Okay, so this is my character Riley O'Connor who I submitted to be in AbbyMasrai's sequal, Big Time Reunion.

I just thought it would be interesting to put up what a day in Riley's life is like.

If you haven't looked at the character bio put up on her story then you'll be a bit confused, so I advise you go check that out because I'm too lazy to put it all up here.

Oh and random bit, there's a song that I listen to that really makes me think of Riley - it's called Take Me Home by After Midnight Project. Really...it's so freaking perfect...

Anyways I don't own BTR, and the original story Big Time Mystery and the upcoming Big Time Reunion all belong to AbbyMasrai - I only own Riley!

NOTE: I submitted my character app to AbbyMasrai, got thinking about Riley, and wrote this so, yeah, it's brand spakin' new ^_~

Enjoy!

I walked through the empty halls of the manor, eyes set forward and gazing to the ground as they usually did. The manor was extensive, and currently housed my father and I, and a few other families of the Irish Mob. Though there were several people here, the halls were usually empty, not that I was complaining. If I were to show how I truly felt to any of them, to the mobsters, to my father, surely I'd be dead by now. I had the 'X' branded on the side of my neck to remind me not to show weakness. I was only a child when they took me away from her, my mother, and because I cried as I was to leave everything behind, I was marked like an animal. Though, now animals seemed to get tags in their ears rather than a red hot shape of iron pressed to their skin. I raised a hand to rub at the burn scar subconsciously, feeling the ridges of it under my fingers always made my skin crawl.

Even though it had been several years, and I was nineteen now, it was still hard for me to accept what my family was, what I was. Then again, I guess being raised as a devout Catholic and then being torn away and taught to lead a completely different life was a bit hard to get over, even if you could cover it up quite well. A noise at the end of the hall called my attention back to reality, and I looked up to see two of the adults walking out of a room in their black suits, wearing brass knuckles on each hand. I dawned my hardened expression, my continual mask that I kept up to hide the disgust and fear that crept through my veins at all hours. As they neared me, the son of their boss, they raised their hands to wave, though it was more like a salute.

"O'Connor, we're off te scare some poor bloak oot o' his wits, ye should come! Ay think seein' yer size will scare 'em shitless alone!"

The joked amongst each other. I suppose if you were six-feet-five-inches tall and weighed about two-hundred pounds there would be advantages in a mob, especially if you were so fit and young like I was. Then again, you'd probably also have to have the mind of a sadist like them, which I did not.

As I passed I shrugged at them, keeping up my apathetic shield.

"Scare 'em good, lads. Da wants me te keep me arse in th' hoose fer now."

They waved slightly, chuckling as they made their way down the halls, and I could hear their loud voices and swearing all the way until they vanished from my sight. I let out a small breath, running a hand lightly through my black fohawk and then scratching at the sideburns I had grown. All in all I looked very intimidating, what with my size and all, and apparently if you had hair like mine, epic chops, fohawk, soul patch, it somehow added to your 'scary factor'. I suppose my looks just came as a gift to keep me deeper in cover, keep my fear and soft heart under wraps easier.

My Doc Martens padded lightly over the rug as I approached a dark oak door at the end of a dim lit hallway. As I stopped before it I glanced around then pushed it open with a slight creak from the hinges. I closed the door behind me before turning about and looking around. It was a simple study, red rugs on the dark stained hardwood floor, a desk on the far left side of the room with the leather chair's back to the large window. The east side of the room was covered in books, the west, at which I stood in now in front of the entrance, had a piano situated near it's corner, and the south of the room right across from the desk had a large fireplace surrounded by stone walls. I made my way to the large, black piano, unsure of it's make, and sat at the small bench.

My mother had taught me songs on the piano, but I couldn't read music. She taught me only church hymns so that I could play for all the choir in the future, and from that I learned to start to play music on my own. It seemed that the silver crucifix hanging around my neck, with a single ruby in the center, and the knowledge of the piano were all I had left of her until I could see her again. My father promised me that if I did as I was told and never stepped out of line that I would be able to see her very soon, though his words had been empty since now. However I knew that he was just doing his job, as a mob boss he was to be sure that all of his men were kept in line, including his son. I was afraid of my father because he was a powerful man, mad with ambition, but he loved me like a son once and it was this love that kept me at his side. Even if I did have to hide who I really was beneath the mask of a true mob son, and if I could only play the piano in absolute secrecy, to have him embrace me as a son just once more would make it all worth it.

As my thoughts drifted about in my head, my right hand came up to the keys and touched at them lightly, pressing random keys in no real order and not creating any kind of melody at all. My dark hazel eyes drifted over the keys, though they were glazed and distant, remembering times back in my home at the Isle of Man when my mother would put her hands over mine and we'd play the piano together. I could hear her laugh in my head, like song birds and bells at the same time, and her fair skin with her pink lips always made me so happy whenever she smiled. Her hair was as black as mine, as opposed to my fathers strawberry blonde hair.

Hearing the door of the study open I suddenly snapped out of my memories, straightening up to look at who had entered. As my father's face came into my vision I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach, unsure of what he would think of me sitting at a piano.

"What are ye doin', boy?"

He asked me, raising a brow. I looked down at the piano, where my hand was still resting on the keys and quickly gained my composure.

"Jus' pressin' keys, thinkin' aboot things. Did ye need me?"

I asked now as I stood, changing the subject. I succeeded. It seemed I jogged his memory and he closed the door, making his way over to the desk where he opened the drawer and pulled out a flask of whiskey. That kind of made my skin crawl, because if the whiskey was there it meant he knew about the study, and while it was basically his manor, I thought I was the only one who knew about this study. I walked calmly over to the desk, leaning on it with my arms crossed as he took a drink, waiting for him to talk to me.

"Ay've been lookin' fer ye, actually."

He started out, sitting down in the chair and leaning back to prop his steel toed clad feet on the desk. He arched my brows slightly, as if in interest.

"We've jus' been called te America te help a friend o' mine with business down there."

America? Now that was certainly odd. Why would we be going all the way to America? Surely it wasn't just to help with some matters with another mob boss, not like they ever needed help bumping any body off, so I was sure it was a bigger situation. My father must have seen the confusion I failed to hide and stood up, chuckling slightly.

"They need some muscle, an Ay told 'em Ay said, 'Me boy Riley's th' best fer this one! He's bigger 'an most full grown men Ay've seen, and twice as strong!'"

For a moment I felt my heart tingle, my stomach had an electric feeling run through and if I weren't so good at concealing my emotions I'm sure my eyes would have watered. Whatever uncertainty I had had, whatever fear I had of going there and doing what I was told melted away the minute he called me his boy. I haven't heard him say that since I was just a lad, and to hear it now made me so extremely happy, made me believe I was that much closer to earning his love once more. It was becoming worth it.

"When do we leave?"

I asked, to avoid a silence between us.

My father made his way past me, and I stood from my leaning place on the desk and followed for a few steps until he reached the door and opened it. Turning about in the entrance he looked back at me, tucking one hand into his jeans pocket.

"In three days, so get anythin' ye need ready te go."

I nodded in response, though before he left I took a hesitant step forward.

"Da?"

I called out, making him stop and turn to look at me again. I had my hands clenched in the pockets of my jeans and I figeted for a moment under his gaze, but the looked up again.

"When Ay get back, from America...can...can Ay see Mum?"

I felt the spark of hope dim in me as I saw his brow lower, obviously not wanting to talk of the subject, as if he hated remembering her.

"We'll see, lad."

And as he closed the door behind him, leaving me alone I sank back to the piano bench. I was back at being called 'lad' again, after all this time of trying so hard to be his loving son I earned it and it was gone in the blink of an eye, all because I was pushing to see her. I shouldn't have asked, I should have waited until we were actually in America! Now he was upset, and calling me lad once more. I bowed my head, feeling the water sting at the corners of my eyes as I yearned to hear my mother's sweet voice again, and to hear my dad come back and call me his son, or even his boy again.

Balling a fist I hit it on the keys of the piano, creating a horrific sounding noise as the keys were pressed down in unison. I leaned forward slowly, leaning me head in my arms over the keys of the piano creating more random noises as they were pressed down, feeling the incredible knot in my stomach grow.

I could only hope that whatever it was I was to do in America would redeem me. Me, the unwilling son of a mob boss, too afraid to defy him, and so hopeful for his love that I probably never would.

PS. yes, I am aware the spelling in their dialogue is kinda hard to read, but that's just what you get when I try to type out an Irish accent!