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lethe-rpg · 5 years

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Perhaps he was just born a few centuries too late. That’s what Fionn figures. Back in the day, when the world was young and fae things were properly fae, he’d have done just fine - carousing and thieving, making merry and managing all sorts of mischief. Without anybody getting their knickers in a twist. By the time he came along, though, there were just too many hidebound traditional types around the Otherlands. Fussy old bastards. That’s what he tells himself. Fionn, cut adrift by parents he never knew, chased after by a brother and sister who had better things to do, understood that he was something of a burden. Had he asked to be born? No. Wasn’t his fault.

But he was here, now, and he wasn’t about to let a moment pass where he wasn’t drinking life’s splendor dry. That’s what they were supposed to be about, wasn’t it? Those elder fae seemed to think he drank too deeply, though. He neglected his lessons in the history and magic of their kind, shook off stately affairs and protocols to run through the hills and dales with stranger, wilder faeries. Young and cocksure, Fionn took what gifts he’d been born to and scoffed at those that came harder, the ones that took work and thought to develop - the shifting of energies, that fae spark, the knowing of another’s heart. It was envy, maybe. His sister was so brilliantly talented in those crafts, his brother so respected, an artisan in iron. Was it fair, to hold himself to their older example? Perhaps not, but he did it all the same. And no matter what he managed, Fionn always, always came up short. Who was he trying to please, anyway? Those runaway parents? His beleaguered brother, his stifled sister? Himself, even? Fionn couldn’t say, so he couldn’t do it. And, in time, he stopped trying altogether.

A few duels, a couple scandalous affairs, and several spectacularly destructive incidents was all it took to turn the Otherlands against Fionn, in a decided sort of way. Let the humans deal with him, and his brother, too. Cora had already left, tired of the same old, same old staling madness of life among the fae. When they struck earth in Ireland, Fionn was too indignant to feel bereft. Or even awfully responsible. He was just being what he was meant to be, what they were all meant to be - a rover and a rambler, a lover and a singer of songs. And the human world was wonderful, really. Even if, eventually, they wound up having enough of his nonsense too. That was alright, though. He’d move on. To someplace new. There was so much to see, and so many people to share his music, his art, and, of course, himself with. So much for them to share with him, too - their revels and whiskey, ugly violence and breathtaking creativity. Study in contradictions, humans were. For once, Fionn found himself fond of research. Inevitably, that pulled him further and further from Faolan’s side. Then, of all things, his brother got himself a family. Started settling down. Like… humans, or something. So off Fionn strayed, for good, wandering from scene to scene, bed to bed, taking in all the wonder and mess humanity had to offer. Which was plenty. His family, such as they were, didn’t want or need him. And he didn’t want or need them, or anyone else, did he? Best to live in the present, with the company he had. Fleeting, mortal company, but lovely. His unnatural talent and his fae charms, roguish though they might be, made sure of that.

Unfortunately, now and then, even Fionn’s honeyed tongue and handsome eyes aren’t enough to get him out of the shit he stirs up. He’s quite literally stumbling into Lethe held together with duct tape and will, after falling afoul of the sort of people you really shouldn’t fall afoul of. Ever. Usually, his unnatural luck looks out for him. This time, he was very nearly gutted like a fish, a rabbit. He’d heard of a place, hidden in the woods, that drew magic and held it safely; somewhere like that would have somebody who could help, perhaps even one of his sort, to do a proper job of patching him up. So here he’s come, battered and worn. Never had the knack for healing, not for a scratch, nevermind anything so bad as this. But somebody around Lethe will. Probably. Not that he has money to pay, not at the moment - had to drop and run, after all. But he’ll find a way to make good. Or leave, quickly, whichever winds up being simpler. That’s the notion, anyway…

Unsurprisingly, Fionn hasn’t the foggiest idea what’s been going on in Lethe. He doesn’t even know his brother, sister, and daughter, all long lost, are in town, nevermind that people have been crawling out of the river on the regular. You’d think a creature with a life so long as his might be disturbed by the thought of your memories getting washed away, but… honestly, Fionn doesn’t remember terribly much with perfect, sober clarity. He’s been drinking, drugging, brawling, sleeping, and musing his way across and around the world for centuries, and the Otherlands are a distant recollection. Even his many sweethearts have faded away, with the years. All but one, the one he tried to forget most, honestly - Aurora. Beautiful beyond sense, for a human; every bit as sweetly ferocious as the summer he was made from. They shared some sweet times together, months in the California sun, tearing down the boulevards, tumbling about in the soft, fine sand. It was all fun and games, and love. You can have all three, he’d insist. Then it turned out she was pregnant. Fionn was gone by morning, slipping away in the dark. Only, he couldn’t keep going. Not this time. He’d never had a child of his own. Not that he knew of, at least. Never even met his own father. What could he do for Aurora, now? Put down stakes? It wasn’t in his nature. Be contrary to everything he’d ever been. But Fionn came back, all the same, slinking through the door. And he left. And he came back. And he left. And so on, flitting about like some frightened bird, bringing gifts and money when he had any, trying to feel right about any of it. Aurora, bless her, wanted him to be there. Fionn couldn’t understand why. Still, there he was, when the time came; her hand in his, and, then, a beautiful baby girl in his arms. Then, then… a crush of screaming hospital monitors, nurses, and doctors, pushing him out. As his Aurora left, without warning. Their girl wailed. It was just the two of them, now, and Fionn, he’d barely been prepared for the three of them. He tried, though. For a while, anyway. But it was obvious, wasn’t it? Fionn had never been nothing but trouble. An incapable wastrel. They were right, weren’t they? For all the magic in his blood, there’d been nothing at all he could do; another faerie, a better one, could have saved Aurora, made sure she lived to see her little girl grow up. But Fionn wasn’t better, and he wasn’t going to get better, and even if he did, it was far past time where that meant anything. She was gone. He didn’t even have the strength to name their child - it could only be unlucky, couldn’t it? A name from her craven, bastard father. She deserved more. She needed more. And so, he did the only thing that made much sense at all: tucked her into another baby’s bed, bound for a family. That was the last time Fionn saw his daughter, the last time he ever expected to see her. Like the rest of his blood, she would be better off without him.

Fate appears to have other plans, as ever - meaning a few Riverborn will be far from Fionn’s mind. Far and away…

#taken #taken male #taken fae #cillian murphy #fionn meadowes #Fionn Ó Lonán

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fionnolonan · 5 years

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I. THE SIMPLE THINGS FULL NAME: Fionn a Mór Ríoghain CURRENT ALIAS: Fionn Ó Lonán PAST ALIASES: Fionn Meadowes, and many, many more besides. HOW TO SAY IT: Fee-unn, like Ian with an F, emphasis on the back half. Sounds a lot like Finn, but not quite. DATE OF BIRTH: Summer. That’s it. Summer, in the Otherlands, a long, long time ago. AGE: 1002, in earthly years. OCCUPATIONS: Artist, horse catcher, horse thief, pickpocket, bootlegger, drug dealer, highwayman, bank robber, general musician, and wedding, wake, and bar singer, in particular. LANGUAGES: Sidhe, Gaelige, English, a conversational and rusty smattering of others.

II. THE LOOKS FACE CLAIM: Cillian Murphy HEIGHT: 5′ 7′′ BUILD: Wiry HAIR COLOR: Black REAL HAIR COLOR: Blonde EYE COLOR: Blue DOMINANT HAND: Left SCARS: Several. As a fae, he does heal better than a human might; but he’s a bar-fighting bastard, and he’s taken his share of licks. The most noticeable at present are a slash across his right eyebrow, a gash just under his chin, some scarring across his knuckles, the faint traces of a stabbing in his right forearm, and, of course, the gruesome gut wound that’s not quite a scar yet - that cuts down from just over the left side of his ribs, curving and zagging down to the lower right side of his belly. TATTOOS: Many, mostly his own art - some are Aurora’s. Botanicals, animals, and constellations are major themes. PIERCINGS: Earlobes, intermittently. Not at present.

III. THE RAMBLINGS BORN TO: The Otherlands PAST RESIDENCES: Many, most briefly, quite a few very poorly recalled due to immoderate consumption of various substances. He started in medieval Ireland, anyway... CURRENT RESIDENCE: Lethe, Washington CRIMINAL RECORD: Yes. Several. Under a few names. SOUVENIRS: Having lost plenty along the way and left behind just about everything on his mad scramble out of Nevada, his last port of call, all Fionn currently has to remember his adventures and mishaps by are his many tattoos, a couple old keys on a fine chain, a string of carnelian beads, and a ceremonial silver dagger that he stole from a fae noble back in the Otherlands. Which is, coincidentally, why he and Faolan (mostly him, Faolan by association) got kicked out into the mortal world in the first place. It was going to be a gift.

IV. THE TIES MOTHER: Mór Ríoghain a Fionnuala FATHER: Who even knows, honestly? SIBLINGS: Faolan and Cora a Mór Ríoghain/Meadowes IN LAWS, OR CLOSE TO: Sabine Devereux, Arthur Talbot NIBLINGS: Gabriel Maddox, Katia Kjar, Riley Voss LOVED AND LOST: Aurora Wilson CHILDREN: Fiona Laughlin

V. THE WAYS MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral QUALITIES: Creative, perceptive, generous, charismatic, gregarious FLAWS: Flighty, irresponsible, opportunistic, defensive, stubborn ASPIRATIONS: None. Literally none. Ever. Fionn doesn’t do “goals.” FEARS: Sobriety and facing his family. He’s avoided both for a few reasons, for a long, long time.

VI. THE TASTES COLORS: Deep greens and blue skies. INSTRUMENTS TO PLAY: The fiddle, guitar, harmonica, and pipes, in that order. GENRES: Fantasy, poetry, and a good tragedy, now and then. SEASON: His own, summer. DRINKS: Proper Irish whiskey, above all, followed by the Scotch stuff, then bourbon, kirsch, slivovitz, brandy, gin, vodka, tequila, beer, obviously... most alcohols. And tea. FOOD: Blackberries off the bush, field mushrooms over the fire, or a fresh loaf of soda bread. With proper butter. Unless alcohol counts, as well? Guinness, at least? ANIMALS: Songbirds, horses, and hares. Dogs are iffy. Cats are to be shown full and proper respect and caution. SETTINGS: Rolling green hills, high foggy heaths, a good jaggedy mountain, burbling creeks...

#.fionn

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