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 Posted: Fri Mar 05, 2010 7:13 pm
Poor old Johnny Ray
Sounded sad upon the radio
He moved a million hearts in mono
Our mothers used to sing along--who'd blame them?
You're grown, so grown, now I must say more than ever
Come on, Eileen!
Toora loora, toora loo rye aye,
And we can sing just like our fathers
My name is Eileen McAllister and welcome to my world.
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Posted: Sun Mar 14, 2010 1:15 pm
Navigational Chart
I My Name is Eileen McAllister, and Welcome to My World
II Navigational Chart
III All About Eileen
IV Eileen's Adventures
V Eileen's World
VI Eileen's Story
VII--XV Reserved
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Posted: Sun Mar 14, 2010 1:26 pm
 General Information:
Name: Eileen McAllister
Aliases: Eileen
Gender: Female
Quote: "I joined the army as a conscientious objector." "A consci--who?" "I'm a pacifist." --Red vs. Blue: The Blood Gulch Chronicles, Season 2, Episode 20: Everything Old is New Again
Likes: natural settings, fixing things, tinkering
Dislikes: war, weapons, "war machines"
About: Eileen was born and raised in a peaceful family on an island. After her fiance spearheaded a revolution using weapons she unknowingly designed, Eileen left, vowing to never again participate in war.
Relationships:
Parents: ??? x ???
Siblings: None
Mate: None
Offspring: None
Friends: Matt
OOC Information:
Status: Closed
Posts in: light sky blue
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Posted: Sun Mar 14, 2010 1:27 pm
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Posted: Sun Mar 14, 2010 1:29 pm
Eileen's World
Relations
Friends
Enemies
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Posted: Sun Mar 14, 2010 1:30 pm
Eileen's Story
I came to the Lucky Noodle because I thought it might be safe. I thought it would be peaceful and quiet, and I could do what I’ve always tried to do: live my life in peace without worry, without having to watch people’s lives destroyed, be allowed to build, to design, to dream. I was wrong. As I write this, I am sitting at my desk. Less than fifteen feet below my feet a killer is enjoying a life without prosecution, without care, without punishment for the lives taken. No one is making her pay for it. No one is making any of the murderers here pay for the lives they’ve destroyed forever. I am drenched in the filth of murder and stench of cruelty.
I was raised right. I was always taught that war was wrong, that it was a crime against society and every ideal that sentient races hold dear. I always knew this. I knew some people didn’t, that they had not been raised with the same morals that everyone else held dear. But they were foreigners; they didn’t live here. How wrong I was. So wrong…
When I was a young woman, I met Dylan. He was sweet, he was handsome, and he seemed kind. The way he held my hand, the way he lit my world on fire when he touched his tender lips to mine. We’d gone to the same schools since we were children, and even though he was raised in the other side of town, I’d always thought of him as a neighbor. His parents, though…they were…they weren’t right. They were rebellious, criminals, in and out of jail. The way Dylan acted, though, I thought he was better than them. I thought he wouldn’t be like them. I thought we could be friends forever, and when we were going out, I thought I had found the man I wanted to marry.
Dylan liked to hunt. I didn’t approve of hunting, personally. I never had. I don’t like ending other creature’s lives. But he had good arguments: We’re foxes. We’re meant to hunt. Everyone hunts. There’s nothing wrong with it. Eileen, you’re really clever with things, always fixing them, always changing them. They said girls couldn’t be engineers, but you’re the best! I don’t want to disturb the tranquility of the forest. I want to make it quick…I don’t think it’s best for the animals to put them under stress if I’m only going to shoot one deer and I want to do it fast… That’s how he convinced me to modify his gun. I made it quieter. I made it more efficient, watched him shoot and devised a better stance so he could do it more efficiently. He wanted me to help his friends with their guns, so they could hunt the same way he did.
I was so naïve, I was so foolish! I agreed. I taught him how to modify the guns. I couldn’t help it—I loved him. And I thought he loved me back. That’s what made it worse. Within weeks, everyone knew about the modifications and had them fitted to their rifles. Not everyone we knew—just everyone he knew. And I should have known. I should have known by the way he acted that the people he knew were just like him—just like his parents. Dylan was the head of a rebellion. And in the summer, after kissing me good-bye the morning after he proposed to me, it started. Our legislators were shot on the steps of our capitol. That was just the beginning. Within weeks, the island was in chaos. The government was in shambles, martial law had been declared, and the Freedom-Bringers were wreaking havoc. Looting, murder, rape—and they called my guns Eileen’s Kiss. I couldn’t stand it. I had to leave.
It wasn’t easy, and even saying it like that is an understatement. No one could leave, and my name itself was suspicious. Just when I thought I could leave, Dylan showed up. He grabbed my hands, pleaded with me to stay. He told me I couldn’t leave. That he loved me. That he wanted to marry me in a state that was free, free from oppression, one that listened to the people rather than just the money. He as good as said, You may have money, and I may want to kill everyone like you, but I think you’re better than that. I think you’re trash like us.
I kicked him, and as I flew away, leaving my belongings behind, he cursed me. I threw the ring he had given me back and flew as fast as I could. But I can’t forget that. I can’t forget how he would have treated me. Like trash. Like a slave.
And now I’m here. The House of Mist…a sprawling “house”—if you can call a three-story dwelling with its grand rooms a house—in the middle of a vast meadow, oak-dotted hills in the distance, sitting on a wide, calm river, a large hill on the other side with grandly forested slopes, a valley beyond full of trees and streams, an island in the middle of the river, so perfect, so tranquil, just a day’s sail from the sea…I thought it would be heaven. But here I find warmongers and war machines. These Spartans are nothing but the same scum I left behind me when I came here—and their AIs are my guns with faces, bloodthirsty faces, ones with no regard for life…
I’ll stay here, but only to spite the killers downstairs.
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Posted: Sun Mar 14, 2010 1:31 pm
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Posted: Sun Mar 14, 2010 1:33 pm
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Posted: Sun Mar 14, 2010 1:34 pm
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Posted: Sun Mar 14, 2010 1:53 pm
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Posted: Tue Mar 16, 2010 7:47 am
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Posted: Tue Mar 16, 2010 7:50 am
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Posted: Sun Mar 21, 2010 10:27 pm
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Posted: Sun Mar 21, 2010 10:29 pm
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Posted: Sun Mar 21, 2010 10:31 pm
Plot Offers
Aps’s Solvas
Bouncy's Ewan
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