southernisms: (Siobhan)
Due to bad weather in New York, we were forced to land in Paragon City, instead. The largest city in America (apparently Paragon City and New York constantly fought for that title), we would be spending the night here at the airline’s expense, then flown down to New York the next day. Having felt that merely arriving in America was enough, I chose to cancel the rest of the flight, deciding that I’d settle here instead. Here was where I would make my initial start, and regardless of wherever I ended up, it would be this place -- in the city they nicknamed the Birthplace of Tomorrow -- that I would begin my own tomorrows.

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southernisms: (Siobhan)
Typically, it takes a monumental event to make a person see the larger picture, and for me, that cataclysmic event was the invasion of Earth by aliens. When I learned of the news over radio broadcasts, at first I thought it was just some stupid BBC show designed to scare people – hadn’t the Americans done the same thing with a show back in the 30s? It wasn’t until we were all addressed by a general from the Royal Army to apprise us of the situation that I realised that the greatest threat to Northern Ireland's sovereignty was not the English. No one in the United Kingdom or Ireland was safe from the devastation, and if this new enemy succeeded, Ireland would never be unified...mainly because there would be nothing left to unify her.

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southernisms: (Siobhan)
Bounty hunter Siobhán McScatha reflects on the turn of events in her life: from IRA assassin to prisoner rotting in an English jail to soldier fighting against the Rikti invasion and finally to Paragon City adventurer.




The “Black Witch of Belfast” is what they called me, though how it was said differed between friend and foe. Sympathisers to The Cause spoke the name reverently, enemies like a curse, and both with some fear and awe. Either way was perfectly fine as far as I was concerned – I was a modern legend with the proper accompanying rhetoric, laudatory mentions, and even a few pub songs composed about me. Old wives and other folksy types claimed I am Scáthach Buanand herself, mentor of the champion Cú Chulainn, stepping out of the mists of time and using her shadowy arts to drive the invaders from the Blessed Isle once and for all. But Celtic storytelling has always embellished even the simplest things with a heavy hand, where even a trip to the toilet becomes a grand epic saga. As usual, the truth of it is not nearly so fantastic.

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February 2017

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