Saint Patrick ☘ (shamrocked_) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2010-11-28 09:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | saint patrick |
Who: Patrick being stupid and the Morrigna being themselves (two in crow form)
What: Patrick being stupid
When: During the Angel/Fallen showdown
Where: Various
Warning: Alcoholism and then Morrigna creepiness with ever-so-slight gore.
Patrick was alone for the first time in days. Since he had met with Lucifer and Satan regarding the business of his soul, he had had one archangel and then two looking over his shoulder. And all the while, he had felt like a part of him, something fundamental to his being, was missing. At Michael's house, there was no alcohol. There were no sneaky flasks hidden in underwear drawers and floorboards. There was nothing. Patrick hadn't actually gone so long without a drink in years. Possibly decades. And he was suddenly discovering that keeping away from something so tied into your worship made one feel utterly wretched.
Michael and Gabriel had rushed off with no time to call Patrick's brothers in to watch him. Michael had instructed Patrick to do so himself. It had been a command from the General of God's armies and Patrick knew he should have listened, but he didn't. He told himself he was going to go visit Neil and sit by his bedside for a while, before returning home and calling Dewi, Andrew or George and Sebastian.
He didn't even believe it when he was leaving Michael's apartment. He didn't head anywhere near the hospital. At least, not at first.
He headed towards the first Irish pub he could find, ordered himself a Guinness (what else was there?) and he drank until that familiar lightness returned to his head and he heaved a sigh of relief. His muscles felt like they released more tension than they should even be able to hold, and he relaxed for the first time in days.
He felt complete. He felt right. And he knew it was wrong, but while he had alcohol humming through his veins, he didn't care.
When the men in the corner said a toast to good Saint Patrick, Patrick cheered and laughed and held his glass aloft as well, joining in the festivities. And he did so for hours. He did so until that familiar dizziness in his head grew and grew until he wasn't even sure where he was and he sure as Hell didn't remember poor Neil Jones who was trying to die in a hospital bed across the city.
When Patrick left, he did so slowly, stumbling towards the door of the pub as final call was announced. He didn't need any more and he should be getting home anyway. Not that he remembered where Michael's apartment was.
As Patrick stood on the street, attempting to focus on anything that looked familiar at all and humming a little tune he had heard in the pub, his eyes fell on a woman standing on the street corner not five hundred yards in front of him. She had flaming red hair and when she turned to look at him, fixing pale eyes on his, he felt incredibly uneasy. Like his stomach had been filled up with dread and every other bad feeling he could think of all at once.
Somewhere above him, a crow started to caw.
Did it sound like his name? Surely that wasn't possible.
Patrick backed away clumsily from the red head and she turned, starting towards him. He backed away more quickly. She sped up.
Something was wrong. Something was so very wrong.
He went even faster and so did she. His eyes widened as the red head in front of him changed before his eyes from a beautiful woman to a ghoulish presence. Her mouth opened wider and wider in a silent scream, her eyes became black recesses of nothingness and blood dripped down her face-
He had seen more than enough. Patrick turned, tripping and falling spectacularly into a pile of garbage outside a cafe. He scrambled to his feet, slipping in a substance he didn't want to identify, and then he was running, head pounding, blood in his ears. The Red Woman was still following him, he was sure of it. He could feel her.
His alcohol-addled brain didn't help him navigate the streets at all. He ran blindly, stumbling and bouncing off the sides of buildings, just trying to get away from that presence which he was sure was right behind him. Chasing him. Getting closer and closer. Breathing down the back of his neck-
He couldn't breathe. His lungs burned and his side ached and his head throbbed but he had to keep going.
Patrick sped around a corner and as he did so, a crow took off from a nearby tree and flew right into Patrick's face. He jacknifed right off the sidewalk and into the road to get away from the demon bird, not realising he had run right into the path of an oncoming car.
The car hadn't been going very fast and it caught Patrick on the side, sending him crashing to the street below where his head cracked against the pavement.
While his injuries were not critical by any means, he still lost consciousness and he had no awareness of the driver calling an ambulance and trying to revive him. And while he was carted off to one hospital to have his head bandaged up, somewhere across the city, Neil Jones, never having woken up after his ordeal with Lucifer, quietly died.