AJS Roleplaying
Returning veteran
- Joined
- May 24, 2025
- Location
- The Emerald Isle
|
The Irish Charm
A Roleplay Brought to You By: |
Adrian Locke written by AJS Roleplaying |
Eloine Quinn written by NurseMaxine |
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The Irish Charm (AJS Roleplaying x NurseMaxine)
- Thread starter AJS Roleplaying
- Start date
OP
OP
AJS Roleplaying
Returning veteran
- Joined
- May 24, 2025
- Location
- The Emerald Isle
Adrian Locke stood at the edge of the glass, sixty-one floors above a city still shaking off the night. Dawn traced faint gold along the horizon, turning towers into silhouettes and traffic into a silent ballet of lights. His coffee was untouched in one hand, cooling. The other remained loose at his side. He watched the streets with the same quiet intensity he brought to boardroom tables and courtroom negotiations, the kind that unsettled people more than shouting ever could.
Behind him, the penthouse was immaculate - an expanse of quiet wealth arranged with museum-like precision. The air smelled faintly of cedar and clean linen, untouched by life. Furniture in shades of smoke and stone stood in sculptural stillness, the grand piano untouched since its arrival. The apartment was beautiful, deliberately so, but it lacked any sign of someone who intended to stay. Near the fireplace, Thatcher stirred. The aging Great Dane exhaled, shifting on the only worn rug in the apartment, as if to remind the room that something living still existed within it.
Adrian didn't move. The silence was part ritual, part defence. He'd never trusted people who filled every moment with noise. He'd learned early that the ones who talked most had the least worth hearing. Silence had raised him, shaped him. And now, at forty-one, it was both armor and home.
The phone buzzed once on the counter. He ignored it. Tokyo markets had closed two hours ago. Berlin was opening. His day would begin soon - another round of meetings, leveraged negotiations, merger talks, all threaded together by men too wealthy to be honest and too proud to admit when they were losing. He would outmanoeuvre them all, because that's what he did. It was never personal. It was survival, sharpened into instinct.
He finally turned from the window and moved through the kitchen, sleeves rolled, shirt untucked, his bare feet near soundless against the tile. The eggs sizzled in the pan as he cooked with the same precision that marked everything else he did. He plated the meal without flair, poured another coffee, and let the act of repetition still his thoughts.
He lived alone. He preferred it. There was no chaos here, no mess left by someone else. He ran his life the way he ran his firm - with clarity, with purpose, and without sentiment. Women passed through occasionally, like guests in a well-managed hotel, but none stayed. Not because he feared attachment, but because he didn't believe in pretending to want something he didn't. He respected honesty, even when it came in the form of distance.
The apartment, like the man who owned it, was curated down to the last detail. No photos. No family heirlooms. No echoes of the boy who'd once lived in a town where electricity bills came with apologies and eviction notices. Adrian never looked back. Nostalgia was a weakness, and he had no interest in feeding ghosts.
He took his coffee to the window once more. The sky was brighter now. The city fully awake. Another day.
His phone buzzed again. This time, he picked it up. Fifty-six unread emails. A dozen tagged urgent. He ignored them all. One caught his attention - not because of who sent it, but because of how.
From: Celeste Warrick
Subject: Change of plans – Hope you'll join us
Attachment: .PDF
Adrian exhaled through his nose. Celeste. A socialite with an inherited name, a calculated laugh, and a particular gift for hosting events that felt like networking rituals disguised as decadence. She was clever enough to know her circles needed men like Adrian, and irritating enough to believe she belonged in theirs.
They'd crossed paths more times than he cared to count - benefit dinners, art auctions, the occasional photo op where she smiled too brightly and spoke in half-truths. He endured her the way he endured delays on the tarmac: an inevitability, not a concern. He tapped the PDF open. A sleek graphic appeared, minimalist and expensive: a photo of a massive white yacht lit against a dark sea, and a line of embossed silver text.
MIDNIGHT, FRIDAY — THE LYCANTHA
Private invitation only. No press. No strings.
And beneath it, a closing line he imagined someone thought was poetic:
"Come disappear for a while."
He stared at it for a moment. The Lycantha was infamous—Celeste's prized toy, a floating monument to wealth and curated indulgence. Champagne and secrets. Models and moguls. He'd never bothered to attend, despite annual invitations wrapped in silk envelopes or delivered by hand through mutual contacts. This one had arrived digitally. Hm. She must be scaling back.
He set the phone down, unread messages still blinking behind the unopened apps. The city churned below. Somewhere in the noise and hunger of it all, deals were being made. Alliances forged. Fortunes restructured. He would join the fray soon enough.
But for now, he considered the invitation, not with interest, but with calculation. A yacht full of men pretending to be gods and women pretending not to notice. A stage for excess. A distraction. And maybe, just maybe, a chance to shift something behind the curtain - out of sight, where real power liked to move.
He didn't RSVP. Not yet. But he didn't delete the message either.
Behind him, the penthouse was immaculate - an expanse of quiet wealth arranged with museum-like precision. The air smelled faintly of cedar and clean linen, untouched by life. Furniture in shades of smoke and stone stood in sculptural stillness, the grand piano untouched since its arrival. The apartment was beautiful, deliberately so, but it lacked any sign of someone who intended to stay. Near the fireplace, Thatcher stirred. The aging Great Dane exhaled, shifting on the only worn rug in the apartment, as if to remind the room that something living still existed within it.
Adrian didn't move. The silence was part ritual, part defence. He'd never trusted people who filled every moment with noise. He'd learned early that the ones who talked most had the least worth hearing. Silence had raised him, shaped him. And now, at forty-one, it was both armor and home.
The phone buzzed once on the counter. He ignored it. Tokyo markets had closed two hours ago. Berlin was opening. His day would begin soon - another round of meetings, leveraged negotiations, merger talks, all threaded together by men too wealthy to be honest and too proud to admit when they were losing. He would outmanoeuvre them all, because that's what he did. It was never personal. It was survival, sharpened into instinct.
He finally turned from the window and moved through the kitchen, sleeves rolled, shirt untucked, his bare feet near soundless against the tile. The eggs sizzled in the pan as he cooked with the same precision that marked everything else he did. He plated the meal without flair, poured another coffee, and let the act of repetition still his thoughts.
He lived alone. He preferred it. There was no chaos here, no mess left by someone else. He ran his life the way he ran his firm - with clarity, with purpose, and without sentiment. Women passed through occasionally, like guests in a well-managed hotel, but none stayed. Not because he feared attachment, but because he didn't believe in pretending to want something he didn't. He respected honesty, even when it came in the form of distance.
The apartment, like the man who owned it, was curated down to the last detail. No photos. No family heirlooms. No echoes of the boy who'd once lived in a town where electricity bills came with apologies and eviction notices. Adrian never looked back. Nostalgia was a weakness, and he had no interest in feeding ghosts.
He took his coffee to the window once more. The sky was brighter now. The city fully awake. Another day.
His phone buzzed again. This time, he picked it up. Fifty-six unread emails. A dozen tagged urgent. He ignored them all. One caught his attention - not because of who sent it, but because of how.
From: Celeste Warrick
Subject: Change of plans – Hope you'll join us
Attachment: .PDF
Adrian exhaled through his nose. Celeste. A socialite with an inherited name, a calculated laugh, and a particular gift for hosting events that felt like networking rituals disguised as decadence. She was clever enough to know her circles needed men like Adrian, and irritating enough to believe she belonged in theirs.
They'd crossed paths more times than he cared to count - benefit dinners, art auctions, the occasional photo op where she smiled too brightly and spoke in half-truths. He endured her the way he endured delays on the tarmac: an inevitability, not a concern. He tapped the PDF open. A sleek graphic appeared, minimalist and expensive: a photo of a massive white yacht lit against a dark sea, and a line of embossed silver text.
MIDNIGHT, FRIDAY — THE LYCANTHA
Private invitation only. No press. No strings.
And beneath it, a closing line he imagined someone thought was poetic:
"Come disappear for a while."
He stared at it for a moment. The Lycantha was infamous—Celeste's prized toy, a floating monument to wealth and curated indulgence. Champagne and secrets. Models and moguls. He'd never bothered to attend, despite annual invitations wrapped in silk envelopes or delivered by hand through mutual contacts. This one had arrived digitally. Hm. She must be scaling back.
He set the phone down, unread messages still blinking behind the unopened apps. The city churned below. Somewhere in the noise and hunger of it all, deals were being made. Alliances forged. Fortunes restructured. He would join the fray soon enough.
But for now, he considered the invitation, not with interest, but with calculation. A yacht full of men pretending to be gods and women pretending not to notice. A stage for excess. A distraction. And maybe, just maybe, a chance to shift something behind the curtain - out of sight, where real power liked to move.
He didn't RSVP. Not yet. But he didn't delete the message either.
NurseMaxine
Star
- Joined
- Oct 3, 2011
The sun was just begiinning to paint a thin crimson line along the edge of the Northern Irish hills as it began to rise across the narrow channel that separated Inis Fraoih Island from the Western Edge of the Emerald Isle. The island west of the channel was a near forgotton place frozen in time so much that were it not for the fact that it fell below the flight path of International Flights from the America's that could be seen if not heard from the ground, one would scrsely know it was 21st century and not the early 20th. Roads there were scarsely wide enough for two cars to pass and anything but level, lined with wildflowers, and quiet enough to hear a butterfly's wings . Houses were few and simple with a charm that the world had all but completely abandoned. This had been the world in which Eloine had been born to a Catholic miner. and a Protestant bar maid, out of wedlock so that even among the poorest of the poor she was looked down upon.
Eloine could scarsely afford pride or being choosy about how she would spend her life and it was when the Galway linen company opened a new plant in Donnagel and began to hire girls to wash and fold new linens forshipment to the UK, she was among the the first to apply, being very greatful for steady work and a small but reliable wage in such a remote location. It was at the mill that she would have her first introduction to technogy, and her world began to bloom. One day as she prepared to ride her bicycle the ten miles home, a cruise ship first entered Donnagel Harbor, and she paused at the top of a hill to watch in awe as it gracefully pulled up to the dock. She had never seen a ship so beautiful . Overcome with fascination,and curiosity, she turned and headed down the road to the warf. Reaching the bow ofthe great ship, she pedaled along its entire length, noting it was over 130 meters long . As she pedalled back, the the Bosen was setting up a table and and a sign . As it happened, they were hiring Cabin stewardesses and hoping to attract willing young girls with skills at makingbeds, doing laundry, and folding crisp linens with precision, that also posessed inate beauty that might turn a wealthy man's head. In that moment fate had set her humble life heading in a whole new direction. Though she required help in filling out the application, her willowy looks, and the skill she demontrated in foldind linens, when tested, won her an offer at nearly twice her current wage .
Her bicycle felt weightless as she pedalled back up the hill toward home, eager to tell her mother. Even though it meant she would be gone weeks at a time, her mother had often told her it was high time she was on her own. Her mother had thought it would be marriage rather than employment that would pull her from the home but was still eager for Eloine's leaving . Her mother worried that her father's attention to his daughter's blossoming figure was noticably increasing and might soon result in unwanted attention, and so she was glad to see her daughter out of the house. Eloine had agreed to report work the nextafternoon, and had been issued four uniforms , three informal work outfits in black, white and powder blue, and one set of dress whites with black shorts. She was informed that no one wore shoes aboard ship. The chief stewardess, had measured her carefully before issuing her uniforms, and whispered in her ear that the work outfits looked best without bra and panties, and suggested that she go without them because tips were a significant portion of their pay and that making a good impression on the guests improved them. Eloine was shocked by the comment, but exercised discretion, and kept her thoughts to herself.
Later that evening, Eloine tried on the uniforms, and looking in the mirror, was imediately impressed at how thin , stretchy, and translucent they were, particularly the white and powder blue ones. She now fully understood the Chief Stewardess' comment and realised that being fully shaven would be an absolute necessity. Before bed she took a bath and saw to it that her body was hairless. Though she went to bed late she only slept fitfully and woke early the next day and packed a small bag, before dressing in the powder blue uniform and kissing her mother goodbye. She felt almost naked as she rode the bike to the warf, but encountered no one until she arived at the ship and was greeted agin by the chief stewardess, who looked her up and down and nodded her approval before escorting Eloine to the ship's laundy and a mountain of uniforms and dirty linens. She handed Eloine a radio, and showed her how to use it . Nodding to the laundy she said "I believe, you know what to do here, keep your radio on at all times. Do a good job, and we will get along just fine. You will get your cabin assignment at the crew meeting in a couple of hours."
Eloine took a few minutes to familiarize herself with the compact laundryroom, and started sorting laundry.
Eloine could scarsely afford pride or being choosy about how she would spend her life and it was when the Galway linen company opened a new plant in Donnagel and began to hire girls to wash and fold new linens forshipment to the UK, she was among the the first to apply, being very greatful for steady work and a small but reliable wage in such a remote location. It was at the mill that she would have her first introduction to technogy, and her world began to bloom. One day as she prepared to ride her bicycle the ten miles home, a cruise ship first entered Donnagel Harbor, and she paused at the top of a hill to watch in awe as it gracefully pulled up to the dock. She had never seen a ship so beautiful . Overcome with fascination,and curiosity, she turned and headed down the road to the warf. Reaching the bow ofthe great ship, she pedaled along its entire length, noting it was over 130 meters long . As she pedalled back, the the Bosen was setting up a table and and a sign . As it happened, they were hiring Cabin stewardesses and hoping to attract willing young girls with skills at makingbeds, doing laundry, and folding crisp linens with precision, that also posessed inate beauty that might turn a wealthy man's head. In that moment fate had set her humble life heading in a whole new direction. Though she required help in filling out the application, her willowy looks, and the skill she demontrated in foldind linens, when tested, won her an offer at nearly twice her current wage .
Her bicycle felt weightless as she pedalled back up the hill toward home, eager to tell her mother. Even though it meant she would be gone weeks at a time, her mother had often told her it was high time she was on her own. Her mother had thought it would be marriage rather than employment that would pull her from the home but was still eager for Eloine's leaving . Her mother worried that her father's attention to his daughter's blossoming figure was noticably increasing and might soon result in unwanted attention, and so she was glad to see her daughter out of the house. Eloine had agreed to report work the nextafternoon, and had been issued four uniforms , three informal work outfits in black, white and powder blue, and one set of dress whites with black shorts. She was informed that no one wore shoes aboard ship. The chief stewardess, had measured her carefully before issuing her uniforms, and whispered in her ear that the work outfits looked best without bra and panties, and suggested that she go without them because tips were a significant portion of their pay and that making a good impression on the guests improved them. Eloine was shocked by the comment, but exercised discretion, and kept her thoughts to herself.
Later that evening, Eloine tried on the uniforms, and looking in the mirror, was imediately impressed at how thin , stretchy, and translucent they were, particularly the white and powder blue ones. She now fully understood the Chief Stewardess' comment and realised that being fully shaven would be an absolute necessity. Before bed she took a bath and saw to it that her body was hairless. Though she went to bed late she only slept fitfully and woke early the next day and packed a small bag, before dressing in the powder blue uniform and kissing her mother goodbye. She felt almost naked as she rode the bike to the warf, but encountered no one until she arived at the ship and was greeted agin by the chief stewardess, who looked her up and down and nodded her approval before escorting Eloine to the ship's laundy and a mountain of uniforms and dirty linens. She handed Eloine a radio, and showed her how to use it . Nodding to the laundy she said "I believe, you know what to do here, keep your radio on at all times. Do a good job, and we will get along just fine. You will get your cabin assignment at the crew meeting in a couple of hours."
Eloine took a few minutes to familiarize herself with the compact laundryroom, and started sorting laundry.
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