milliways_bar | (no subject)

"Yeah. Don't have any brothers or sisters."

"We're twins, Murohy and me." Except the eight year difference in the bar, but he couldn't wrap his head around that and certainly couldn't expect anyone else to grasp it either.

"Have a sister too. Adopted." He nodded thinking of Sara, thinking Sara better be sleeping at this very moment.

"Ah, two irish boys...men. What's the word I'm thinking of.....trouble. Sisters are good."

"She's the best." Connor nods. He remembered how he'd been so leery of her in the beginning. He'd very nearly hated her. Had certainly been jealous of her relationship with his brother. Didn't take him long to realise how wonderful she really was.

"Well, I'm sure she keeps the two of you balanced. Sisters do that. I may not have a sister, but I have a lot of cousins that are like sisters."

"Sister glue, that's what she calls herself." Connor smiles. "Nothing else quite like it."

"Yeah."

I smile subtly.

Connor returns the smile. Slow. Subtle.

He's never been good at small talk. Especially with a beautiful woman. He circles one wrist with the other hand.

"Not really one for conventional conversation but it's better than silence right. So, where you from?"

"Ireland." He names the town, but it's not been determined yet exactly where the boys are from, so it's all handwavey for now.

"Lived in Boston since I was a teen, though."

"Well, I figured that by the accent. I'm good with accents."

I smile once again, must be in a good mood.

"I know a lot of Irish Catholics in Boston, not to stereotype or anything. Your tattoo on the neck. Anyways, ever since I moved to New York, I spend weekends there."

The tattoo on his neck. The Virgin Mary, if Sunday school memory serves me right...or just common sense.

He reaches up to rub his neck where the tattoo is.

"Guilty." He smiled a little smile.

[OOC: Hate to beg slowtime again, but I really must sleep. I'm enjoying this thread!]

"I like it. I've got three myself."

I turn over my left arm scrolled across is "For the Unforgiven." written is small script.

I put down one sholder strap of my shirt to reveal another small tattoo, on my right shoulder, of my grandmother's blue eyes, with the word "Inspiration." written below.

And a rose on my ankle which is purely decoration. My first tattoo, so it was more to piss my mom off than to have meaning.

"You've got any others beside those two?"

(ooc: no problem! I'm enjoying it as well.)

"Those are the only ones I can show you." Connor answers with a wink.

I smirk.

"Coarse they are."

"What? I can't give away all my secrets, can I? Got to keep you guessing at least a little."

"True, but trust me, in no way have I given away all my secrets. Too many to count."

I smirk.

"Of course." Connor grins.

He hasn't felt this comfortable talking to anyone who wasn't Murphy or Sara for a very long time.

"I'll tell you one of my secrets, if I get one from you. Fair deal, then? One secret can't hurt. I swear I won't tell anyone, even if they were to torture me, as weird as that sounds."

"Have you been tortured for information before?" Connor asks, with an arch of a brow.

"No. I carry around pepper spray, I took a women's defense coarse, and there's always just dirty fighting. I've found guys have a certain sore spot that can easily be kicked. The one guy that tried to mug me was on the floor when I left. Not that I'm saying I couldn't ever be hurt or tortured, but I take precautions not to put myself in that situation."

Sure, I'm...nice sometimes, but if you mess with me, I'll fuck you up.

"Maybe that wasn't a good example. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want."

Connor nods appreciatively. "Hell of a woman. Ma would approve." He grins.

"Ma. She taught us, Murphy and me, the languages side by side from the day we were born. She taught us the family prayer and how to hold a gun as soon as we had the motor control to grip with purpose. I fired my first shot when Iw as three. Knocked me on my arse, it did. I made my first kill when Iw as five. A rabbit, but still. I killed a man when I was fifteen. Self defense, it was. That's my secret."

"Well, thank you. Obviously you're a hell of a man as well."

I smile subtly.

"I ran away from home. I used to be a country girl, now a city girl. My mother was never really there for me, so after my grandmother (on my father's side) died, I ran to New York. I was eighteen, the whole town hated me 'cause I was different, and I couldn't wait any longer. Now, I'm fine. And that's my secret."

Of course his real secret was that he was a Saint, who answered a calling. To kill. Shamelessly and without mercy. He wouldn't tell her that.

"They cheated themselves out of a wonderful woman. But then you know that. And you are who you are today, partly because of it." Connor nods sagely.

"Am I blushing yet?"

I smile. The flattery was definetly getting to me.