Post by Niamh Dunlevy on Jan 4, 2009 1:16:56 GMT
Accepted.
-JT
Account E-mail: Same as Adelheid account.
Name: Niamh Mairi Dunlevy (pronounced NEEV MARE-ee DUN-leh-vee)
Nationality:
Pavee (Irish Traveller), and a native of Ireland. For more information, see my "Resources For Writers" thread.
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath?
None. She's a female civilian, just trying to find her place in the world.
Character History:
Traveller. Gypsy. Pavee. These words are not foreign to Niamh.
The first is what she proudly presents herself as, and part of another name for the Pavee people: Irish Travellers.
The second is an insult, to her and another semi-nomadic people, the Rom. It is a name given to her people by those who see her and her kin as thieves, mischievious ne'er-do-wells who experiment with metalcraft in their spare time.
The third is her people's name, the name they bestowed upon themselves.
Born in the back of a horse-drawn wagon one stormy September night, nineteen years ago in the year of 1925, Niamh received her name from the shine in her eyes; her name is Irish for "bright". That shine was especially bright in her right eye, which, as she grew older, would turn a fierce amber in colour, the left forever remaining a modest brown. There was nothing abnormal about this; after all, heterochromia was merely another thing of the world, and Niamh's father had it himself, with one hazel eye and one brown. It seemed as if his daughter's eyes were God's tribute to him, and righteously so, for Fionn Dunlevy was a master of training horses for show.
Like any other regular child, Niamh grew up with a mother to teach her manners and a father to keep her safe, although she differed in the fact that she was handling horses since she was four. Just as she had her father's heterochromia, she had his way with equines; the great, feathery-hooved draft horses that were four times taller then she never intimidated her. What did, though, were the people that seemed to hate her family and her, who saw the Pavees as nothing more then nuisances. "Gypsies" such as the Dunlevys were not welcomed by the communities they set up camp near. They were seen as thieves of livestock and children, poisoners of horses and tricksters in the night, and many-a-man had their horse checked thrice over by the local vet after Fionn had finished working with them. Even when nothing was wrong, Fionn was only sometimes paid half or a third of the agreed price, and even worse, sometimes nothing at all.
When Niamh was about to turn nine, her mother, Sheila, sat down with her father in the wagon one day and said she couldn't take it any more. Yes, Sheila was a Pavee too, and yes, she didn't mind travelling as her people had done before, but she was tired of the stigma. Tired of being called a "thief", a "Gypsy", and not taken seriously when she complained to the local law enforcement of being harrassed by angry villagers. She wanted Niamh to have a "normal" life, for the girl to attend school instead of being home-schooled, for Sheila couldn't seem to muster the will the teach her daughter anything anymore. There was a heated argument between Sheila and Fionn over this, but eventually, the two decided that settling down was for the best. A small farm was bought on the southeastern Irish coast, and the wagon was turned into a makeshift shed, forever a reminder of what the Dunlevys once were.
For Niamh, it was difficult settling down. She loved the open road, to travel from place to place and see all the new sights and sounds, even if she had seen them all before. Her first language was the Pavee's Cant, and although she could speak fluent English, she often fell back into The Cant when nervous. When she spoke that language, the teacher would just whack her yardstick and tell Niamh to stop speaking in stupid gibberish - it also didn't help that everyone knew the Dunlevys from other villages, and that they were Pavees. As a result, school went horribly; everywhere she turned, Niamh was teased and bullied, and in the seventh grade, she dropped out. Sheila tried to convince her daughter to go back, but Niamh was dead-set on not finishing, and found her place in helping her father handle the horses. Needless to say, Sheila never tried again, especially after a particularly nasty confrontation between her and Niamh's former teacher that ended up with Sheila being forcibly removed from the property by police after doing nothing wrong.
Nothing particularly exciting happened until the year of 1939, in which war broke out. Germany had gotten overambitious under the rule of a certain Adolf Hitler, and now, people and horses were shipping themselves out of Ireland by the boatloads. Her sense of adventure getting the better of her, Niamh left the farm, deciding to go into the horse-training business like her father. Taking along her beloved horse Drummer, a great draft horse of mixed blood, flowing mane and tail and hooves covered in silky strands of hair, Niamh went to find herself work. She now does various odd jobs, including fixing carts and even shoeing horses, and is well-acquainted with the horse world. The girl would have enlisted for the army, her Irish pride and want to travel so great, but unfortunately, the army had no room for women.
Military Rank:
N/A
Writing Sample:
Scenario: You’re alone behind enemy lines and you get the eerie feeling someone’s watching you. You’re trying to remain quiet, stay low, work your way back to the frontlines - but you can’t help but feel you’re being followed… (How does your character React? What’s running through their mind?)
*******************
"Drummer, geth nyurth."
The elegant-looking tobiano halted, giving a deep, booming nicker and a snort to match. Niamh looked nervously over her shoulder, biting her lip as her calloused hand rubbed Drummer's shoulder, searching for comfort in the horse's warm hide. The girl bit her lip, and sighed shakily, a little unnerved.
For the past hour, she had had an eerie feeling, like someone was following her. There would be an occasional twig-cracking behind her, and a slight gasp and rustle of leaves, as if she had surprised someone and they had dove into the bushes to hide. Part of her kept thinking it was a Nazi...but that was a stupid assumption. A very stupid assumption. She wasn't in Germany; she was in Britain. Big difference there, no doubt about it.
Crack!
There it was, again. She couldn't take it any longer. The Pavee was no stranger to being stalked; after all, her people did face quite the social stigma because of their lifestyle and what-not. If Britain was Germany, then they'd probably lock her up in some God-forsaken, barbed-wire-covered camp too, just like all those poor Roma and Jewish people down in the countries Hitler was stomping on. It made her sick to think about it, but right now, she couldn't focus on that...
"Drummer," the woman growled under her breath, dismounting the stallion with ease, "min'urt kadog."
The horse obediently took the command. With a malevolent nicker, the beast circled around his mistress and trotted in front of her, facing their unknown tracker with a glare as he followed the motions of Niamh's hands. The Cant words for "now stone" was a code; it meant that her horse was to prepare to take commands both verbal and motion-oriented, to go on the offensive like Niamh had taught him, as only a Dunlevy could teach a horse.
"I'm giving you to the count of three to come out," said Niamh loudly, "or Drummer here pounds you into a bloody pulp. Drummer, UP!"
This particular command was for when Drummer was to rear up and look as scary as possible. He did so, and let out a shriek that echoed over the hills, that scared a few birds from out from behind a nearby tree and caused a squirrel to dart into the nearby bushes. His feathery hooves scythed through the air, and the red bay tobiano came down to earth with a loud thud. Niamh smiled as she heard someone in the bushes yelp, the foliage rustling as a human silhouette began to emerge.
"Very good," the girl said, using the same tone as before. "Now, turn around - slowly - and hold your hands up. I want to see your ugly face, you dirty piece of crap."
+++++++++++++++++++
Translations:
-Wait now
-Now stone
-JT
Account E-mail: Same as Adelheid account.
Name: Niamh Mairi Dunlevy (pronounced NEEV MARE-ee DUN-leh-vee)
Nationality:
Pavee (Irish Traveller), and a native of Ireland. For more information, see my "Resources For Writers" thread.
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath?
None. She's a female civilian, just trying to find her place in the world.
Character History:
Traveller. Gypsy. Pavee. These words are not foreign to Niamh.
The first is what she proudly presents herself as, and part of another name for the Pavee people: Irish Travellers.
The second is an insult, to her and another semi-nomadic people, the Rom. It is a name given to her people by those who see her and her kin as thieves, mischievious ne'er-do-wells who experiment with metalcraft in their spare time.
The third is her people's name, the name they bestowed upon themselves.
Born in the back of a horse-drawn wagon one stormy September night, nineteen years ago in the year of 1925, Niamh received her name from the shine in her eyes; her name is Irish for "bright". That shine was especially bright in her right eye, which, as she grew older, would turn a fierce amber in colour, the left forever remaining a modest brown. There was nothing abnormal about this; after all, heterochromia was merely another thing of the world, and Niamh's father had it himself, with one hazel eye and one brown. It seemed as if his daughter's eyes were God's tribute to him, and righteously so, for Fionn Dunlevy was a master of training horses for show.
Like any other regular child, Niamh grew up with a mother to teach her manners and a father to keep her safe, although she differed in the fact that she was handling horses since she was four. Just as she had her father's heterochromia, she had his way with equines; the great, feathery-hooved draft horses that were four times taller then she never intimidated her. What did, though, were the people that seemed to hate her family and her, who saw the Pavees as nothing more then nuisances. "Gypsies" such as the Dunlevys were not welcomed by the communities they set up camp near. They were seen as thieves of livestock and children, poisoners of horses and tricksters in the night, and many-a-man had their horse checked thrice over by the local vet after Fionn had finished working with them. Even when nothing was wrong, Fionn was only sometimes paid half or a third of the agreed price, and even worse, sometimes nothing at all.
When Niamh was about to turn nine, her mother, Sheila, sat down with her father in the wagon one day and said she couldn't take it any more. Yes, Sheila was a Pavee too, and yes, she didn't mind travelling as her people had done before, but she was tired of the stigma. Tired of being called a "thief", a "Gypsy", and not taken seriously when she complained to the local law enforcement of being harrassed by angry villagers. She wanted Niamh to have a "normal" life, for the girl to attend school instead of being home-schooled, for Sheila couldn't seem to muster the will the teach her daughter anything anymore. There was a heated argument between Sheila and Fionn over this, but eventually, the two decided that settling down was for the best. A small farm was bought on the southeastern Irish coast, and the wagon was turned into a makeshift shed, forever a reminder of what the Dunlevys once were.
For Niamh, it was difficult settling down. She loved the open road, to travel from place to place and see all the new sights and sounds, even if she had seen them all before. Her first language was the Pavee's Cant, and although she could speak fluent English, she often fell back into The Cant when nervous. When she spoke that language, the teacher would just whack her yardstick and tell Niamh to stop speaking in stupid gibberish - it also didn't help that everyone knew the Dunlevys from other villages, and that they were Pavees. As a result, school went horribly; everywhere she turned, Niamh was teased and bullied, and in the seventh grade, she dropped out. Sheila tried to convince her daughter to go back, but Niamh was dead-set on not finishing, and found her place in helping her father handle the horses. Needless to say, Sheila never tried again, especially after a particularly nasty confrontation between her and Niamh's former teacher that ended up with Sheila being forcibly removed from the property by police after doing nothing wrong.
Nothing particularly exciting happened until the year of 1939, in which war broke out. Germany had gotten overambitious under the rule of a certain Adolf Hitler, and now, people and horses were shipping themselves out of Ireland by the boatloads. Her sense of adventure getting the better of her, Niamh left the farm, deciding to go into the horse-training business like her father. Taking along her beloved horse Drummer, a great draft horse of mixed blood, flowing mane and tail and hooves covered in silky strands of hair, Niamh went to find herself work. She now does various odd jobs, including fixing carts and even shoeing horses, and is well-acquainted with the horse world. The girl would have enlisted for the army, her Irish pride and want to travel so great, but unfortunately, the army had no room for women.
Military Rank:
N/A
Writing Sample:
Scenario: You’re alone behind enemy lines and you get the eerie feeling someone’s watching you. You’re trying to remain quiet, stay low, work your way back to the frontlines - but you can’t help but feel you’re being followed… (How does your character React? What’s running through their mind?)
*******************
"Drummer, geth nyurth."
The elegant-looking tobiano halted, giving a deep, booming nicker and a snort to match. Niamh looked nervously over her shoulder, biting her lip as her calloused hand rubbed Drummer's shoulder, searching for comfort in the horse's warm hide. The girl bit her lip, and sighed shakily, a little unnerved.
For the past hour, she had had an eerie feeling, like someone was following her. There would be an occasional twig-cracking behind her, and a slight gasp and rustle of leaves, as if she had surprised someone and they had dove into the bushes to hide. Part of her kept thinking it was a Nazi...but that was a stupid assumption. A very stupid assumption. She wasn't in Germany; she was in Britain. Big difference there, no doubt about it.
Crack!
There it was, again. She couldn't take it any longer. The Pavee was no stranger to being stalked; after all, her people did face quite the social stigma because of their lifestyle and what-not. If Britain was Germany, then they'd probably lock her up in some God-forsaken, barbed-wire-covered camp too, just like all those poor Roma and Jewish people down in the countries Hitler was stomping on. It made her sick to think about it, but right now, she couldn't focus on that...
"Drummer," the woman growled under her breath, dismounting the stallion with ease, "min'urt kadog."
The horse obediently took the command. With a malevolent nicker, the beast circled around his mistress and trotted in front of her, facing their unknown tracker with a glare as he followed the motions of Niamh's hands. The Cant words for "now stone" was a code; it meant that her horse was to prepare to take commands both verbal and motion-oriented, to go on the offensive like Niamh had taught him, as only a Dunlevy could teach a horse.
"I'm giving you to the count of three to come out," said Niamh loudly, "or Drummer here pounds you into a bloody pulp. Drummer, UP!"
This particular command was for when Drummer was to rear up and look as scary as possible. He did so, and let out a shriek that echoed over the hills, that scared a few birds from out from behind a nearby tree and caused a squirrel to dart into the nearby bushes. His feathery hooves scythed through the air, and the red bay tobiano came down to earth with a loud thud. Niamh smiled as she heard someone in the bushes yelp, the foliage rustling as a human silhouette began to emerge.
"Very good," the girl said, using the same tone as before. "Now, turn around - slowly - and hold your hands up. I want to see your ugly face, you dirty piece of crap."
+++++++++++++++++++
Translations:
-Wait now
-Now stone