O'BRIAN, mary jane

[Mary Jane O'Brian]

I go by (adra), and my time zone is (cst). I found this site by (am jack's wife!). You can contact me (cest.la.mort @aim).

`time to figure, time to sin
your time is done when you begin*

NAME:

Mary Jane O'Brian
[Born Aoife Maire Ó Briain]
Also known as Molly Allgood [Maire O'Neill], Lucy Gault

AGE:

Appears 26 [Cuz yo she "died" at 26 and became a razzle dazzle demon]; Actually 595
[Born February 11, 1445]

GENDER:

Female

SEXUALITY:

Pansexual, male preference

SPECIES:

Demon

NATIONALITY:

Irish

OCCUPATION:

Properly, she is an art 'dealer'. She acquires pieces of art for people for a hefty price. She has also been known to dabble in thievery while she's at it. Of course, of art - not anything unworthy of her skills.
Pro-Domme. Yes, a professional dominatrix. Moonlighting.

`live for suffer, live for revenge
know your life comes to an end*

APPEARANCE:

Mary Jane is 5'6", taller when she was born than the average woman of the day, but certainly not in modern times. Now she's average. Though special circumstances arose from that, being more well off than others she grew around. She is slim and muscled, though not overly so as to give the general look of being a body builder or anything close. She does take care of herself, though have you ever seen a rotund Demon? Her hair is something of a wildcard, of course. Most times she can be found with blonde hair, though she has been known to dabble in red and brown as a colour scheme. Her eyes are a pale crystalline blue, though they do shift between blue and silverish depending on her mood. And if she's particularly wrathful, they do tend to take on a darker blue. She prefers the blonde as she feels it better fits her colouring. As it comes to dressing, she is generally dressed most impeccably. She doesn't often believe in dressing poorly though if she's at home, it's pajama pants and a tshirt all the way. Outdoors, especially when dealing with business, it's 100% impress all the time. Her colour schemes generally stay to lighter colours for during the day; greys, creams, pinks, blues, purples. Later in the day they're bolder darker colours; greens, blues, reds, blacks and darker greys. For her moonlighting job, she prefers leather and lots of it; sticking generally to blacks, reds, purples. She has a desire for the finer things in clothing, and won't let anyone see her slumming it, call it leftovers from her very young childhood.

CELEB CLAIM:

Natalie Dormer

`taste the blood, taste your fate
swallow your pride with your hate*

PERSONALITY:

Ahh, how to describe little Aoife. As a child she was full of hopes and dreams as every child was. She was kind to all, but most especially to her brother. When you're poor, what other choices do you have? Of course it began to turn a corner when their family turned a corner and acquired wealth and title. Not that she was ever unkind at that point, she was just more driven. She had always been, and remains to this day, driven to get what she wanted. As a child she knew that her life wouldn't always be in the dirt, growing things. She wanted more, not a crown of course, just more. She didn't want to be looked at in the street as if she was a second class citizen. Mary Jane has a fire deep in her soul that has burned since she was a child. She is now and always has been dangerously protective of her family, her blood, and her pets. The years have made her crueler than she had been in the past, but somewhere deep inside there is a softness that is drowning under all the black she has heaped on the soul her former master saddled her with. She is a practiced liar, manipulator, and has been known on more than one occasion to use sex to get what she wants. Of course now, she makes deals for souls. But there is always more than the prospect of a soul in it for her, even if it's just a diamond necklace or a car. The one thing she is protective of now is the son Riordan that she had with her former pet Ian. Ian who has never been far from her thoughts since he escaped her. She has been known to kill without hesitation, and even enjoys abusing people and killing. It stopped bothering her long ago as what little soul she has left is so tarnished that it's hardly noticeable.

LIKES:

① Kittens.
② Freshly fallen snow.
③ The feeling of a good man, or woman, under her.
④ The kill, yes, the kill.
⑤ Chocolate.
⑥ Her son, though she'll never admit it.
⑦ Owning a soul, or rather getting one and selling it off.
⑧ Anything by Edgar Allan Poe, Dylan Thomas, or Bram Stoker.
⑨ Fast cars.
⑩ Coffee.
⑪ Christian Louboutin shoes

DISLIKES:

① Cellphones, yes, she has one in her business she needs one, but she hates them.
② Facebook/twitter/any of those
③ Deep water, imagine that for loving watching the ocean she hates deep water. Maybe because she can't swim. Imagine that! few hundred years old and she still can't swim.
④ Losing. Period, she hates losing.
⑤ Dogs, they're cute when they're puppies but when they're adults they're a frightful mess. Sure, she has a hell hound or two, but it's not as if they're hers. Call them a loan.
⑥ Ian Zephyr, she hates him, she loves him, he's the one thing she hasn't let go in recent decades. He is her double edged sword.
⑦ Twilight, or anything related to it. No, she didn't take the writers soul, but she knows the demon who did and God but she wished she'd stopped good old Frank ahead of time before the world had been cursed with that abomination!
⑧ Most modern music.
⑨ Angels, they're an obnoxious bunch, the lot of them. With all their self righteous hullabaloo.
⑩ Fifty Shades of Mommy-Porn. Countless people read that carb

SECRETS:

① She has been a mother previously. Before she 'sold her soul', Mary Jane was the mother to two beautiful twin girls. However, after the death of their father and the twins, she vowed to never let herself get close again to someone and chose since never to let anyone know she ever had children. Even her son with Ian Zephyr has no idea that he is her son. She has raised him to think that he is her ward. While she loves Riordan, she tries her best not to let herself get attached to him, so much so that her heart beats for him.
② She deals in souls, she pedals what people want. Their one desire. Think of her as a crossroads demon, in sex kitten heels. Amongst her prized possessions are none other than Thomas Moore, Oscar Wilde, WB Yeats, Bram Stoker, James Joyce, George Bernard Shaw, down to her most favourite, Dylan Thomas. Yes, while some like her specialize in giving 'the dream' to singers, even fiddle players, Mary Jane's has always been writers.

FEARS:

① Losing Riordan is top of her list, though even she doesn't realize the depths. Losing her powers, face it five hundred years of darkness taints a soul and while hers isn't swimming in black, it's not pure - but it doesn't mean she can't love.
② Falling in love again. After loosing Colin, she doesn't have it in her to fall in love.
③ Deep inside she fears that the only man she's been able to love since her husband died, is Ian, it's part of why she hasn't gone searching for him despite the fact she knows without a fact he belongs to her.

DREAMS:

① To one day see her twin brother Ciaran again, as well as her twin girls Caoimhe and Niamh.
② To be free of being a Demoness. While at times she loves it, some tiny part of her would love to be free of it and die, just die and be back with her family.

STRENGTHS:

① Chocolate, don't ask why it's a strength, other than it tends to boost her in the moments she feels weakest.
② Ian.
③ Her sense of duty, and her determination.
④ Her children, granted two are dead.
⑤ Her will to live, period. No one makes it as long as she has without having a strong will.
⑥ Her business sense.

WEAKNESSES:

① Her children, past and present.
② Ian.
③ Christian Louboutin shoes. Period.
④ Leather and lace.
⑤ Anything vintage and classy.
⑥ Chocolate.

`your last breath, your last stance
the last of all in your command*

HISTORY:

Ahh, what life could someone have when you were born in the worst times possible? It wasn't as if the early 1400's had been kind to anyone who didn't have enough money to make it. And with seven children, Niall and Maeve Ó Briain were up the proverbial creek without a paddle and a cent to their names. What they did have was love, and plenty of it. Wasn't that all people needed to survive? They certainly thought so. Maeve the daughter of a wealthy landowner in Ireland had married well below her station, to her downfall. But love was what tested the bonds of time, and that was all that had mattered to the fiery souled blonde when she had first seen Niall. She hadn't cared he was naught more than a sheep farmer, and that he had very little to his name. She didn't care that her father had threatened her, had threatened to disown her.

They had run away, careless of what would happen to their lives, and had lived nearly 5 years happily before graced with the first set of twins in Darragh and Mairéad. Orlaith had come a mere four years later followed by the second set of twins in Ciaran and Aiofe [Mary Jane] another three years after that. Already the family was under strain, five mouths to feed, and it was getting harder. Though things didn't ease for the family as Caitlín came a mere year and a half after Mary Jane and her twin brother, and the youngest Tierney two years after that.

Still they tried their best, to the point Maeve had all but sold herself to a local landowner, not in body, but to the man's wife as a maid, and brought Aiofe, Ciaran, Mairéad, and Orlaith along so that they could work as well in the household, anything to help take off the strain of money in the household. Sheep and the small amount of farming they did helped provide money, but Niall wasn't happy that the majority of his family was all but in servitude to the Lord and Lady who's land they'd been forced to move onto, especially given they were English. English!

The real misfit of the little clan had always been Aiofe, perhaps that was a good thing, maybe a bad depending how you looked at it. Her parents had always let her have the gamut, while the other children had been happy enough being uneducated, she had found herself soaking in the education that the Englishwoman who her family was indebted to, gave her. She'd constantly slip the bonds of her mother, and the Butlers, watchful eye so that she could find the older woman and learn anything she'd teach her. Reading, writing, after all, what if someone needed to write a letter! it had never occurred to the spitfire that her mother knew how to do all of this, but despite loving her mother more than life itself, she had always thought her mother weak.

This wasn't the life she wanted, that much she had always known. She'd been passionate about anything she could dream up, and making a life and name for herself that didn't keep her in the dirt or under the abusive hand of the man who nearly owned her family. Through her mentor she learned the art of being a lady, the art of music, reading, and writing, much to the dismay of her mother and father.

Disaster struck though as she reached her early teen years as disease rode their portion of the country and claimed not only her mentor's abusive husband, but her two youngest siblings, Caitlín and Tierney. The family struggled on, but as the woman of the manor had grown deeper into sorrow that the people whom she had to come to care for had been dying, she decided to step in. Her family had been moved to the house as permanent staff, though only for show. No longer did they have to scrabble in the dirt and mud, they had a real home and while still forever indebted to the woman, it was a sight better than what they'd had.

It was the death of her twin a mere year later as he was thrown off his horse while being robbed that had really broken the blonde angel of death [as she had dubbed herself in her head]. They had been painfully close and she felt the death of him slicing into her soul as a hot knife through fat. For Aiofe, it spurred her on and the woman took her further under her wing as her ward, and sent her to City for a proper education, anything to distract the girl from her brothers death It was here in Dublin she met her beloved Breandan whom she had become instantly enamored of and married, though only after she had finished University. She had refused to return home and like her mother, fallen for a man who was 'beneath' the station that being the ward of the Englishwoman had given her.

Once more she had found herself frowned upon and treated little more than a second class citizen and while she had hated it with every fiber of her being, she'd also never been happier. He had been a young man, a soul just as wild and bold as her own, searching for something better than the dirt they had come from. And they had made a life, he had even given her a set of beautiful daughters, Caoimhe and Niamh a mere year later. While young to be having children, in her mind, she'd not been that young. And it wasn't as if she couldn't write still. Here and there things had been writen but in those days ignorance ran rampant and writing, especially for a woman, was little better than declaring you were a witch.

Perhaps it had always been her lot, to be surrounded by death, after all she had lost family member after family member. A mere two years after her youngest daughter had been born, her mother had caught ill and passed, and a short day later her father had taken his own life in sorrow. It wasn't as if she'd had anything to go back to, right? Only forward. After all she had Breandan and her girls. Or so she thought.

In another ugly twist of fate, while traveling to the small home they had rented for a small holiday to meet Aiofe, they had been stopped at night, her husband killed while giving the young girls a chance to run. Though they hadn't gotten far. They had been ridden down and the most unspeakable of things had been done to them.

That had been the beginning of the end for our dear spitfire. Especially when she had been the one to find them. What little of her fire had been left had burned out, drowned in her own agony and loss. For weeks she had drifted through the city, living on little more than scraps she had found. The things she had done at night just for a warm spot to sleep had been some of the darkest times of her life and still, 500 years later, things she didn't revisit if she could help it.

Sickness had begun to claim the.. lower class of people throughout Dublin, and Aoife one of them. She was barely 26 when consumption had caught her in it's grip and as she spent her days and nights drifting through the streets, her body growing weaker as the disease ate at her lungs, slowly drowning her in blood and other fluids, she was oblivious to the man who followed her. Avidly infatuated with the soul, and fire he knew burned within her.

He had seen her years before and had waited, biding his time. And then one night as she lay coughing in a rain-soaked alley, her sleeve soaked in her own blood as coughs wracked her body, he had come. He had come as an avenging angel, dark and frightening, yet beautiful. He had tempted her with wealth, but she hadn't cared. Food, warmth, clothes that weren't moldering off her body, good health. None tempted her. What would win her?

And then it had come. She wanted revenge. Revenge on the men who had destroyed her life. She wanted Breandan back, her daughters. Of course this was nothing Dubhlainn could have given her, Demons didn't deal in the dead that had already passed, they dealt in other things. And the cost of her revenge? Her soul, oh and ever lasting life, if she so desired.

She found herself mere hours after the binding kiss, at the peak of health - thank you magical razzle dazzle Demon hoodoo; dressed well, and in a carriage on the same road that her family had lost their lives on. Waiting, waiting for the bastards that had taken the lives of her husband and two young children. After all, weren't two white horses and a carriage screaming of wealth a flag that screamed 'take advantage!' of course, and the trap was laid.

She'd put up a good fight, feigning weakness, but she found that with her deal with the 'devil' had come strength, and she had laid waste to the men. Dubhlainn had found her standing in the darkness of the night, moonlight bathing the woman much like an avenging angel herself. Her eyes glittered with something dark that had never been there before. Hunger, power, and he had trembled at it.

The blonde stood holding a heart in one hand, a blade in the other, splattered in blood and other things, her silvery blonde hair a macabre black that dripped onto the silvery-blue dress she had worn. A dress which at one time had been spotless, but now was more black than anything else. In the light of the coming dawn, it was little more than something out of a horror story and he had known then he had won.

Gloves of sticky red, and her heart swelling with the rush of revenge she had allowed darkness to creep in. She was helpless to Dubhlainn as he claimed her as his own for nearly 100 years, training her in everything he had known for centuries. Deals, road side demons, whatever you wanted to call them. She might have slowly been inking her soul with a heavy black stain, but she couldn't have cared. Once the darkness had been let in, she'd known she'd get the life she had always wanted.

But despite the fact for all intents and purposes she was evil, a demon, she still found weakness deep in her, for those who were too weak to help themselves. For the women who were raped in the depths of the night, the children ripped from their beds and forced into slavery or other equally horrifying nightmares. She the avenging angel, cut down those she deemed more evil, and ate their souls as if they were little more than an afterthought. Though 'eating' wasn't the right word, no, but she sent them to the worst pits of hell post haste, her proverbial boot up their ass, and a middle finger flown to hasten their journey.

It was nearly two hundred years after her deal in that dark alley that she'd run across a medium who had stopped her, seeing her for what she really was, and a horror filled gaze, her words of caution terrorizing her for weeks. The woman had spotted a pale, blonde haired, blue eyed man screaming and following her. Begging her to stop her reign of terror. She had taken the woman in a flash of darkness to her own lodgings and forced her under knifepoint to explain. Only to realize that the man she spoke of was her twin brother who had never left.. well, her. He had followed her for over two hundred years as a ghost trying to reach her.

It was that night she had decided her reign of killing would end. Over the next three and a half centuries she made deals, and cut short the general 20 years she'd give someone, to a healthy week and only if they were the souls she might have otherwise killed had her brother never found the woman who had stopped her that night and passed on his message. She'd found that she couldn't live with the own smut she'd drowned herself in and while she was what she was now, she wasn't.. well as bad as she'd been.

It was never her that directly took a life now, it was.. circumstances. Bad luck. Whatever you wanted to call it. And oh how her coffers were laden with souls. And oh how she profited. As she moved through the centuries, she gained education, languages, hobbies. She'd closed off her heart, of course, and gathered human pets, as humans gathered cats or dogs. They were companions she was fond of, loved to a point even.

Of course she never admitted this love, just the fondness, and those she claimed had lives that were terrible until she'd found them. Abuse victims, children who endured unspeakable, unsavory things at the hands of adults they trusted. She herself wasn't abusive, not in her mind, it wasn't as if she beat or molested them, but she certainly treated them as things she owned, while spoiled, they were little more than pawns, granted the majority were 'cut free' and better off when they left than they had come to her.

As the centuries passed, she gained souls, though her favourites to make deals with were the writers, the artists. To her name over the centuries she had collected some of the greats, Thomas Moore, Oscar Wilde, WB Yeats, Bram Stoker, James Joyce, George Bernard Shaw, down to her most favourite, Dylan Thomas. Yes, while some like her specialize in giving 'the dream' to singers, even fiddle players, artists her 'specialty' had always been writers. Yes, she even had a thing for the Irish, but while she refused to admit she'd had a past there - it was her one nod to her life before she'd become what she had.

She had become a woman of means, of education. Numerous businesses to her numerous names, and numerous vices which could make even the most perverted blush. it wasn't as if she was innocent!

As the years ticked by, no one had truly reached inside her, until the night she'd seen Ian Zephyr. He'd been quite unlike any of the others, and she had found herself fascinated with him. Stalking was the wrong term, think of it as.. ok, stalking. Even the demons she lived her life with had grown to notice, and it was they who urged her to take him, though she had feigned disinterest as she had all the pets she needed.

Until she'd come home one night from 'work' to find the boy in her room. It had been all she could have done not to kill the men responsible. Someone had taken him from where he'd been and left him as a gift. A terrible gift in her mind, even if she was fascinated with the boy. It had nearly killed her not to do so. For some reason she had been contented watching from the outside, fascinated with the butterfly in the jar while never touching it. Even then, never touching or talking to him, she had felt something she had only felt 600 years before.

She'd also been helpless not to keep him, though the years she'd grown closer though she'd treated him like the others when people were watching. Never getting too close, though she did take him under her wing. As he grew older, she grew closer to him, and as he grew to manhood she realized that something was deeper there when she had found him in her bed. What, he wanted her to be his first?

Had he been anyone else she wouldn't have hesitated to take him to bed. But he wasn't, he was her Ian, her beloved little human. And at merely 15 she'd held him off the best she could. Perhaps in the day she had been born, 15 was an age where it was acceptable, but some part of her new mentality had just held her off. Even with him trying to seduce her into it, she'd always turned him away. She'd known him since he'd been a boy and while trying to fend off his advances for the men [and women] she usually kept company with, she'd finally broken after months of his advanced towards her just weeks after he'd turned 16.

For nearly nine months she indulged him, struggling to keep him from worming himself deeper into what heart she had left. It was only the night she realized she was in love with the still 16 year old Ian, that she'd realized how wrong she'd been to take him, or rather to keep him. That was when she had turned the tables, all but ending their 'meaningless dalliance' as she had put it, and becoming more and more cruel to the point she'd almost become abusive. Maybe the real ending for them was him finding a small orgy of men and women in the bed he had shared with her.

He had fled, taking her heart with him unbeknownst to him, and had left her with more than just a gaping hole where he had once been. He had also left her with child. One that nearly eight months later she had given birth to. Riordan Ciaran [O'Brian] Thomas was raised clueless that the woman who 'raised' him was his mother. He had been raised to believe she was little more than a caregiver, and also clueless to the fact that she was in fact a nearly 600 year old demon was his mother, or that he had a father she was blindly in love with.

What kind of mother was she? To deny her own son of this knowledge? One that didn't want to ruin him. It had also been the loss of Ian, and the realization she was with child that had driven her to release all her pets, and 'clean' up her life. Of course, she still dealt sex and bartered souls, but it wasn't as if she was the person she had been. Right? Right?

At nearly five, she was running out of lies to tell her son, that his mummy and daddy had died in a crash and left him to her because they had been friends. That it was silly to think she was his mummy because they looked alike and had the same birthmark. But what brought her now, to Essex New Jersey, was her son's pleas to find his daddy. Especially when she had drunkenly admitted to him one night, after having seen a man that looked remarkably like Ian [after she had drowned her sorrows] that his father was still alive. He had packed her a bag [admittedly poorly, and clothes that were terribly mismatched and nothing she would have ever worn] and his own bag, and as soon as the sun had risen, demanded with one finger on her puffy eyelid that she take him to find his daddy.

For months she had tried to fend it off, but she'd finally broken down, paid a small kings ransom to find the man she had fallen in love with after nearly 600 years, and gotten them a first class ticket in her own jet [hardy har] to New Jersey, where she'd taken up residence and begun to.. well.. 'stalk' him again for the perfect time to... surprise him.

'Hey, remember me? By the way I'm in love with you and you own my soul. Oh, and this is your son.' yea, that would work.

FAMILY LIFE:

Parents::
    Niall Ó Briain - Father, deceased
    Maeve Ó Briain - Mother, deceased

Siblings::
    Darragh Ó Briain - Older brother, deceased
    Mairéad Ó Briain - Older Sister, deceased
    Orlaith Ó Briain - Older sister, deceased
    Ciaran Ó Briain - Twin Brother, deceased
    Caitlín Ó Briain - Younger Sister, deceased
    Tierney Ó Briain - Younger Btother, decease

Husband::
    Breandan Ó Conghaile - Husband, deceased [died, 1442]

Children::
    Caoimhe Ó Conghaile - Daughter, deceased [died, 1442]
    Niamh Ó Conghaile - Daughter, deceased [died, 1442]

    Riordan Ciaran [O'Brian] Thomas - Son, living. [Ian Zephyr, father].

    
OTHER:

All of her pets throughout the centuries have been 'branded' with her mark. Imbed into their skin and woven with her blood and magic is the ink of the binding spell. All have been the same, her mark and a scrawl of demon text. All except Ian. He was the first that got anything custom and that was in the form of black and red wings with the incantation burned into the feathers.

This template was made by Ninja Pie for This Is My Hell and will not be redistributed without permission. The lyrics are from Taste The Blood by Tetsuya Shibata. Please to not redistribute without permission or claim as your own.

[THE ADMIN IS A DINOSAUR]

She's god to me! =)