants he had grown for her amusement and onto his own self, he had to wonder if joining might not be the best idea. He noticed that his stomach ached with hunger, and that his legs were tired, even as he supplied them with nigh-on boundless energy.

The collie even noticed that he was bleeding, and with a temporary flash of disappointment sought out the source of the blood: a few puncture wounds in his back leg, which were inconveniently dribbling drops of crimson down his limb and stung when he put weight on it. Caro lapped the blood away, the better to examine the injury, then gave a dismissive huff and focused again on Saturnpaw. The injury healed itself as he turned away from it, the flesh knitting together, the skin pulling tight over the holes and the fur smoothing over the lot. Now he smiled, and made a choice on the spot, rashly changing the shape of future purely because he was hungry and because he liked this young woman.

"I'd love to join the Blackheart Rogues, Saturnpaw. If they'll have me."

He smiled as he said this, and his smile lit up his whole face and made his eyes twinkle. It would be easy to mock him for being so easy to delight, for being so enthusiastic. Goodness knew he had heard it all before. But the fact of the matter was that it was honest, and that he seemed to behold each successive moment as something uniquely beautiful, and that it was his utmost duty to register whatever was lovely about it and appreciate it. And in this moment, there was a lot to find lovely. He laughed aloud as she revealed that their leader was, quote, "very" Irish.

"Tá!" exclaimed the dog, so eagerly that he seemed to be physically restraining himself from leaping forward. "Is féidir liom! Cad is ainm di? Cá bhfuil sí?" he glanced about hopefully, as if expecting to see this very Irish leader approaching at this moment. But in fact the only person coming near was a German Shepherd, and while he could not prove this was not the very Irish leader, her words did not suggest that she was this person. Switching back to English without complaint, though with the merest suggestion of sorrow in his expression, he listened to the introduction and then hummed: "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Ver! You're correct, I have no idea what a Strategist is. But evidently I am one of you, so...perhaps I ought to know? And, by the way - it's supposed to be singing, not screaming. But apparently my singing needs work!"

OOC | One-language-only American here, please excuse the Google translate Irish. ^^'

(Translation: "Yes! I can! What's her name? Where is she?")

The soft patter of pawsteps drew his attention away from what he supposed were his new Clanmates and onto a battered-looking winged seal point. His bright blue eyes softened with sympathy at the sight of her, his feelings of awe and sorrow made plain on his expressive face, his guilelessness merely reinforced by his inability to hide his feelings. She was beautiful, but neglected-looking, and he felt an ache deep down inside, an ache that he suspected was the merest whisper of what had caused such damage. The way she spoke, the way she carried herself, her icy grey-blue eyes: they spoke to a personality of incredible strength and elegance, and yet the condition they were in made clear the pain she carried. He found himself utterly smitten and utterly humbled by this creature, and he knew at once that she had to be their leader.

His suspicions were only confirmed when she spoke, in beautiful, flowing Irish; her voice was as lilting and graceful - doubtful tone aside - as his was robust and deep. When he spoke, it was with less excitability than before, as if calmed slightly by the force of Saoirse's presence, though with obvious deep-seated joy at finding another person who claimed the same cultural origin. "Tá sé iontach bualadh leat." said O'Carolan simply, a smile pulling the edges of his lips. "Mhúin mo thuismitheoirí an teanga domsa... D'fhás mé suas leis an teanga." he explained, glee bubbling in his heart at getting to speak in the language he always thought of as his language, as the one that he really belonged to, the one he so rarely got to use in productive conversation. "Agus tú féin?" had she learned through her parents also? Oh, and he wondered..."An labhraíonn siad é freisin? An bhfuil tú á múineadh dóibh?" he doubted it, actually, but he supposed there was no harm in asking. Perhaps she was using her status as a leader to spread their culture.

OOC | ("It's great to meet you. My parents taught me the language...I grew up with it.

And yourself?

Do they speak it too? Are you teaching them?")

O'Carolan was only vaguely aware of what a weekly task was, but he was curious to find out, and supposed that there was no better way to find out than by participating. The agile Rogue trotted over at Ver's call and flashed a smile that made his blue eyes sparkle, before barking: "I'll take one, Ver-the-Strategist!" that was how she had introduced herself, after all, and invariably how he thought of her.

O'Carolan was no stranger to boyhood scuffles, a fact that would not surprise anyone who knew him as the adult he now was. He recalled many a play session that had ended with puncture wounds from tiny puppy teeth, bruises and scrapes from rolling around, dirt and blood speckling his fur. Of course, no matter how the fight had gone, he had always managed to come out as the victor by mockingly healing whatever nicks and scrapes he acquired during the course of the battle. Most of the time, being able to repair wounds was an utter blessing, a gift from God. But sometimes, it was just downright fun, and that was how it had been when he was a boy, for no matter how soundly his opponent chomped him, he could always patch himself up and stick his tongue out, mocking their ineffectiveness as a causer of harm.

Then, of course, because he was Caro, he healed their injuries too, and sometimes grew them flowers. But that didn't make him look very cool, now did it?

Perhaps because of his past, or simply because he did not have the same attachment to the boy as Saoirse did, but fighting with another child was the first thing that came to mind as the Irish rogue approached, tilting his head slightly as he observed the interaction between mother and son. She seemed very worried, even though his injuries were minor, which were understandable, and the dog approached with lively steps, bouncing on the balls of his feet, a thoughtful look in his bright blue eyes. "Is féidir liom cabhrú leis." he hummed this to Saoirse and, without waiting for a response, bent down to the kitten. He narrowed his eyes and attempted to heal Diarmuid's injuries with a little wave of his paw. The wounds were trifling, and were not difficult for him - provided that the child was receptive to such ministrations.

If successful, he'd step back and inquire of the fatherless child, "Is that better?"

OOC | ("I can help him.")

live in hope and pray / overview — ☼☽

✧ O'Carolan | Caro, Carol, Cal | No surnames | No former names

— Meaning of name: Named after composer and harper Turlough O'Carolan

✧ Border Collie

✧ Male

✧ Member of the Blackheart Rogues | No titles | Former loner

✧ From Ireland | Speaks English and Irish

dreams and songs to sing / relationships — ☼☽

✧ No living parents, siblings, or children

✧ Considers himself a friend to all

✧ Actual friends with no one at the moment

✧ Pansexual | Monogamous | Single | Forms crushes easily

✧ Very affectionate in romantic and platonic relationships

watched the last star falling / physicality — ☼☽

✧ [MAIN] / STATUS: 100%

— O'Carolan is a thin, nimble sleek Border Collie with black and white fur and bright blue eyes. His body seems permanently free of signs of wear: the usual collection of small injuries like nicks and scrapes, bruises, and rough paw pads, are entirely absent from him, as he continually heals himself and maintains a perfectly sound form. His pelt frequently has flowers woven through it and scraps and smudges of greenery, telltale signs of his frequent use of his plant manipulation powers.

✧ INJURIES / ILLNESSES: n/a

— n/a

hearts of steel and heads unbowing / mentality — ☼☽

✧ JOYFUL | LOVING | ENERGETIC

— Intelligent, honorable, inquisitive, romantic, lazy, loud, guileless, naive

it's so lonely round the fields of athenry / interaction — ☼☽

✧ Medium physical opponent | Easy mental opponent

✧ Will not start fights | Will run away

✧ Will not kill | Will show mercy

✧ Will heal himself in battle | High stamina

✧ Mention O'Carolan. when attacking | PM for capture plots

they have taken you away / other — ☼☽

✧ Created January 13h, 2019 | Played by Sam

✧ Recently joined the Blackheart Rogues

Cathal O'Carolan was not waiting in line. Neither did he work behind the counter. Instead he sat at one of the small tables in the restaurant, a half-finished pizza on the table in front of him, his long legs crossed over one another and propped up on the empty chair beside him. He had come in earlier and brought his laptop, and now he worked in silence as the line gradually filled, a tuneless melody vibrating from his throat as he worked. He was a large man, tall and lanky, with an unapologetic sweep of black hair toeing the line between curly and straight, untidy waves interrupting the sleek style.

He had pale skin and wide, round bright blue eyes that gave him the appearance of permanent, childlike delight, though right now he had a pair of thick glasses over them as he peered at some text on his computer screen. He was wearing a rumpled suit in a distressing shade of green with the tie undone, and bizarrely, he had patches of green on his knees and elbows, as if he'd been rolling around in grass. He smelled of a garden, like flowers and soil and warm, green, growing things; perhaps this was because he had a flower pinned to his lapel, and a few more wound into a loose chain about his neck. In the winter. Altogether, he looked both honest and ostentatious, especially considering that his movements seemed infused with a quick and gleeful energy.

All of this made sense, if you knew who he was - he was the manager of a mid-size garden supply company, who had recently moved here to oversee a problematic location. The greenhouses were underproducing, and he had received several complaints about mismanagement, that the staff weren't watering or fertilizing correctly, and on and on...this had upset the Irish immigrant so much that he'd simply up and left his former city and moved here, deciding to take matters into his own hands. But that made sense, too - he had no attachments, no girl or boyfriends, no children, not even any pets. He liked to be on the move, and now that he was here, he could personally oversee the management of these particular greenhouses. On weekends, he worked in a florist's shop - because why not?

Today he was returning emails and communicating with suppliers and customers, but he was finding it difficult to concentrate as the shop filled up. Cathal sent off a final message and then shut his laptop with a snap, swinging his legs to the ground and peering around at the mostly silent line of people. They seemed quite downtrodden, all of them, and he remembered the news stories he had seen when he'd moved in to his apartment. "No leads in local doctor's murder"; "Funeral for murdered local doctor"; "Hospital honors R. Foxhall"...he had no idea who that man was, but he did know that he had apparently been a relatively well-known figure in the community with a large family, and that his death had sent shockwaves through certain levels of the community, for the gruesome and sudden nature of his death as much as for the loss.

It was sad, really, and Cathal flipped open his half-empty pizza box with a furrowed brow. He didn't think he could finish it on his own, and he had no room in the fridge. Or, well...technically, his fridge was broken and he hadn't gotten around to buying a new one yet, but...still. He couldn't take it with him. "Hey," he called to the expectant customers, in a deep, Irish voice, "anyone want some of this? I can't eat it all myself. Can't take it home. It's good, it's pepperoni!" if he felt weird about asking strangers to sit and eat with him he did not show it, only picked up another piece for himself and sat back, brows disappearing into his hairline.

He was new in town! He wanted to make some friends. What was wrong with that?

It was raining.

In Caro's opinion, this was the worst kind of winter weather: not the snow which drifted gently down and graced the pine boughs with elegant, glittering cloud-white, not the sun that made the cold air sparkle, not even the overcast gray sky that gave a feel of neutrality and calm. All of those were enjoyable, in their own unique ways. And he liked rain at other points in time - in all other seasons, in fact, he loved the rain, loved its soothing coolness and gentle pattering noise. But in the winter it merely made things frigid and dour and later froze into ice, and ice was hazardous. Indeed, wintertime rain made him gloomy, which was a rare feat for such an ebullient person.

The Border Collie was sitting just outside the church, under its eaves so as to keep himself dry, watching the rain come down with doubtful blue eyes. He sighed. He did not think it was possible or advisable to be happy all the time, but the mood in this place was heartbreakingly unhappy, so unhappy that it choked him. He did not know what had happened that made them all unhappy, had been to afraid to ask, since some of them also seemed furious. He had his guesses, but with no way to confirm or deny them, he simply sat on them. Yes...he was enjoying himself here, to be sure, but today perhaps was not a day that necessitated the full force of his personality.

His mind even drifted backwards in time, and he felt his spine stiffen as recollections long ignored threatened to swamp him. "Níl, ní inniu." mumbled the bicolor canine. He would not revisit those memories today. And neither would he simply sit here. He would embrace the sorrow of this church and this rain, but he would at least try and do something with his time...at least try to process the heartache that lay thick over this land, the best way he knew how. If he was going to stay here, he had to come to terms with the mental states of the people with whom he lived. A song drifted into his mind and the canine began to sing, softly, lowly, each syllable resonant and bittersweet. Because no matter how joyful he tried to be, and frequently was, no person was free from sadness, nor from pain. And you had to make space for it sometimes.

"By a lonely prison wall, I heard a young girl calling...Michael they have taken you away, for you stole Trevelyn's corn so the young might see the morn. Now a prison ship lies waiting in the bay ..."

OOC | This song is the one's singing.
("No, not today.")

Someone had told Caro that they didn't usually live in the church, that they had moved out of their usual home because of bears. The NPC had refused to elaborate further, and honestly he was incredibly curious about what they could mean, but he could only guess at this point. The fact remained that they didn't seem crazy about the church. O'Carolan liked it, himself, for its history as a church and simply for what it was. His only complaint was that it made him sneeze if he stayed inside too long, perhaps because of its decrepit status, and this was why he was outside at the crack of dawn, his blue eyes watery as he held back a sneeze.

Snuffling, the dog settled in a patch of newly-minted sunlight and busied himself with the process of growing plants. Specifically, he was growing a small raspberry bush, as he had been struck with a craving for the delicate-fleshed, rosy fruit when he awoke and leapt out of bed. It was easier said than done, though, and his brows were furrowed with concentration as he coaxed first the stems, then the leaves, and finally the fruit out of the soil, his feathered tail wriggling happily behind him. At last the task was done and a tiny shrub was before him, coming up only to his knees but still laden with fruit (he may have manipulated it in the process of growing to produce an atypically high amount of fruit, but shh...).

Content, O'Carolan began to eat one raspberry after another, relishing the sweet and lively taste upon his tongue.

The dog's blue eyes went round with surprise as the kitten approached; he recognized him as the son of Saoirse, who had been promoted in the recent meeting. Seamus, isn't it? A good name. thought Caro approvingly, something of a smile pulling on his lips as the child sat near him. He finished the first verse and then looked dumbfounded as the boy carried on, singing the chorus flawlessly. Warmth blossomed in his chest and he nodded, dwelling on the melancholy sweetness of the music, finding that it was especially poignant when sung by a child.

O'Carolan continued with the final verses now that the chorus had been sung, lowering the volume of his voice in the hopes that the child would sing with him. "By a lonely prison wall, I heard a young man calling - 'Nothing matters Mary, when you're free'. Against the famine and the crown I rebelled, they brought me down. Now its lonely round the Fields of Athenry...By a lonely harbour wall she watched the last star falling, as the prison ship sailed out against the sky. Sure she'll live in hope and pray for her love in Botney Bay...it's s so lonely round the Fields Of Athenry."

By the time the song was finished his eyes felt damp, and he told himself it was simply the rain, though they sat under the protection of the eaves. "You know the song." observed the Border Collie, an uncharacteristically small smile slipping onto his lips. "You sing it beautifully, Seamus. Did your mother teach you?" he did not know the extent of his knowledge of Ireland, seeing as they could not be farther from the place itself, and considering that he was Agrelos-born; but he would not be surprised if Saoirse taught her boys all she could. "It's perfect for the bittersweet moments."

Ver-the-Strategist had assigned him the task of teaching the Rogues one of his skills. This was easier said than done, as his only skills were really his powers and the options she had suggested, teaching singing or teaching Irish. Considering that it would be easier to teach snippets of his preferred language - and he wasn't sure how to teach singing, other than teaching lyrics and melody - he'd opted for the latter option. Besides, it would be fun! "If anyone wants to learn a bit of Irish, come on over!"

Teach people something? Mm. Sure! He could handle that. She made good suggestions, too, and the bicolor dog gave a few confident nods. "Call me Caro, love. And yes ma'am - I'll do it!" as he stood up and left he caught her task to Saoirse...they had an underground lake? Huh! He'd have to check that out...where was it, he wondered...?

/ out<3

Soft black ears pricked as the familiar voice of Ver drifted towards him, and he pegged the speaker before she even came into view, pleased with himself that he was able to so quickly determine who was near him. Perhaps he would get used to living among so many different people after all; he had been finding it challenging, especially since they flowed in and flowed out. The dog gave a broad smile that revealed teeth well stained with pink and he ducked his head in a little show of sheepishness, flattered by her compliment. "Thank you, Ver. I appreciate it. Healing and plant manipulation are the only things I've ever really been good at, so...well, you know. I've had a lot of practice."

He manipulated the little shrub to extend a single fruit-heavy limb towards Ver, offering the rosy-red spoils to the Strategist, his heavily accented voice teasing as he hummed, "I doubt it, but is there a rule sayin' I can't indulge? Have some! They're wonderful. Very nutritious, or so I've heard." a fondness for fruit was indeed not the most common thing, but with his lifelong abilities he had come to appreciate their sweet and wholesome qualities, especially since he could acquire them on demand.

The excitable ocelot brought a wide smile to the dog's face and he dipped his head readily, bright blue eyes twinkling. "An-mhaith!" he boomed jovially. "Lig dúinn tosú." the words flowed naturally from his tongue and he seemed again radiantly happy, as if the simple pleasure of speaking and sharing his language brought him impossible amounts of joy. "Those mean, respectively, 'Very good' and 'Let us begin'. It's nice to meet you, Zenon; I like your surname." the rogue winked. "I'm O'Carolan, but you can call me Caro. What is it you want to learn first? Any specific phrases?"