|Saint Margaret | Marina Dragonetti (eat_me_satan) wrote in nevermore_logs,|
@ 2011-10-23 04:28:00
|Entry tags:||saint george, saint margaret|
Who: George and Margaret
Where: A little cafe somewhere
What: Dragons are evil. That's why one slays them. (Originally posted by George)
George knew what being defeated could do to a person.
Not just getting beaten, not just losing, because that happened to everyone. Being defeated, though, that was being crushed at the very thing you were supposed to always win at. That was losing so soundly that no one could dispute it. And since they were saints, defeat tended to bring literally hellish consequences. George hated being defeated. He could remember every time a dragon had eaten him, every time some monster symbolizing all the darkness in the world gutted him and left him bleeding out in the dirt. He'd woken up screaming from the memories more times than he could count.
He really, really hated being defeated, and he knew Margaret had to feel something close to the same way.
It was almost too cold to sit on the cafe's small porch outside, but George figured trying to talk about being eaten by the Devil might earn them some confused looks. So George just kept his scarf wrapped around him and waited for Margaret. If she didn't want to talk about it, he wouldn't make her. But he wanted to be there if she needed a shoulder to cry on.
Margaret walked up to the cafe George had promised to meet her, her cold hands stuffed into her pockets. When she saw him outside, she was glad she had worn her warmer coat.
She smiled at him, half-serious and half-exhausted, and she sat down at the table beside him. "Hello, George." She knew he would recognise the tone of her voice. She could hide over the internet, but she wasn't good at keeping things from George. He would recognise her shadowed eyes and the weariness in her voice even if she could fool Saint Peter and Saint Agatha. "I'm glad you're here."
George took one look at her and pulled her into a hug, resting his chin on her shoulder. "And I'm glad you're here too."
He pulled back from the hug to sit down at the table. "I ordered us some coffee. How are you holding up, kiddo?"
"Coffee's good," Margaret said as she pulled back from George. She had been living off of the stuff, which she knew she shouldn't. But really, who could blame her?
"Sometimes I wish I didn't care so much. But then that sweet woman Satan hurt, her name is Amanda, she talks to me and I know I would do the same thing again in an instant."
"Of course you would," George said, keeping a hand on Margaret's arm. He always felt better with some physical contact to anchor him to the world. "That's what makes you who you are. Are you having nightmares? I always did when...when things like that happened to me."
Margaret, who wouldn't admit this to anyone else, nodded immediately. "It's all I dream about." She shifted, her gloved hands shoved under her thighs against the seat and her shoulders hunched around her ears.
"I haven't slept in...forty-four hours, I think it is."
George blinked. Holy hell, he thought, but didn't say it out loud. She was worse off than he'd thought.
"You wanna come home with me and try to get some sleep after we eat?" George offered. The usually painful awkwardness of talking about his weaker moments faded away at the possibility of being able to help someone. "When I'm feeling off, I can usually sleep better if I've got someone there to talk to me when I'm having nightmares. The couch is comfy enough to let you get a couple of hours rest if you can manage to doze off."
"Maybe," Margaret said in a non-committal way. She lived with Saint Peter and she thought if anyone could calm her down it should be him. But George actually knew what was going on with her. It was probably a good idea.
"I just...I get so hung up on the fact that I got eaten. He was supposed to spit me out. He was supposed to be unable to do it. And he did it anyway."
"I've always figured the reason we can surive impossible things some of the time and not others is because sometimes, we're showing the power of God," George said, squeezing her shoulder gently. "Satan knew about that already. This time, you were there to save that girl."
Margaret nodded, listening to George's words. "And I did, and I'm glad I did. I was relieved Satan kept his word and let her go. He didn't go after her when I was gone. At least...I am assuming he didn't because she's alright."
"Yeah, he's been indisposed," George said. "I think eating you did something to him, because he vanished for a while and hasn't been out since. I gotta say, if you gave him cosmic indigestion, it couldn't have happened to a bigger asshole."
A waitress brought out the coffee that George had ordered them, and he wrapped his hands around the warm cup for a moment. "You protected the innocent, Margaret. At the end of the day, no matter what else we have going on, that's our job. And you did it perfectly."
Margaret snickered at George's words and then she looked ashamed for a second, busying herself with her drink.
"Thank you," she said warmly to George. "I'm just struggling a little. I'm sure it will work itself out."
George grinned and looked down. "I think if we're allowed to make fun of anyone, Satan should be on the list. Especially since he seems to be the cause of all of his own problems."
A little more seriously, he added, "If the nightmares don't fade soon, I've got the number of some people you can talk to? Not about the Devil thing, obviously, but about getting attacked."