It was late one night in Dublin, Ireland. The month was August and the year was 1825. Danny Mahoney was looking at himself in the old, tarnished vanity mirror that had been passed down through the generations of his family. (Legend had it that his great great grandfather, Seamus Mahoney, stole it from the wealthiest family in all of Dublin.) Danny turned his head to view himself from a different angle, then used his finger to touch up the charcoal he had smudged around his eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair once, then brushed it out of his face, and grinned at himself in the mirror. He was ready. Danny Mahoney was ready to face his crowd of adoring wenches at The Promiscuous Shamrock pub. He had just put on his jacket and was heading to leave, when the door opened, suddenly. In came Shannon O’Donnell, (Danny’s beloved) dragging a young lad by the hand. The boy looked about 16 or 17, but was dressed as nicely as someone who had worked his entire life. Danny caught Shannon’s eye and she winked at him. He smiled, slightly, because Shannon always had a way of looking adorable when she was wenching.
“Hello Dear,” Danny began, “I see you’ve brought home some… company.”
“Aye,” Shannon sighed, “But you know it’s only business, don’t you, Danny?” It wasn’t really a question. Danny knew what Shannon was doing. And Shannon knew that he knew.
Shannon pulled away from her young suitor and embraced Danny with a fiery passion. Then, she kissed him. It was a long, wonderful kiss, but it did not seem long enough. He wanted to hold her forever. She was his woman and no one else’s. Unfortunately, her chosen career suggested otherwise.
“This one’s been very particular lately, anyhow.” Shannon said, going back to her customer, and winked, again, at Danny. Shannon had now begun to kiss this strange young man and to run her fingers through his hair. Danny hoped her heart wasn’t in it. Shannon’s heart belonged to him, or, at least, he hoped it did. He looked, longingly, at his beloved with the strange, young man and wished that he could be that man. He wanted so much to marry her so she would be exclusive only to him, but they could never afford it with only the salaries of prostitutes’.
Author notes
this is kind of based on an inside joke*. but that's what's great (or terrible) about theatre people. we take our inside jokes** to an insane level. although, i am trying to take this to a more mature (as in literally mature, not in smutty-erotic-mature) level and actually make some points about the heart and soul of a woman in sed circumstances.
*characters are purely fictional and not based on real life occurrences, except for maybe inside jokes (that occurred when we were all very very drunk... on fictional whiskey because we're all underaged). any resemblance to literal people is completely accidental (and maybe a little bit on purpose).
**these characters/concepts originated fall of 2005 during a community theatre production of Oliver Twist.
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