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Brigid Moran

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Feels weird, but after roughly 12 years of RPing in various games around the interwebs, I'm going to be on hiatus for a bit.

Mine will still be around doing their thing - Brigid with her clay, Adrian with his ink and his Anna, Samantha with her cards and Roosevelt, Cam fixing cars, Finn fixing drinks, and Michael being an idiot with his boyfriend.

I'll still be around on Twitter every now and then, and by email, text and DM, if needed for anything.

Peace out.

Brigid had the door to her studio propped open as she worked the clay, singing in Irish to the minerals and earth beneath her hands. It was the loveliest part about having her studio in the States. In Ireland, she'd have to disguise what she was saying and how she was talking to the earth she molded. Here, it was quite rare to find anyone who knew more than a word or two of Irish, and even then they rarely knew exactly what it meant or how to pronounce it.

Today she was making a vase for Spencer and Joel's baby when it was born. Normally, she didn't pull her magic into the pieces she made, but in this case, she wanted it to give a calming air to the nursery and the house. One that would help dissuade sickness and promote health.

With a long last pull of the tall, thin vase, she stopped the wheel and brushed a damp sponge over the clay while the wheel slowed and came to a halt. Smiling, she looked at her creation and nodded.

"Aye, that'll do it."

It had taken Brigid the better part of a week to replenish her stock and get more greenware set to dry before she fired it. No matter the work, she wouldn't have traded her time in Ireland for anything. It had been balm to her soul being back in her homeland, to have Irish soil beneath her feet again.

And being home for the most important vote of her life...and watching Brian get down on his knee and propose to her brother when the results were revealed. That had been the best thing she'd ever seen in her life. She still got a little misty-eyed when she thought about it. A lifetime together they'd spend, and now they'd have another one together. One they could solidify in the church they both loved.

She'd dragged her feet about coming back to Siren Cove. She felt at home here, sure, but not quite in sync with it. Whether that was because she wasn't a Yank, or because of something else, that connection she'd originally felt had become tenuous at best.

The best way to combat that, though, was to get back into the town, to reaquaint with her friends and make new ones. And the only way to do that was to set up a display table in front of her shop and stand there with it, greeting those that came by and offering blank tiles for anyone interested to glaze.

It was a start.

( Permissions )

Brigid spent most of the day at her wheel, focusing on nothing more than the clay between her fingers and not the decision that faced her when the old year gave way to the new. The decision that would set the course of the rest of her life - and whether that life would be measured in decades, or centuries.

In a way, she'd wished that Brigid hadn't given her so long to dwell on the idea. The past two weeks had been nothing more than a blur of of dawns and dusks while her mind tried to work out every facet of what her life would be like if she agreed; and then what it would be like if she didn't. Would she regret accepting? Would she regret not?

It was enough to drive a woman completely mental.

Still in a semi-fugue state, Brigid shut down the wheel, closed up her clay and supplies, and locked up the studio. As she still hadn't learned how to drive, she walked herself home in her bare feet - cold didn't seem to bother her any longer - and let her feet pull energy from the earth beneath her. The comfort of that connection, the welcome feel of every footfall, had peace taking place of the fugue.

When she reached her house and found the cloak draped over the rocking chair just outside her front door, she stood stock still where she stood for a full minute before approaching it and running her fingers over the impossibly soft velvet.

Brigid knew in that touch what her answer would be.

As she donned the cloak, she bent and put both hands to the ground. "Beidh mé."

There wasn't any lightning bolt, no ground shudder, but for the first time since finding the shrine in the forest, since travelling with Brigid, she felt right.

"Beidh mé," she said again, and looked up at the stars overhead as she heard the first calls of "Happy New Year" travel on the wind from town and the party at the lodge.

Mostly for Brigid's plot resolution, but if you want to talk to Brigid, she's in a pretty good mood

(post date to sometime between Christmas and New Years)

Time was counting down and Brigid was starting to lose sleep again, but not, this time, because she was unknowingly building a shrine in her forest. This bout of sleeplessness was due to the reason behind that shrine, and the decision facing her in too few days.

How could she be expected to make this kind of a decision in less than a fortnight? Or ever, really.

Brigid thought as she walked, turning the mess around in her head without really paying attention to where she was until she looked up and realized where her feet had taken her.

Davin.

Taking it as a sign, she went to the door and knocked. If anyone could understand this dilemma, it was someone else with ties to Ireland nearly as strong as hers were. She just hoped that, after he heard, he wouldn't look at her any differently than he did now.

After a steadying breath, she knocked.

(takes place December 27)

Brigid was still a little disoriented about passing through the rocks and travelling so great a distance, but she was going to appreciate it for as long as she could - which might or might not be just days away. She still hadn't decided, even after talking with her family about it over Christmas.

It was strange, how much returning to Siren Cove had felt more like homecoming than walking through the door into her mother's kitchen. Somehow, in some way, this little town on the other side of the ocean from Ireland had become her home.

Restless and not ready to sit at her wheel yet today, she found herself wandering around the town, looking into windows, and smiled when she saw a familiar face behind a register.

She pushed open the door and beamed a smile at the man. "Happy Christmas, Spencer, if a bit late."

Brigid was getting used to waking in the woods; even waking naked in the woods. No matter where she slept, or what she'd worn to bed, four nights out of seven she'd wake in the leaves. Ironically, those were the only mornings she felt rested when she woke. Any time she opened her eyes in her bedroom, she'd feel as though she'd never slept at all.

This morning, however, something was different. She awoke just as dawn was beginning to lighten the sky, but she wasn't in the leaves and she wasn't in her bed. She was standing before a stone shrine she'd seen only once in her life and not in this country.

She could feel the iciness of the ground beneath her bare feet, but the air on her skin was warm, the light around the stone circle golden...as was the corona around the woman standing there.

"Ah, you're awake then," the woman addressed her in old Irish.

Once the woman had spoken, Brigid knew she was speaking to her namesake and she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. Kneeling or bowing didn't seem right, but neither did standing like an eejit just staring at the woman.

"I am, yes," she answered at last. "May I ask where I am?"

"Same place you were when you lay your head to sleep last night, but you've finished your work and it's time for me to explain it."

"My work?" Brigid asked, confusing pulling her brows together.

"Aye, lass. You've been building this shrine as you slept for the better part of the last two months and now that it's complete, it's time for me to explain just who you are, and why you'll need this place. Come to me, child. I have much to tell you."

Brigid went.

An hour later, or maybe several hours later, Brigid dropped down at the water's edge and stared out over the horizon, pulling heat from the rising sun, stunned to the point of silence.

Find Brigid sitting on the beach looking out over the water. She might be a little slow to respond, because she's really deep in thought at the moment, but she's open to talking to anyone.

I'm packing up Brigid, Adrian, and Michael and taking them to the wilds of Ohio for my grandmother's 100th birthday bright and early tomorrow morning.

I'll still be answering tags as they come in, but won't be tagging in to anything new until I'm back home on Tuesday. Also, tags might be slower because my parents have the slowest non-dial up internet in the known universe.

I'll still be available via Twitter/DMs/email. Such things will actually be a huge help in the "keep me sane while surrounded by family" area.

Peace out, bbs!

Brigid awoke in the woods near her house.

It wasn't the first time she'd done so, not here and not at home. Being so connected to the Earth meant that often she'd hike in the outdoors and sometimes rest herself against a tree and fall into a nap, or even full sleep.

This was, though, the first time she'd awakened at the sun's rise, naked as the day she was born, with no knowledge of how she'd gotten there.

"Right then. Somethin's more than a little off with ye, lass," she told herself even though there was no one around to hear her but the trees.

There was something else off, or maybe on was a better word for it. She felt rested, truly rested, for the first time in weeks. As she sat, then stood up and stretched, Brigid did a little self-inventory and smiled. Gone was the nagging fatigue, the fuzziness in her mind. Instead, there was a feeling of being able to take on anything that came her way.

She laughed and dashed for the water for a quick ocean swim as the sun cleared the horizon. She'd revel in the water a bit, change, then head in to the shop. Her fingers nearly itched to get to her clay, to see what it would tell her to create today.

Find Brigid either running/swimming naked near her house, or later at her shop bent over her wheel

Brigid walked down the ebb and flow of the waves, eyes on the boardwalk as she waited for Bailey.

She'd originally intended to go home and change before meeting him for dinner, but she'd, naturally, gotten hung up with her glazes and ended up with no time to get properly cleaned up and still meet him. Luckily, she knew herself well enough and had brought her clothes and what little makeup she wore with her to change at the studio.

Now she waited, the sandals she knew she'd have to wear in the restaurant in her hand, but her feet on the sand and the water kissing her ankles, she did her best to calm her nerves. Then found herself laughing that she was nervous at all. It wasn't a normal feeling for her, but Bailey seemed to bring it out in her.

And she liked the feeling.

Today was bowls, Brigid decided as she lined up four cubes of wedged clay and made sure her slip bucket was filled. She wasn't exactly low on them, but the blues had sold better than the reds and she needed to refill the stock she had in that colour. And since bowls were a mindless sort of piece, she was less likely to lose herself into the art of creation and be available to help customers.

With that in mind, she dropped the first cube onto her wheel, settled in, and set the wheel to spinning.

It was strange, Brigid thought as she walked through the quiet town, to see everything so empty. Well, not empty as such. It wasn't as if she was in a ghost town, but it seemed to her that most of the residents had taken advantage of the cruise and headed off for the sea.

She was a bit wistful about it, and had actually considered going herself, but the thought of being disconnected from the earth for so long a stretch had unsettled her to the point she knew it wasn't to be. So she'd waved Kennedy off with a promise to look after the shop in her absence and settled in to work.

She'd emerged a few days later, exhausted but with shelves filled with greenware ready to fire.

Today she was going to walk around the town a bit, visit the town center and get to know the open park area at a time it wasn't filled with magic that made hers go completely mental, and get to know the minerals, the plants, and see what sort of glazes she'd create for her newest creations.

With that in mind, she sat herself in a patch of shade and grass, let her bare feet and hands connect, and closed her eyes.

Then she listened to what the earth had to tell her.

It was the right decision, Brigid decided as she stood at her wedging table with a five lumps of clay before her. This was the part of the process that required the least amount of focus, but still needed to be done. Why not stand at the front window and look out over her new town, her new home, as she did it?

Most shopowners, she knew, would have used the window area for pieces and pots, draw the passerby in and lure them to shop, spend, transfer money from their pockets into hers. And maybe one day she would. For now, she enjoyed watching the people go by, going so far as to make up little stories in her head about what they might be doing today or where they were headed - why some moved with purpose and others meandered.

Strong arms moved the clay away from her body, heels of her hands digging into the warm weight of it, and she muttered in Gaelic as she called to the elements within, melding them together, using them to force the air pockets out to make a solid, dense mass she would craft into pots and vases, cups and bowls for the shop's stock. She was caught up, for once, on commissions, and intended to use today to get her inventory into better shape. These she would throw and fire, but leave unglazed for those that had a specific eye for the piece that would come to live within their walls. She had plenty enough already glazed for those looking to get a feel for what she could do with their selections.

Though she'd only been here a few weeks, and all of that so preoccupied with moving and settling that the town around her had almost ceased to exist for her, there was a feeling of home to this small town that she hadn't expected so far from Ireland.

OOC: There's a new pottery studio attached to KeKe's and the door is open for the curious, or the not so curious. An idea of what it looks like inside

Name: Brigid Moran
Age: 25
Ability: Witch (Druid)
NOTE: Brigid speaks with a pronounced Irish accent, and will occasionally default to Irish (Gaelic), especially when working/irked/otherwise distracted
Name note: To that end, when she says her name, it sounds like "BREE-id" but she's used to hearing "Brigid" or "Brigit" from Yanks.

Height: Brigid is tiny, barely an inch over five feet.

BACKGROUND & HISTORY:
Brigid Moran was born in the middle of a clan of six children to Fergus and Deena Moran. Deena is a direct descendent of the goddess Brigid, and passed that legacy to her children. This legacy is known to the family, but not outside it. Brigid is the youngest of six children: Liam, Colette, Anna, Mary Margaret, and Siobhan, all of whom use their druidic talents to some degree. Her father, Fergus, has no magic, but has accepted the gifts of his wife and children as natural, not uncommon in a place where the pagans and druids predate St. Patrick's by centuries. From an early age, Brigid was happiest outside, calling to the elements to craft sculptures and structures out of the very mud in their yard. During a trip to Dublin, Brigid's eye caught sight of a potter at his wheel and she stood transfixed, watching the man pull a vase from a single lump of clay. She knew then, that's what she wanted to do with her gift. Through study, both at University and apprenticing at a West County artist's colony, Brigid mastered wheel, coil and slab, making her own clays and glazes to create pieces no one had ever seen before. The fact that her commissioned works brought happiness, and in some cases healing, to their recipients hadn't ever been connected to the artist. Recently, however, a patron came to her with pointed questions about pieces she'd bought and given as gifts, had worked "miraculous" changes. At this point, Brigid started to think seriously about leaving Ireland and sent her portfolio to galleries in England and America. When the offer came from Siren Cove, she jumped at the chance. Her father might accept the legacy his children were gifted with as a matter of course, but others, she knew, could just as easily try to exploit it. That, coupled with word from her sister that questions are being asked about a miscreant's death in Dublin five years ago, settle the matter.

Brigid hasn't been in Siren Cove long, just a matter of weeks, and it still getting settled in town, as well as among the Yanks, but she's settling in well and enjoying her new life.

PERSONALITY:
Brigid usually exudes an air of calm - its very hard to ruffle her feathers. Hours at a potters wheel have taught her patience and persistence so she doesn't give up easily. That said, she's also very Irish and her temper, once sparked, can have her throwing crockery with the best of them (and she has a store of abandoned pieces for just that purpose.) She doesn't mind her own company, but won't say no to a night at the pub, tossing back whiskey and dancing a reel or two. She's close to her family and talks to them often, especially now that they're so far away. The only way to pull out her fierce side, or her anger, is to threaten her, her family, or someone she considers family. Negative reviews of her work roll off her back like water off a duck's feathers, but attack someone close to her and she'll come out with claws unsheathed.

It's not uncommon to see her walking around barefoot and/or with clay stuck somewhere, on her clothes, face or hair, and she almost always has a travel cup of coffee in her hand. She takes caffeine addiction to a whole new level. Her main quirk is that she always has earphones in when she works - not for the music she listens to, but to disguise the Gaelic she speaks to the clay as singing. She loves to laugh, to make others happy, and can toss off sarcasm like she tosses pots on the wheel but doesn't enjoy confrontations or being questioned.

OPINION OF THE RIVALRY:
Brigid will be coming in to Siren's Cove as a complete outsider and unaware of the rivalry. I can't see her taking a side, but being Irish, she'll understand the reasons behind the woman's actions. Her love for her own family will leave her puzzled over how the Thornton's could have been so callous to their son in denying him the love he'd found for such stupid reasons as status or money. I would call her neutral on the feud and so long as it doesn't affect her, she'll stay that way.

LIFESTYLE:
Brigid isn't what anyone would call rich, but she's comfortable living off of what she makes from her pottery. As long as she has clay, a kiln, and power to run her wheel, she's happy. She lives a spartan existence - Irish frugality is in her genetics - and sticks to the basics when it comes to her living space. It's a place to sleep and eat and store clothing. She's happiest at her wheel, but also finds contentment with a book and tea on a cold winter's night, or even a loud, raucous pub when the opportunity presents itself. Brigid isn't one for long term love affairs, but has had several casual relationships over the years with both men and women. Long-term love risks the secret of her heritage and expressing love and pleasure with others is too enjoyable to tie it to just one person.

In her biggest dichotomy, Brigid is both pagan and Catholic. She goes to mass, lights candles, and has a rosary; at the same time, she'll go to stone circles and strip to pray to her gods and goddesses. If anyone points out the blaring differences, she just shrugs and tells them it works for her.

POWERS & ABILITIES:
Descended from the ancient Druids, Brigid pulls her magic from the earth and feels most comfortable when she's connected to it. Her magic isn't flashy; she can't control the weather or cause an avalanche or start a fire with her fingers, but she can call to wind, water and earth as needed. She has no control over fire at all - that gift was given to her brother, a glass blower. Her wind magic only manifests when she's angry - blowing her hair and skirts around if she's ticked, or a full on gale if she's livid. She can pull water from the air, or from a standing source. Her earth magic is more subtle, she can pull shapes from the ground or move rocks to form a stone dance, or in a pinch, help a struggling plant grow by shifting the earth around it. She doesn't have to be connected to the earth physically for the magic to work, but it's stronger if she is, thus, her penchant for going barefoot. Even though her magic has always been a very quiet part of her, she is still a descendent of Brigid herself, and has the powers of a goddess within her. She's only once had to call upon that strength, in a Dublin alley years ago, but she doesn't talk about it and because of that incident, she's very careful not to go near that power.

The pictures were saveable, so I'm going to have to link to it.

Brigid lives in a little cottage on a wooded lakeshore near town. We'll pretend its off by itself and not part of a resort community.

Her studio:

Some of her work:

This is Brigid. Please leave a message. I'll be sure t'reply when m'hands aren't covered in clay. Sláinte.

In the future:

Specific plots you'd like to see between your character and Brigid.

Stating what relationship you'd like your character to have with Brigid (eg. friends, enemies, romantic, colleagues).

Generally asking questions about Brigid that may be relevant to a current/future plot.

How you might have met the newcomer:

She's very friendly, used to living in a small arts community in Ireland, and probably smiles and says hello to everyone she passes on the street

Anyone involved in the renovations at the art studio - Brigid leased the space beside KeKe's and they've widened it to accomodate her studio and built a brick kiln in the back

She loves to walk in the woods, so she could have met any nature lovers out on hikes - she'd be memorable because unless there is snow/ice on the ground, she's most likely barefoot.