Jorah.

Last Login:
June 24th, 2019




Gender: Male

Age: 66
Country: United States

Signup Date:
November 18, 2018


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01/23/2019 07:09 PM 

(CS) wayne-o'shea family tree.



those featured in this family tree are as follows:

ronan wayne (charles dance); jorah's uncle on his father's side (paternal, alive)
seamus wayne (clint eastwood); jorah's father (alive)
ava o'shea-wayne (helen mirren); jorah's mother (alive)
millie o'shea (barbara streisand); jorah's aunt on his mother's side (maternal, alive)
corinne o'shea (meryl streep); jorah's aunt on his mother's side (maternal, alive)
unknown male/female (alive/dead, unknown)
maeve wayne (lena headey - needed); jorah's sister (alive)
svetlana vasiliev (carice van houten - kinda wanted); jorah's ex-wife (alive)
joray wayne (liam cunningham); aka me (alive)
unknown (lee pace - neg. to michiel but i really want lee) jorah's eventual LI (alive, needs filled by a wonderful person).
rodney dunne (jerome flynn); jorah's former LI (not featured)
unknown (robert sheehan); jorah's potential nephew (alive, depends on the taker of lena)
siobhan wayne (maisie williams); jorah's daughter with ex-wife svetlana (alive)
unknown (lee pace - neg. to michiel but i really want lee) jorah's eventual LI (alive, needs filled by a wonderful person).

*any role on this tree aside from myself (Jorah), I wouldn't be opposed to having. The likelihood of that, however, is small, and thus I'll stick to primarily wanting Lena. Conleth Hill (not featured), Lee Pace, and Maisie Williams also desired! Send a sample for more information! ~

01/23/2019 02:02 PM 

maeve branna wayne (cs)

#sendmeasample #fillthis #youwon'tregretit

the many faces of maeve branna wayne ~



on facetime with maeve wayne (she's totally also on the landline) ~

01/23/2019 02:01 PM 

fired. (2014 drabble)

March 15th, 2014 --

Fired; after twenty-three years, he’d been bloody sacked at the drop of a hat, all because the department wanted to make an example out of him — they wanted to make the man he’d been caught with, Rhett (a particularly beautiful American man) feel guilty and confess. Jorah never knew whether they’d intended to “hire him back” after they got rid of Rhett but he didn’t care. Within a couple of days, he’d talked his former father-in-law into helping him get a diner he’d seen in the paper and begin renovations on it. Also, he’d put out a very lowkey add in the papers about anyone needing a private investigator, and he’d already gotten one call.

Walking through the chilled London streets, hands deep in the pockets of his black wool peacoat, he thought about his situation. He’d dedicated more than two decades of his life to that bloody department, and they did him incredibly dirty. He hadn’t expected them to drop him like that, especially after promoting him to senior investigator the year prior. Oh well, he would make it. It was so comforting to know that not only did he have his savings, but he also had a crew starting work on the diner in the morning and he’d be there to help them.

Oh, black water, keep on rollin’, Mississippi moon, won’t ya’ keep on shinin’ on,” came from the pocket, the device vibrating against fingers and the silver-haired man plucked it free and glanced at the screen. Recognizing the name as a former colleague from the PD, he swiped into the green.

“Aye, lad, ye been okay?”

“Yeah, but do I ‘ave some news for you…”

Oh, gods.

“What is it?”

“So, you know that… guy you were caught with…”

“Yes, Ronald, I remember him quite vividly,” he could practically hear the other man’s cheek sizzling on the other end of the line. “Get to it.”

“He came forward an’… told the truth.”

“Aye, so I got sacked for nothin’,” he chuckled, kicking a rock as he veered off the sidewalk into a park, settling onto a bench. The wood was cold on his backside, but he didn’t mind. “Anything else?”

“They knew it was him, Jorah,” Ron’s voice dropped to a whisper, as though he was afraid of being caught. “They knew...”

“What?”

“They fired you to make ‘im feel guilty, so he’d come forward and rat on ‘imself…”

He couldn’t believe it — or maybe he could. They’d fired a veteran employee for kissing a subordinate, after all; there were no regrets. It had been the best kiss he’d ever had in his life, not excluding his ex-wife.

“Why would they do tha’?”

“I dunno, some half-cocked idea, maybe… I’ll never know, but...”

“But what, mate?”

“I have t’give some props to that American, Jorah, he absolutely gave it to ‘em!”

This day seemed never to cease with its endless surprises.

“Tell me…” he sounded mildly amused, and was becoming more so by the moment.

“The moment ‘e found out they knew it was ‘im and fired you anyway, to make ‘im feel guilty, he started goin’ off about how they buggered themselves out of one of their best officers...”

“Did ‘e say anythin’ else, lad?” Jorah’s interest was quite piqued, by now.

“Yeah, he said tha’ he was glad they were firin’ him too, and that you’d probably wind up bein’ glad,” Ron sighed, “because they didn’t deserve you…”

“Wow…”

“Needless t’say, his version was more colourful than mine.”

“Oh?”

“Oh yeah, Jorah, you shoulda’ heard ‘im, I swear! I’ve never heard so many ‘fucks’ in me life! Full’a spit and vinegar, tha’ one.”

Jorah couldn’t help the smile that had subconsciously plastered itself across his face, or the little skip of his heart. He figured that it had been an isolated incident, but something in the story his former colleague told lent to something a little bit different. Rhett and Jorah had worked together in the same office for nearly six months before the incident that cost the younger man a job and Jorah his career. In all honesty, the freedom he obtained by hearing the words ‘pack your things and leave,’ had been absolutely worth it. He only wished that maybe… things could’ve turned out a bit differently. Rhett seemed like the kind of guy Jorah could’ve spent quite a long time with, if he sat and thought about it.

01/23/2019 02:01 PM 

it's on fire! -- short drabble.

“It’s on bloody fire,” Edgar cried, hanging up the phone and turning to Jorah and the couple of young guys he’d hired to help him get the artwork out of the woman’s house. “Her house, it’s on bloody fire! What are we going to do?”

“Jus’ calm down,” the silver-haired man sighed, thinking for a moment; it wasn’t that far away. An idea — not a good one, per se, but an idea nonetheless — popped into his head. “Let’s go anyway.”

“Are you ou’ of your mind?” one of the young bucks from the south gasped, and when Jorah looked at him, he nodded.

“Righ’ now I am. I want my bleedin’ paycheck and I think ye do too.”

“I don’ wanna die fer it…”

“Then don’t.”

The other one, while listening to this, looked as though he was ready for anything; Jorah knew him to be a pyromaniac, so this would be his jam. Stepping outside, they got into the van and drove the couple blocks to the burning building. The police and the fire brigade hadn’t arrived yet; glancing it over, shoulders shrugged; they were shrouded by a gray wool trench coat so dark it was almost black. That way it would burn, instead of melting to his skin if it caught on fire — the beauty of natural fibers.

“Alrigh’, you lot,” he said, “let’s get wha’ we can get — an’ keep an eye out for that oil Edgar paid this lady for, an’ grab anything else ye can. If anythin’ can be said fer us now, it’s that we’re preservin’ art. This bitch has plenty of originals.”

Into the house they went, looking this way and that; thankfully, it was mostly the upper levels on fire thus far, so that must’ve been where the fire started. He wondered who did it, but then looked across the street to see an open window with the curtain fluttering. He knew; it was Edgar’s ex, Julian. Molotovs were his MO, when he wanted to take away something he knew his Edgar would want.

Luckily, the boys were out the door and loading up the back of the van with several unburnt art pieces — including the painting the bald man paid for — before grabbing one more trip’s worth of things, Jorah stuffing his own pockets with little things he found would probably be valuable (random pieces of rare gemstone encrusted jewelry). He heard the van doors close and the engine start; one of the young’ns poked his head back into the doorway.

“Go on, you lot, I’ll be along. I wanna talk to the bobbies.”

In moments an engine could be heard — the van pulling away, heading around the block a few times to avoid any suspicion before heading back to Edgar’s; by the time the fire brigade and police had arrived, the fire had made its way down along the door frame and into the room to burn up and eat anything it could get its tendrils on. Millions of pounds, probably, going to waste, but they’d done their part.

Stepping out onto the stoop, he placed an unfiltered cigarette between his lips and lit it with what he could find — a small pocket bible that had just caught flame.

“Rough night indeed,” one of the officers said, extending a hand to him. “You know wha’s goin’ on here?”

“Julian McDonough,” he said without missing a beat. “Got a portfolio on ‘im a mile bloody long, I’m sure he’s the one who’s done this; check the CCTV camera that was aimed at that,” he pointed to the open window, “window. Guarantee he chucked… some sort of inflammatory device into the upper window of Lady Beaumont’s home.”

“That’s an empty apa—wait, Julian… the guy who was datin’ that art collector?”

“Aye, he’s got a flair for the dramatic,” the chilled night air made the cloud of smoke and breath leaving Jorah’s mouth that much bigger.

“You were always a good investigator,” the guy began, sighing a little; he’d been one of the PI’s best friends while they were in the department together. “We’ll check your lead. Trust you saved anything overly valuable? How’re Lana and Siobhan?” they always seemed to ask about Lana, despite that they’d been divorced for years.

“Boys an’ I did what we could, aye. Dunno’ about Lana, but Siobhan’s good. Always good, tha’ one.”

“Good.” the cop turned to the fire brigade. “Put ‘er out, lads,” and back to Jorah. “Mind givin’ a statement?”

“Not at all.”

01/18/2019 08:08 PM 

jorah wayne - quick stats





❰ ❰ Quick Stats
full name: jorah hugo wayne
birthday: june 26th, 1967
age: 51 (fifty-one) years
zodiac: jorah is a cancer
height: 6'3" (191 cm)
weight: fluctuates, but about 190lbs
species: human
gender: male
occupation: on the record jorah is a former investigator for london metro police department who's turned to private investigating, and he also owns a diner. off the record the clients who pay for jorah's investigating skills often have off-the-books tasks for him (like picking up illegally obtained artwork - aka smuggling, a la ser davos seaworth; other softkey crime elements)
nationality jorah is irish
accent: he sports a very thick irish (dublin) accent
place of birth: jorah was born in east wall, dublin, but shortly after his birth his parents decided to move to birr (the countryside)
current residence: he currently lives in london (exact place tbd)
education: jorah attended primary and secondary schools in dublin before being recruited to the irish air corps at the age of sixteen
hobbies: reading, drinking, coffee, swimming, dancing when nobody's looking, listening to music, playing the guitar nobody knows he can play, softkey traveling (with his daughter to aunt (lena headey)'s place in italy, or back to bray to visit his mom and dad)
parents: seamus nathaniel wayne (clint eastwood, alive) and ava marie o'shea-wayne (helen mirren, alive)
children: siobhan jaycee wayne, 24, alive and kicking (biological); noemie clovis, (age), alive and kicking (daughter figure)
other family: maeve branna wayne (lena headey NEEDED), sister, alive and well; millie o'shea (barbara streisand), maternal aunt, alive; corrine o'shea (meryl streep), maternal aunt, alive. more to be cast later! habits: both good and bad enjoys his regular pint, it's become part of his routine; he's also got a bottle of jameson at home he drinks from, sometimes. as an irishman, he's got a wickedly high tolerance to alcohol. he likes the occasional cigarette or cigar, and yes - he has tried marijuana, but he didn't like it. when nervous he fidgets, mostly with his own clothing or something in his pockets
to be continued...

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