Neala, or "Lucky Nine-Fingers, as she preferred among her colleagues was picking her fingernails on her left four fingered hand of black powder a she listened. She felt a few eyes skim over her at the discussion of the Irish Mod. She simply shrugged.

[color=ed145b]"Ah oi agree de Oirish are violent, dumb, 'ot-heads. But isn't dat why yer al' love me? Who else wud voluntare ter wear a pipe bomb vest on occasion?"[/color] 

The shoutgun on her back looked as if it had been ran through a washing machine full of rocks. Well honesty she didn't look to hot to speak off. Cut and scars covered her visible body as she whistled through a missing canine tooth. Her fur covered blue jacket only partially covered the Kevlar vest that had become her usual shirt. Ass kicking boots had a metal banded with studded spikes that looked more at home on a biker.

[color=ed145b]"Feck de mob boys, they are too greedy ter nu a gran' tin'. Oi still 'av contacts overseas if needed. Soon as yer dig up family oi'm 'appy ter pay dem a visit. make sure they nu messin' wi' us 'ill leave dem wi' nathin'. Till den oi don't mind bein' bait if nade be. yer al' nu oi'm de luckiest langer raun.[/color]