InsaneJournal

Character Information
Character Name(s): Conor Patrick O'Meara
Nicknames/Aliases: Con, O'Meara
Gender: Male
Affiliation: Irish
Mob Status: The Boss
Age/DOB: 34/Jan 2, 1991
Physical Description:
6'1”
Brown hair
Green eyes
Lean muscular build
Distinguishing marks: O'Meara family crest tattoo'ed across the middle of his back. Sometimes sports facial hair.
PB: Christian Bale
Birth Location: Chicago, Illinois
Personality:
There are certain things in life that you are born to do and somethings that you desire to do. For Conor O'Meara, it was never necessary for those two paths to cross. If there is one thing that has stuck out in Conor's life is his strong sense of duty. No matter what his own interests and desires in life were... he always put his duty to his family first. If anything that only increased as Conor got older. Conor was raised to be a strong willed man, from an early age he knew what the repercussions of power were as well as the responsibilities. He's perhaps too serious when it comes to the topic, but even the cajoling of friends and family has never managed to make him loosen up with it comes to the duties he sees in his life.

That said, he's never been completely fond of all aspects of the world he was raised in. Violence... leaves a bad taste in his mouth though it's often a necessary evil. The world without the strength to back your words is always the greater of two evils. That said... he's been known to hesitate when a trigger needs pulling. A fact which is shaming but true just the same. However Conor has always been smart enough to surround himself with those that don't posses the same faults, have a conscious more willing to do what is necessary. Conor, though, has always born the guilt and repercussions of every action he's taken or asked another to do.

He's not a man without humor though. A good sense of humor and a certain fondness for a good whiskey typically take the hard edges off of his personality. There was even a point in time where one might have called him charming... even with the ladies. But Conor was never the one to be in constant search for the next woman. Some part of him was always more than ready to settle down... unless of course that plan contradicted with what was required of him. Unfortunately for those close to him... duty has always come first.

Personal Background:
His mother always said he was the easiest pregnancy she'd ever had. He didn't keep her up night after night like the twins had and he most certainly hadn't lingered like the youngest one, seemingly content to stay in the womb until Clare O'Meara had to be induced. No, Conor O'Meara had been a pleasant first pregnancy for young Clare. A blessing she'd always said. He hadn't ruined her figure and the labor... well he seemed more than ready to make a prompt entrance into the world. Into the waiting arms of his parents. Or as Patrick O'Meara had told it, little Conor practically jumped right out of his mother ready to make his presence known. But then again, Patrick was always known to exaggerate just a wee bit when it came to his pride and joy.

It was something to be celebrated. A son. A healthy boy that Patrick couldn't have been prouder of. For six years Conor was the only child. He had the best of everything his father could provide. And The O'Meara could provide. As a child Conor understood little of what his father did. His mother took him to playdates in the park with other mothers, all Irish of course. He went to preschool and kindergarten. Nothing any other child didn't do. But there were also the memories of holding onto his father's big warm hand as they walked through a smoke filled bar. Men clapping his father on the back others shirking away like the family dog after he'd pulled a roast off the table. It wasn't until Conor was older that he understood that the approval and fear all came from one thing... power.

Patrick O'Meara held the power in Chicago. And Conor was being groomed to one day take his father's place. Whether that was what Conor wanted for his life was never a question asked. Not by his father and not by Conor. It just was.

By the time that Conor had made his way through high school he had slipped into the roles his father asked of him with ease. He studied, though it was rarely a struggle for him, got the grades expected of him and shadowed his father learning everything from the inside out. He didn't have to, not with the fact that he was born into a position of power but that wasn't Conor's style. He always needed to know, to be a part of everything he could be. His siblings never had quite the same expectations put on them. As Conor got older, he was glad for that, regardless of the fact that it only put a distance between them. It was a sacrifice that Conor was willing to make. That wasn't to say that they were strangers. They had a big boisterous family. Gatherings were constant and there were always people at the house. Friends, compatriots, business associates. All too often those were one in the same. Conor had a group that he ran with, other boys he grew up with and that one chicken legged girl that they'd never been able to shake growing up no matter how hard they'd tried.

They all grew up though, Conor went off to college. His father insisting that it be out of state. Some combination of growing up and protection. Patrick knew his son needed to grow into his own, find his own footing as a man outside of the shadow of him father. Boston University was the place for that. Four years later he was ready to return with a legitimate business degree to add to his pedigree. He was also ready to return and step into bigger shoes. He'd made his own contacts while in Boston for school. Friends and associates. He just had to prove to his father that he was ready.

Patrick gave him that opportunity. There was a beef between a group of Italians and Irish. Something about territory being crossed and deals being made that were something less than kosher. The details weren't necessarily important, what was however was that Patrick O'Meara was the peacemaker in such situations. And in this case... Conor O'Meara was taking his first steps in the shoes of his father. It was an issue of drugs, the Italian's specialty. But specialty or not... there were certain lines of territory that you didn't cross. It wasn't supposed to be anything more than reminding the Italians of where the carefully drawn boundary lines were but like almost every carefully laid plan it didn't go as designed. Instead the meeting went south fast. A group of assholes that saw nothing more than an opportunity to push the boundaries when it was the son of Patrick O'Meara handling the issue. It went downhill quickly, guns were drawn and shots fired. In the end it wasn't any of the Irish dead and it wasn't any of the Italian drug dealers. It was however one of the bystanders... if you could call her that. Dante Morelli's girlfriend of... well it wasn't as though Conor knew. Why she was there, he didn't know and the question wasn't asked. Did it matter? She was laid out on the pavement a pool of blood around her caught by a bullet that wasn't exactly forgiving.

Conor didn't expect Dante to be either. He wasn't. But it was something to be expected, people were caught everyday in situations like that. Avenged everyday as well. Conor spent the next year of his life wondering when and where it would come. It didn't but Conor was a smart man and it lingered in the back of his mind always. But there were other things to think about. Business, business, business... and the sight of one tall dark haired beauty. How had they thought of her as chicken legged before. Little Riley Hayes, wasn't so little anymore and sure as hell wasn't chicken legged. Busy as he might have been he was never too busy to notice the woman she'd become. Impossible not to. It started as a date here and there, drinks after hours in the bar she worked in and the bar he conducted just as much business in. But quickly it became more. His mother couldn't have been happier. Little Riley and her boy Conor. Clare couldn't stop talking about the beautiful babies they'd have. And for once, Conor didn't shake off her words, there was actually some appeal to them.

Personal plans, however didn't always work perfectly. Patrick saw the plans in his son's eyes and recognized them for exactly what they were. He didn't object but he did sit Conor down and explain that things weren't always that easy. Conor had matters that he had to take care of before he could settle down. Rights of passage if you will and things that were important to the family. It was settled, Conor was sent across the Atlantic and to Ireland as Patrick had when he was Conor's age as well. What did he get to tell Riley? Far less than he wanted to. Far less being next to nothing. Just flowers left for her like he always did on Monday's and he was gone. Less... less was unfortunately more when it came to what Conor was sent overseas to do. In his defense, perhaps the only thing in his defense was that he thought it wouldn't be long.

It was though, far longer than he ever thought it would be. He hadn't set out to be gone seven years. But what he found himself immersed in when he set foot in Dublin wasn't something he could entirely put into words and certainly not words that he could send to Riley. A different world. Arms dealing had always been Conor's specialty in Chicago, the aspect of the family business that he'd taken to first and here in Europe with the people he met in Ireland.... he found himself sucked into a different way of doing business. Old world and in some ways so very much more effective. He started in Dublin but found his way across the island. Family was his first connection but soon there were more. The opportunity for learning and expanding what his father had asked of him stared Conor right in the face and he couldn't deny it. Conor found his way with family into Northern Ireland into the remnants of the UVF. They had their cause still and they sure as hell had methods that were something to learn from. Nothing legal and things that couldn't always be stopped for something as simple as a visit home. The connections and the importance of them took years to develop. Took years to solidify and Conor couldn't walk away from it... even the fact that he loved and missed a woman back in Chicago wasn't enough.

He'd always made sacrifices when it came to his family.

He didn't realize seven years had gone by... didn't realize that it had been a good two years since he'd contacted any of his siblings. And even more didn't realize that it had been a year since he'd spoken to even his own mother. None of that had hit home to him until he got that late night call from his mother, hysteria in her voice... his father was dead.

In that moment all those regrets of time lost hit Conor like a brick wall. He didn't remember much of the next few hours. Just remembered finding some other members of the group he'd come to associate himself with in Belfast, namely one woman who could work magic with some explosives and asked if they were looking for a change of scenery... the flight was booked and Conor was on his way back home. Shoes that he hadn't wanted to fill just yet waiting for him.

Family:
Father – Patrick O'Meara – deceased
Mother – Clare O'Meara (56)
Sister – Brenna O'Meara (28)
Brother – Brendan O'Meara (28)
Brother – Rory O'Meara (16)
Large extended family
Weaknesses: Family, a good whiskey, dark haired blue eyed woman women,
Any Training: College degree (business).
Special Skills: Excellent marksman, gambling especially poker.
Occupation: Businessman (The less you know the better...) says he specializes in the import and export of goods. Yeah that's it.
Current Residence: Family home in the Beverly neighborhood in the Southside of Chicago