Conall “Donnacha” Kilmartin
DoB: 29 September Age: 52 Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Not anyone’s business Zone: 2 Employment: CHQS Zone 2 Director Personality: Gentle, restrained, calming to be around | withdrawn, sharp-tongued, vicious (situationally)
Bio:
The hard world of zone 2 has made everyone Conall has ever known a hard, hollow soul. Much the same was expected of her as she grew up. Her family was neither powerful nor capable, the gang they ran with was middling at best, frequently suffering heavy losses to lives and territories. For a brief moment, her uncle served as a unifying leader, temporarily gaining them ground and resources, but even this eventually flagged. Life took its toll, and it would have been too easy for Conall to follow, but much to the mystery of everyone who knew her, she didn’t. As a young man, her voice remained as tender as it had been when she was a toddler, her hair remained long and uncut, somehow silken and free of tangles. As a boy, she had once found a tiny flower growing in between some toppled bricks. Picking it seemed too cruel, but the consideration was wasted. Her brother found it and stomped it to pieces.
You cannot be gentle without fear. Conall has long adorned herself with flowers, accessorized with the nicer greenery. Her brother, however, learned a peculiar lesson after 3 months of explicable rashes on his legs. It only occurred to him what the cause might be when the rashes suddenly faded around the same time Conall was moved from laundry duty to hunting. A lesson long taught yet unforgotten until the day her brother died. Every lesson she’s had to teach since has been done in a similar way. Those who have witnessed her violence directly (mostly animals, but not entirely) have not lived to divulge the experience. Conall’s particular style of close combat is not without its consequences. The mysterious wounds she sometimes sports are a better indicator of the fate of a troublemaker than their sudden and unexplained absence.
Leadership is neither something she aspires to nor rejects, it simply comes as a consequence of demanding respect. Quite by accident, she eventually rose to the same position her uncle had once held, and held it for longer. Without the greedy aggression that drove others to careless territory and resource grabs, the moves she directed were more careful, controlled, and intentional. More likely to succeed. As a consequence, Conall taught many that more was not always better, that strategy often prevailed. Those who did not learn the lesson simply ceased to be, their absence largely unremarked upon.
Resources are not uncommon in zone 2, it’s simply a matter of learning how to extract them. Though she would not know the word “botanist” for many more years, her interest in the natural world served as a boon to those who followed her. Conall was quick to discover those plants whose nuts could be ground into protein-rich meal when meat was scarce, the berries whose flavors best preserved meat into the harsher months. It was this exact knowledge that gave her pause the day she found a sapling she did not recognize.
Small and struggling, it had produced a single fruit, a vibrant yellow hardly seen in anything but the flowers she privately cultivated. It felt a shame to take it, but curiosity overcame. The juice inside stung a cut on her hand from an early encounter with a deer, and though the taste was tart, it was tempered by a vibrant sweetness. The flesh was pulpy and soft and stuck in her teeth, and though it felt familiar to some small pitiful fruits she tended to avoid, it was exceptional and unusual in every way. And there was only one.
Over the months, Conall kept a close eye on the small tree. Hunting expeditions curiously stopped moving into that area, the small patch of forest almost entirely forgotten with time. One day, as she dropped in to visit her charge, Conall observed two small flower buds on one branch. Over the next several days, they bloomed into small white flowers with thin, curled petals. The scent of them recalled the fruit the tree had previously born.
And then one day, one of the blossoms was gone.
Determined to find the culprit and furious at the fate of her precious ward, Conall spent countless hours in hiding, observing the tree, waiting. But nothing changed. In time, she would come to realize there was no hope of catching CHQS security in the act, but at the time, the not knowing was infuriating like nothing had ever been. But what could she do?
She could move the tree.
More so than anything before, securing a safe place to cultivate the tree required a flex of her social prowess, but in a few days, she had acquired an abandoned building in which to hide her treasure. A few individuals hankering to prove their loyalty as a response to some recent wrath asked no questions of their new assignment. With incredible caution and practiced hands, the small fruit tree was stolen away to a new location, where Conall observed that it looked rather lonely by itself.
Acquiring more plants to cultivate alongside the tree also provided a good cover story. It was unreasonable to dedicate bodies to the care of a pet project. But to safeguard resources? That was another story. She was quick to fill the abandoned building with the most useful of local vegetation, pleased to find that the large glass windows created a welcoming environment and encouraged growth. The guards protecting the new project never noticed when the tree went missing, but it haunted Conall for months.
Even if the original purpose of her garden had mysteriously vanished, the benefits of her new undertaking could not be denied. Resources were more plentiful than ever before and questions soon faded, her people hesitant to doubt a good thing. Though thoughts of the fruit tree followed her, Conall dedicated newfound energy into her garden.
When the recruiter found her, it was hard to say whether Conall was terribly surprised. An explanation and feigned apology were offered for the missing tree - a Meyer lemon tree from zone 3 - but more useful than this, she was offered an opportunity.
Conall didn’t care much for the kitchens in Convergence, overrun with unfamiliar things and foods she did not recognize. The gardens, however… plants she recognized from her home, dying and failing in the dead soils, began to flourish under her care. Balancing the needs of a new job with the care of her people was… difficult, to say the least, but Conall eventually found a balance, using her time at Convergence to absorb as much as possible about the new worlds she had been exposed to. For years, she cultivated food for the kitchens at Convergence while maintaining power over her people, leading them to historic levels of wealth and comfort. It was when her clan was engaged in a border skirmish near CHQS that pulled her away from work that management really paid attention to her. Yet another opportunity presented itself.
Retirement isn’t much of a concept in zone 2, as lives rarely last so long. But with Conall’s rise through the ranks of CHQS, it was hardly possible to maintain leadership in two places at once. So she chose. A lackluster replacement stepped up while Conall “retired” to a quiet life, afforded dignity and privacy. The clan quickly flagged without her guidance, but a new calling drew her attention, and her pity died quickly. Though it took years of dedication and quiet competence, Conall eventually rose to the rank of director. The process of learning the subtle manipulations of the corporate world have provided Conall with an entirely new set of social skills, something that has been quite fun to play with. She still personally oversees cultivation of zone 2 produce, though the kitchen staff are well aware of her affinity for lemon bars.
Headcanons:
Much to the great mystery of everyone else, Conall is always in some way adorned with flowers. Whether woven into her long hair, sewn into her clothes, or embellished into her belongings, they are a recurring theme. Even when they are only motifs, a faint scent is ever-present, ever-changing, and always gently floral.
“Donnacha” is actually her first name, but it is a precious one spoken only to her by only a few individuals throughout her many years. Very few know it and those that do have been made acutely aware of how much they ought to forget it.
Generally speaking, she’s quite lovely to be around. Calm and soft-spoken, her presence puts most at ease. The exception is when she has not been heard or obeyed. Though her calm nature rarely changes, her sharp tongue puts many to rights immediately. Any lingering rebellion or disobedience dies readily at her practiced hands, though this is a process she allows few to witness.
The fastest way into her good graces is with a lemon bar.
Though she cultivates a variety of zone 2 flora, the flowers that constantly adorn her are harvested from the wilds around her home. Somehow it doesn’t feel the same to grow flowers, she’d rather find the beauty of her own world through her own efforts. Plus, it seems cruel to grow something only to kill it.
Though a shrewd leader who scarcely reveals her motivations, her corporate climb at Convergence is not without its purpose. She recognizes the growing instability of her world and hopes to one day have a hand in changing its fate.
Though capable of great violence, she rarely exercises that power. Her power comes most from the respect her manipulations earn her, second from the relationships she forms with people who have no qualms with causing great bodily harm to others.
Her pronouns are something she was given as a child out of spite. Seen initially as weak and incompetant, her brother and uncle mocked her by feminizing her. It was hardly an insult however, as the people in her clan she most admired were the women whose hunting, gathering, and cooking sustained everyone. Though unusual, she embraced the feminine for the rest of her life, especially appreciative of how often it causes others to underestimate her.
Important people:
(UNNAMED), a security guard-turned-manager who has risen through the ranks with her over the years. For every ounce of her quiet calm, they are equally aggressive and quick to anger, and manipulative to boot. Much her gruntwork is carried out by this person, whom she lavishes with positive affirmations and personal flower gifts. The relationship is reciprocal, and those problems they can’t solve with violence, Conall solves for them.
