Saint Patrick ☘ (shamrocked_) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2015-11-07 18:58:00 |
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Current mood: | gloomy |
WHO: Australian Saint Patrick [Paddy]
WHAT: Being sad about everything ever
WHEN: November 5th, 2015
WHERE: Melbourne, Australia
WARNINGS: Sex, violence and alcoholism
There were fireworks in the background, but Paddy barely noticed the sounds of the explosions as he stumbled his way down Smith Street. Guy Fawkes Day meant absolutely nothing to him, especially not this year. Drunkenly, he bounced off the wall of a lawyer's office, and he hissed between his teeth at the shock of pain. That was going to bruise his shoulder.
As he made his way down the street, he was met by someone else, who made a beeline towards him. Paddy's vision was blurry, but he was fairly sure the man was trying to mug him so the moment the person was in range, Paddy grabbed him by the shoulders and headbutted him right in the face.
That was going to bruise too.
"Fuckin' oath," Paddy hissed at the man, who crumpled in front of him. Spitting on the slumped human as he walked by, Paddy continued on his way to the corner of Smith and Stanley Streets. There was a non-descript building there, painted all in white, with fairy lights adorning the roof. The front door was painted shut, but this wasn't a front door kind of establishment. Paddy rounded the building and entered the back way, stumbling up the stairs to the front desk where he knew they would recognise him.
Paddy was led to his usual girl and he entered her room, closing the door behind him. She went by Colleen, not that he believed for a second it was her real name. She had long dark hair, and even darker eyes, and he liked the way she smiled at him even if he knew logically it wasn't actual joy at seeing him. He let her undress him and lead him to the bed because he was too drunk to take the lead here. She laid him down and the entire time she was on top of him, he imagined that he had saved her from this place and they had run away to his cattle station. Her hair brushed against his chest and he imagined feeling that every night. God, he would give anything just to be able to lie here with her afterwards, cuddled together against the night.
Colleen had her job to do, however, and she couldn't spend all night spooning a disgraced saint. He disposed of the condom as she began to dress. "I could take you out of here, you know," he said softly.
Colleen turned to him as she hooked her bra on. "What makes you think I want to be taken out of here?" she asked him, that smile still fixed on her face.
Paddy shook his head and shrugged. "Nothing. I was just hoping."
"You're so sweet," she told him, smiling so widely he could almost believe she really meant it.
"I'm not," Paddy replied, standing so he could pull his jeans on. He tossed several fifties on her bed, tipping her more than he owed. "But it's nice of you to say."
"See you soon, George," she said, and Paddy smirked for just a second, because he rather enjoyed that he always gave the poncy pom's name when he was in a brothel.
"You sure will," Paddy pulled his shirt on and saluted her before stumbling back out of the room and into the Melbourne night.
The walk back to Saint Patrick's cathedral seemed to take forever. Paddy lit a cigarette, blowing smoke out as he crossed the damn fountain that ran lengthwise along the footpath. Wet feet was hardly the worst thing that had happened to him today. He rounded the cathedral to reach the building where the diocese offices were. The building was deserted at this hour, but that didn't matter. Paddy was headed below the building to the secret basement where he had an apartment he stayed in when he was in the city. The Cardinal seemed to want him around all the time these days. He ached to escape to his cattle station, but he had duties-
Paddy slammed the door shut and went to collapse onto his bed, his back flat against the mattress. He stared up at the ceiling he couldn't even see, smoke slowly curling away from him. Goddamn that fucking American Patrick and his fucking perfect life. The man not only found a person to love him unconditionally, but now he had two fucking children. Every day there was a new email with dozens of photos in it where Patrick had his mouth wide open and he was holding one or both of his twins. The joy just radiated off the missives, and Paddy's jealousy silently grew to the point where he was drinking nightly and seeking out the comfort of sex workers regularly.
With a groan, Paddy set the half-finished cigarette in ashtray and rolled over to face the wall. The orange glow of the cigarette slowly dwindled into ash and died as Paddy fell asleep.