Méabh Orla O'Brien

I'm bored. Not just a little bit. 'Kill me now' bored. Is it time to quit before the future hits? Technology whilst to be recognised as useful has some major drawbacks. Children had to be surgically removed from electronic devices to eat or sleep. Playgrounds seemed to rust from lack of use, kids imaginations too. Teenagers seemed to have become recluses. The teenagers of the 1980's, it seemed like a right of passage to get into a club and served at the bar before their 16th birthday. It used to be a great sport spotting them, then taking bets on which ones would get busted and kicked out before the end of the night. Social media has made the world smaller but unrest seems to be contagious. Uprisings and civil wars, sabre rattling between countries. When did it all go wrong? I'm not normally so melancholy, but I think back to the New Orleans of the 1920s. The hardships of the first world war done and behind us. NOLa became a haven for fun. Different cultures mixed easily, artists, writers musicians flocked to the place. The place was a creative and vibrant place to live. People knew how to have fun. Yeah we had Prohibition. But we had fun flouting that. If you knew where to go you could get a drink at any time of the day. I frequently did. Not as good as a Bushmills, but not bad either. And the music, oh the music. My Irish heart loved the rise of jazz. I learned to play the clarinet, I had a talent for most instruments apart from the piano. I earned good money playing in various jazz bands. My love was still Irish ballads and folky stuff with my violin but a girl's got to be able to afford to live. There was a criminal underbelly just like every other major US city. But mostly we knew who the 'bad guys' were. They carried guns, and wore sharply tailored suits. Now we have kids carrying guns and shooting up schools. You tell me which is worse? 'Cause I really don't know. Perhaps I should go back to the old country again. Reconnect with my roots. I'd always had a sixth sense for trouble, I'd been in Ireland in 1911 just before the frustrations with the British resulted in the home rule crisis, as they politely called it. I did a flit back to America. I am an O'Brien. A proud daughter of Munster. I have traced my bloodline back into the 1500's. I am a direct descendant of two Munster Overlords (basically Royalty). On my father's side, The Rock of Cashel was our family's seat of power. My one desire is to find our family's relics of power, lost or more likely stolen in the mists of time. But time is one thing I have in abundance, determination another. I had a lead just before the second world war, but that turned to nothing. With my nose twitching, I just got out of Poland before the German invasion. I was in England to hear Churchill's 'this country is at war with Germany' speach on the radio. I hightailed it to Liverpool and back to the USA. I, like others, was stunned when the news came through that the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbour on 7th December 1941. A small company I'd invested in switched to producing aircraft parts for the US government. I'm not ashamed to admit the company thrived. The company continued with aircraft parts and boomed as mass air travel became atainable. I get nice fat deposits into my account every year. I worked during the war. My work is still classified technically, even though it's now known about seemingly around the world today. Heck they've made movies about the UK side of the operation. I enjoyed the work, it challenged even my brain. Like a game of chess against a grand master, but played on multiple boards at once. I was the only one happy and willing to work night shifts, the brass loved me for it. With two M.P.'s just outside my office door for company, the only other time I saw anyone was if I picked up the phone and said 'hatchling'. Then I would briefly see someone, usually a young naval lieutenant, would dash in take my work with a nod and disappear again. I developed a bit of a thing for men in uniform during that time, that's still with me. In particular US Navy 'whites'. Then with the dropping of two atomic weapons, the Japanese surrendered and the war was over. I swore I'd never get directly involved with war again. After the Vietnam war I started giving ten percent of my share dividends to a veteran's charity. My investments have served me well. Despite what I think about social media, I don't dislike technology. I invested early in Microsoft and Apple Mackintosh. Yeah how many of you remember the 'Mackintosh' bit. I have a thing for medical technology too. I like to help humans live longer. I loved London. Carnaby Steet in the late sixties was just as eccentric as NOLa. As Samuel Johnson said, 'when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life." Again with a nose for trouble and a sense of self preservation I left London in the 1970's. Having an Irish accent had immediately aroused suspicions from people. A damn shame, the music scene was getting interesting. I hit Chicago, with its strong Irish roots I was welcomed. I could earn cash easily busking with my violin and playing Irish ballads and folk tunes. Sentimental lot we Irish are. I was grateful to The Pogues when they hit the big time and gave me some 'modern' material. The British goth, punk and new wave bands invaded America, soon after so I didn't miss London quite as much. My first names are Méabh Orla. Méabh is the name of a legendary queen of Connacht, known for her beauty, strength, and fierce warrior spirit. It also means intoxicating. It's pronounced Mayv. Orla means golden princess. My mother was a direct descendant of the Fitzgerald's another Munster clan of an overlord. The 'Orla' part of my name definitely suits me, my hair is gold blonde, like manuka honey. From time to time I have to anglicise my name or adopt my mother's surname to hide the fact that although I look like a girl in her late teens, I am infact 155 years old, and I am a vampire. I was born in Ireland in 1850, and tranformed a month before my 20th birthday in 1870. If I ever meet the bar-steward who did this to me I will slice his head off and burn him to ashes. Don't get me wrong I do like, correction I love this life. But he left me for dead in an Irish peat bog. For five days I burned in that bog as I transitioned. When I woke I knew nothing but the burning in my throat that got worse until I fed. I was useless at the start, I didn't know how to hunt. I didn't know I could feed without killing. At the beginning I couldn't even remember my name or where I had lived. The details of my early life came back slowly over a month. But they were like trying to hold smoke for a long time, eventually I had gathered the smoke together and remembered everything. It hurts to this day when, under the cover of darkness, I made my way home to find a house still in mourning. I listened to the whispers of neighbours and pieced things together. Not only did my family lose me, but my mother in her grief jumped from a cliff and killed herself. No chance of walking in my door and saying "papa I'm home." He needed to mourn us both. One thing I had learned, not only was I fast but I could jump, and move like a breeze. I snuck into my childhood home through an upstairs window that was ajar. I changed my clothes, for my dungarees and a plaid shirt. My hair I plaited and hid under an old cloth cap of my grandpa's. I took a top coat of grandpa's too. Would papa notice if I took my violin. I couldn't leave it behind. I'm forever grateful I did, all my wealth now started from that fiddle. I made my way to Dublin, I must have kissed the Blarney stone during my transition. I easily negotiated travel to America in return for cooking and keeping the crew entertained with my violin. I binged the night before we sailed. The crossing would be around forty days, depending on the weather. I could hide the fact I didn't eat human food by always saying I would eat once I'd fed the crew and cleaned up. The ship had far less rats than we embarked with, than we had when we arrived in Galveston, Texas. Strong winds and abnormal seas had pushed us off course, futher south of our intended port of New Orleans.. The captain planned to restock and the head for New Orleans. I had enough of the ship by then. I would make my own way. My nose for trouble was twitching the first night in Galveston. It was definitely not the place to hang around for too long. I was reasonably sustained from rats. I decided not to stick around and headed north east away from Texas. I'm ashamed to admit I killed a lone cowboy whilst he slept by a camp fire. I stole his clothes, his hat and his guns, then buried him. I took his horse too. I told myself I could feed from it. But I never did, I sold it instead. I didn't have a plan to begin with, I just moved continuously North until my twitching nose settled. I kept my ears open when in more civilised areas. I didn't know what I wanted to hear until I heard it. Talk of gold in Alaska. I took off, that's what I needed a way of earning money quick. The cold wouldn't bother me. I didn't need sleep and I've never been afraid of hard work. I bought a claim with the money from the horse. It wasn't huge but in three months I'd made a small fortune for the times. It was then I met John, who became my dearest friend. I smelled him before I saw him, he'd approached my little camp from upwind of me. Something he later told me he'd done deliberately. For appearances I'd pulled out my rifle and had it trained on the spot I expected him to emerge from. He lifted his hat slightly with a slight bow and started to chuckle at me. "Now lassie we both know that's not much use against me." I gave him a warning growl which stopped his approach. He was the best looking man I'd seen for a long time. Tall, easily six feet tall. The most chiseled square jaw I have ever seen, then or since. His eyes smoldered with s*x appeal, with a glint of mischief. "What do you want?" I growled still keeping my rifle trained on him. It may not kill him but it might give me a headstart if I needed to run. He gestured to my camp fire, "may I sit?" I flicked my gun barrel as a response. My nose wasn't twitching but I was on guard. He conjoured a mug from somewhere and helped himself to my coffee pot. He did have the good grace to fill my mug. With a grin that could melt the coldest heart, he pulled out a hip flask and poured some into his coffee. He waggled the flask at me, "want yours waking up?" I nod, still assessing him. He gaves me another grin, "don't tell my country men, I prefer Bushmills whiskey to anything else." I took a sip, damn that's good. It was my introduction to Bushmills and despite trying a few other things purporting to be whiskey, nothing came close to matching it. I repeated myself, lowering my gun barrel a little, "what do you want?" He looked at me and said, "your claim!" I snapped the rifle back on him. He laughed at me. "Not like that lassie." He went on to explain a mining company wanted his claim but needed mine to give them access and mine my claim too. They knew how much gold I'd weighed in and were prepared to pay the equivalent of one and a half times the value. So without my claim his was worthless. "I want double!" What he didn't know I had another stash that I was literally sitting on. It was hidden in the blanket roll I was sat on. He laughed, "they'll go for that." Damn maybe I should have asked for more. As though reading my mind, "that was their maximum. They would have walked away if you wanted more." We left Alaska together spending the next six months travelling together. We didn't make plans, we'd just go where the wind sent us. John was horrified that my maker had left me to transition all alone, even more when I told him how long it took. "Masochist arse," he wanted you to suffer. With the correct amount of venom it's two to three days maximum." As we travelled he trained me not only as a hunter, but the art of feeding without killing. He taught me to balance human blood with animal blood which stopped me having red eyes. We could hide in plain sight. He taught me the rules of discretion that were expected of us and the cautioned on the perils of breaking the rules. He taught me to fight. Not just hand to hand combat, but weapons too. I own three authentic samurai swords. Each kept in bank vaults, one in Chicago, one in London and one in Dublin. Every ten years cheques get sent to renew each vault. I am proficient with a long bow and a cross bow. My plans for my revenge on my maker involve a sword. We reached Philadelphia in Pennsylvania, John decided he wanted to try something different and set himself up in business providing legal services, finance and forged documents for our kind. "He counselled me, "it won't be long before we can not maintain our secrets without documents." He tried to get me to stay and join him, it was his plan not mine. In all our time travelling together, apart from occasionally holding my hand for appearances, he never once tried anything more. It was one night in Philadelphia that I realised why. He set eyes on a blonde haired male vampire and gave a low growl. It wasn't threatening, more like 'I want you!' Within two weeks I felt surplus to requirements, and moved on. With John's help, I have mastered the art of disappearing as one person and reappearing as another to inherit from the previous person. He takes care of my regular payments for bank vaults and property taxes, and investments. We give each other tips on anything with potential to make good money. My nose serves us well. Early in the 1900's he was considering investing in a mercantile marine company for their new joint venture with a British company. I convinced him not to, damn good job too. The ship sank on it's maiden voyage across the Atlantic on the 14th April 1912. We were actually waiting in New York for her arrival, when the news broke that the unsinkable had sunk. My nose had saved us again. It's early July 2005 and I'm back in New Orleans, sitting amongst the tombs of Lafyette Cemetery. It's still vibrant and eccentric but it's missing the 'naughtiness' of the 1920's. Sat here I realise not only am I bored, but I'm lonely too. I want a mate of my own kind, a man who'd rather be inside me than anywhere else. I tried s*x with humans twice. Before it got very far I kicked them out. I learned to satisfy me needs but I still yearned for a 'proper' partner. My nose was twitching again time to move on again. I decided to catch up with John and Beau in Philadelphia. They were so happy together still, it was almost unbearable. They couldn't help touching each other, a hand on a knee, an arm. Always needing to have a contact. I was devastated when the floods hit New Orleans. Whilst I mourned the city I realised I had no people to mourn. I'd always stayed in big cities where it's easy not to be noticed. Maybe it was time to do something different. I'd never found a hint of my maker in cities, in a flash of inspiration I realised that I should alter my lifestyle. He had found me in a more remote, less populus area of Ireland. Maybe he did that here too. I had always moved constantly, what if I went somewhere smaller and stayed put for a while, he might cross my path.