Who: David and the Morrigna What: Someone has to make a stand (Originally posted by David) When: Monday night Where: The Morrigna's hideout Warning: blood, cutting, and crazy celtic goddesses with big knives.
David waited by the window all day, except when he was on the roof. He'd had a weird dream last night, about the rolling green hills of Wales, and over them white doves fought against black ravens. He couldn't help feeling it was a sign of what he needed to do.
The raven was always somewhere about, perched on top of a lamppost, or on the edge of a building opposite. David had watched them since sunrise, careful not to be seen staring. He had a feeling they wouldn't be looking for him anyway. As it got later in the day, he felt sure they would swap over again.
Making a vague excuse, he left the flat, walking down the stairs and out into the cold night, hands deep in his coat pockets. He was deliberately wearing light colours, for the symbolism mostly. White is peace.
The ravens cawed at each other a minute, then one flapped away. Keeping his head down, David followed, body hunched into his coat but eyes fixed on the bird.
Macha had been relieved of her watch duty by Badb. He flew into an alleyway and emerged a moment later, in human form. She walked through the cold streets of New York, her coat drawn in around her.
She knew someone was following. She didn't care.
The shop the Morrigna lived above was empty, considering it was a Sunday. Macha entered anyway, leaving the door unlocked. Nemain was arranging things on shelves and she turned to smile at her sister. "Welcome back, sister."
Macha took her coat off and then she jerked her head towards the door. "We have company coming."
David was slow in following, not wanting to be too close, but keeping the woman in his line of sight. When she entered a shop he hesitated, unsure if she'd come out again. When she stayed in there for several minutes, he decided to venture on.
The shop was virtually empty as David stepped inside. He took off his coat, even though it was still cold inside, but he didn't want to be thought to be hiding anything.
"Morrigna!" he called, waiting patiently. "I want to speak with you!"
Nemain turned to look at him as she straightened a few herbs on the shelf. Macha grinned and pulled herself up onto the counter. "It's one of Pagraid's friends," she informed Nemain.
Nemain abandoned the herbs and she turned to fix a cold gaze on David. He was being very bold, which was the only reason she wasn't bored already. "Speak then," Nemain said with a growl. "And don't be boring."
David took a step forward, meeting Nemain's gaze to show he was unafraid. "I want to know why you insist on following Patrick everywhere. What happened between you was so long ago, he's not even the same person any longer."
"Who are you to care?" Macha said, tossing an eraser from their shop desk at him. "This is between my sisters and the Saint who ran us out of our own country."
"Patrick is my brother. I am Dewi Sant, patron saint of Wales. There were Celts there too, who were driven out, though not by me. If it hadn't been Patrick who had brought Christianity to Ireland, it would have been someone else." David looked to Macha, letting the eraser hit him and doing nothing to retaliate. "I am here to ask you to let him be."
Nemain raised her eyebrows and she glanced over at Macha. "He wants us to let the little Saint alone?"
"What is in it for us?" Macha asked. "I enjoy seeing the look of pain on his face and if you take that away from me, I expect to get something in return."
"What do you want? I have nothing to offer that would be of any worth to you." David would give of himself if he had to, though the thought of being tied up and tortured wasn't appealing. He considered offering mince pies, but he didn't know if they could take a joke, and it felt best not to push it. He had a feeling offering money wouldn't interest them either.
"What about your head," Nemain asked, leaning up off the wall so she could circle David slowly. "It's a nice head. Not as fancy as Padraig's," Nemain said, touching David's hair. It was neater than Patrick's insane mop. "It would work though. What do you think, Dewi Sant?"
David hesitated for a long moment, trying to gauge his adversary. "Are there are other options?" he asked at last, looking from Nemain to Macha. "I am rather attached to my head."
Nemain curled her fingers into David's hair and she pulled David's head back a little, looking over to her sister. "Are there other options, Macha?"
Macha crossed her legs, perching atop the counter, looking menacing. "I wouldn't mind tasting a saint," she said, grinning widely.
"Well that's certainly out of the question. I'm a good cook but I don't cook myself," David said as firmly as he could, considering Nemain's sharp fingernails were rather close to his scalp. He didn't think he'd really appreciated what these three were truly like until now.
Macha turned her head to the side in confusion for a moment and then she threw back her head and laughed.
Nemain leaned in close to David's ear. "She means sexually, you moron."
"Oh," David said, his face flushing red at being laughed at and at missing the point. "Well, I- I don't really- No. Sorry."
Macha's laughing slowed, but she was still grinning as she said, "so your fidelity is more important to you than your brother's head? Interesting."
Nemain let go of David's hair and she patted him on the back. "It's probably the best choice, Macha is not a gentle woman."
Macha wiggled her eyebrows at David.
David didn't comment one way or the other. He was not about to start debating his dedication to his faith with these pagan witches.
"So will you leave him alone?" he asked again, pressing the issue. "Please? I cannot give either of the things you ask for."
Macha jumped down from the counter and she stepped over to stand in front of David. "You want use to leave your brother alone, yet you refuse to give us the things we want in place of his head?"
She placed both of her hands on David's face to see how he would react. "I could take your head now if I wanted to."
"Maybe if you were to ask for things that involved less death," David suggested, trying not to be afraid. "I'm not asking you to forgive him. Just leave him be. Isn't it enough to know that he suffers already?" He swallowed hard, determined not to freak out. "I love my brother as you love your sisters. Surely you understand that much, whatever other differences we may have."
Macha raised her eyebrows then and she turned to look at Nemain. Interesting. "Nemain," she said quietly. "Go get Badb. Call her off."
Nemain stepped away from David, though she smirked at him as she slowly took her clothes off. "He just looks so cute and innocent," Nemain said with a frown.
Macha raised her eyebrows at her sister. "And?"
Nemain grinned and she reached out for David's hand, pressing it to her breast, her grip like iron. "Going to blush, Saint?"
David struggled manfully against blushing, even though he could feel her nipple against his palm. He was trying hard not to notice. But this was an improvement, at any rate. This was hope. He could suffer humiliation if it meant Patrick was left alone. He couldn't bring himself to relax even a little, though.
Nemain patted David's face with her free hand. She rubbed herself against him before letting him go. Then Nemain blew him a kiss, stepped outside into the wintery air, turned into a crow, and flew away.
Macha reached out for David's hand then, though though she didn't place it anywhere on her. "How was that for you, Dewi Sant?"
"I'm not like that," he said, resisting the urge to rub his hand on his coat. He exhaled slowly, then looked back up into Macha's face. "So are you going to leave him alone?" he asked, needing to know for certain.
Macha rolled her eyes and she pulled David along with her. She walked through the shop, up the stairs, and into the apartment she shared with her sisters.
"Sit," Macha said, pointing to the couch. "And tell me what makes your brother so different now."
David sat slowly on the edge of the couch, trying to hurriedly decide how much he should say. He didn't want to give away so much that it made Patrick vulnerable to them.
"Do you know how we still exist?" he asked, deciding to test the waters first that way.
"I do," Macha said, pulling a chair over to face him. "Though I find the idea of tying you to this chair and seeing what your insides look like far more interesting than how we're here. Why is this important?"
"We are here because of the way the people of America remember us. Patrick's feast day has changed a lot in the last few centuries when he has been here. People use his day as an excuse to drink and fight. He no longer routes pagans from their homes. Pagans get drunk and celebrate in his name instead. It has changed him." David didn't want to be any more specific than that, if he had to. The last thing he needed was this backfiring and it being his fault.
Interesting. Saint Patrick had changed into something different? Macha didn't really need specifics. She knew Saint Patrick's day was a sort of big deal here in New York.
"And how does he suffer?" she asked, her eyes taking on a hungry look.
"It is enough to know that he does," David said, unwilling to divulge further. "He is not the same crusader he once was. He does not hate like he used to. He does good works for charity now, among other things."
Macha didn't give a shit about charity. What she cared about, was the pain of the man who had killed her.
She stood then, moving to sit beside David. She reached out and grabbed him by the chin, squeezing just hard enough to hurt. "You came to see us today, despite knowing that we wanted to cut your brother's head off. That was brave. Then you refused to show fear. That was more brave." Macha crawled into David's lap and she continued to hold his face.
"I would do anything for my sisters. Anything. I understand your coming here. But I owe you nothing. And I owe that disgusting brother of yours less than that. If I leave him be, I want you to swear an oath to me. If I ask you to do something for me, you agree. It won't be against that blasted religion of yours, but it won't be fun. If I ask, you comply. You will be my own personal whipping boy. And if you fail to do what I ask, I will take that brother of yours and I will bind him so tightly he will never get free. And then, instead of taking his head, I am going to starve him to death and then desecrate his corpse. Do you understand me?" she asked, clutching him more tightly in her hand.
David clenched his teeth. "I won't hurt innocents," he gritted out. Her grip was like a vice on his face. She was deceptively strong. "How long will this oath hold me?" He was afraid of what she would have him do. Inflicting pain upon himself, he could life with. Harming others he could and would not do. Patrick would not want that. He wouldn't want this either, said a little voice in his head, but David was rationalising his own involvement.
Macha gave him a derisive look and she let go of his chin. "Hurting people is our job, sweet thing. It's fun and I don't intend to let you have our fun. This is for my own amusement. And it depends on how well you perform," she said, smacking his cheek a little. "I'll grow bored eventually and find someone new to torment."
David averted his gaze with a frown. He felt like he was letting himself in for disaster. "Eventually could be one year, it could be one hundred years. We're immortal, remember? And I don't want my actions to lead to the suffering of others. I'm here to prevent that in the first place."
Macha stared at him coldly and then she leaned forward into his face. "I'll take your suffering then," she said, her lips twisted into a frown.
These saints and their refusal to do anything questionable was quite annoying. So Macha slid from his lap, she pulled David to his feet, showcasing her strength, and she threw him to the floor, moving to stand over him.
David was rather surprised at being so unceremoniously tossed around like a rag doll, and automatically threw his hands up to defend himself as she descended on him. She did get irritated easily. He had definitely underestimated this.
Macha grabbed one of the hands he threw up to cover his face and she dragged him towards the kitchen with it. She reached out for a knife on the kitchen counter and she used it to cut open his palm, licking the blood that pooled to the surface.
David couldn't help crying out in shock and pain at her sudden actions. It was like she'd just snapped or something. He tried to pull his hand away, fingers flexing back.
Macha grinned at him as she tried to squirm out of her grasp. She pulled him closer to the kitchen counter, slamming his hand down onto it. Then she used the knife she luckily kept quite sharp, and she sliced through his pinky finger with it before pushing him to the ground, the pinky held between her fingers.
It happened so fast, David barely had time to be prepared for it. His hand was oozing blood, and his head spun as he stared at the clean diagonal slice where his finger used to be. That strangled noise of agony was coming from his own throat, he realised, as he stared up at Macha.
Macha grabbed a towel and she threw it to David so he could wrap his hand up in it.
"An actual holy relic is sacrifice enough," Macha told him. "Consider Patrick safe. You can leave whenever you can walk," she said, kissing the pinky she held in her hands.
David kind of felt like he might be sick, but he didn't want to give Macha the satisfaction, and pulled himself upright in stages. He tore the towel into strips and wrapped it as tightly around his fingers as he could, trying to ignore the way the cloth soaked through with crimson.
Patrick was safe. He was safe with his head on his neck. David felt a bit odd walking out of the shop in two pieces when he'd arrived in one, but he managed it. He wasn't sure if the witches would hold to their word, but time would tell on that front. Now he just had to get home without fainting, and hopefully without Patrick making a huge fuss, although he would, being that he hadn't left the house all day and would notice in a second.
He pause on the threshold, looking back at Macha. Then he gave a short bow of acknowledgment of their deal, and walked carefully back down the stairs and out into the street. He was sure the two ravens were laughing at him, but he didn't look at them.
Macha nodded back at David as he left their shop. He was walking on his own two legs, despite losing a part of himself.
That was courageous.
Maybe he would get the finger back eventually.
David closed the front door behind him with a soft click. It was late. He'd taken the long way home, wanting to get in after Patrick had gone to sleep, so he'd have a chance to clean himself up before Patrick saw him with blood splattered down his clothes.
He leaned his back against the front door for a moment, closing his eyes. It was a relief to have the solidness of it between him and the outside world. All the way home he'd been sure there were eyes watching him. He let out a soft sigh, gathered himself together, and started to tiptoe towards the bathroom.
Patrick hadn't been able to sleep, and he had been sitting up with Downpatrick, playing fetch on the roof. Even with the cold, it was better than playing it in the living room.
As he headed down the stairs, Downpatrick barked and ran around the corner to jump up on David. Patrick followed, rounding the corner.
"Dewi! Hey ther-" Patrick's face paled as he caught sight of the state of David. "What the Hell?!" he yelped, rushing forward to David's side.
David felt too tired to fight this. "Don't, Patrick. Please don't." He wasn't sure what exactly he was asking Patrick not to do, but the dog jumping around his heels was distracting. He kept his hand held close to his chest. "Down! Basket!" he snapped at the dog, sending the animal moping to lie down in his bed.
Downpatrick was an obedient dog, but Patrick wouldn't be sent away.
"David, what- Are you hurt?" Patrick asked in horror. Just yesterday their situations had been flipped, but David looked far worse off than Patrick had. "Let me help you!"
"No, please, it looks worse than it is," David tried, knowing that sounded pathetic. He tried to walk on to the bathroom alone, but he only got two steps before he stopped. It wouldn't be fair to Patrick to lie.
He turned back, a little warily. "I don't want you to freak out," he said, knowing it was pointless even to say it. He gingerly held his hand out. It was a throbbing mess at the moment. The knife had been sharp and done its work well.
Patrick's eyes widened but instead of panicking, he pointed to the bathroom. Something in him kept the panic at bay, seeing his poor brother so wounded. "Get in there, I need to take a look at it. Should I call the hospital?" And then he gritted his teeth together. "And I do want to know what happened."
"No- I don't know. It's a bit of a mess." David went into the bathroom, putting his hand over the sink and starting to peel off the cloth. The blood on the outside was starting to stick to the blood on the inside, pulling at his wound, and he had to stop and grip the edge of the sink with his good hand so he didn't puke or faint. "Don't be angry with me. I just wanted to help."
Patrick thought he might vomit too. He stared at the mess that was David's hand and then he grabbed the first aid kit immediately.
"Dewi, what on Earth!?" he asked, and then David gripped at the sink and Patrick reached out for him. He wasn't going to be mad. Not at David.
"Hey...sit down. Over the bathtub, come on," Patrick said, helping his brother over so he could sit down. "Now. How did you want to help?" he asked, reaching for some actual bandages to help with bleeding.
Dewi knew Patrick was not going to like this. "It's just a finger. Who even uses their pinky anyway?" he muttered. "Except drinking tea..." He was still holding his hand defensively, and he had to make himself hold out his hand for Patrick to look at.
"I went to make sure you stay safe," he said. "I went to the Morrigna to make a deal. She took my finger and you keep your head." He wasn't looking at Patrick as he spoke, but he didn't regret his actions. In fact, he was even more sure of the rightness of them.
Patrick's jaw dropped and he covered his open mouth with his own hand before biting down on his tongue to keep his initial reply from being shouted out at full volume.
The Morrigna had done this to his brother. They had hurt him so badly, and yet he was still alive. Now, maybe, he felt a fraction of the pain Nemain and Badb had felt when he had killed their sister. He felt like charging after them and slitting their throats, but that was wrath and he wouldn't indulge that sin. It was stupid too. If the Morrigna really had made a deal, then going after them would mean what David had done had been for nothing. If it ended here, then David's sacrifice meant everything, as much as Patrick hated that with all his heart.
"We have to get you to a hospital," Patrick finally managed to say, though he started to wrap the wound up anyway, to keep his brother from just bleeding out all of his blood all over the place. "This has to be looked at by an actual doctor and they...they cover up the- You'll need stitches," Patrick muttered. "You can't just leave it. Dammit, Dewi." He wanted to say if they had taken his head, at least it would have been intact when he came back. He knew things worked differently for them and if the Morrigna gave David his finger back it could be reattached. Who knew if they ever would though.
David was a musician. He needed his finger. The thought broke Patrick's heart.
"I'm not mad you," Patrick said gently as he finished wrapping David's hand up. "God love you, Dewi. I know I do. And I...I appreciate that you went there to keep me safe. This family has problems with doing that..." he said. Then he leaned up to kiss David's forehead. "Will you take pills for the pain or is that...not something you do?" Patrick asked, knowing that if David didn't believe in it, he wouldn't change his opinion on the matter now just because he was in pain. David wasn't like that.
David sighed. Patrick's feelings were clear on his face. "You have enough to deal with without them," he said firmly. "I may have told them that you were changed, that belief treats you differently than life did. I hope that doesn't backfire." He shook his head at Patrick. "It's just a finger. You need your life back, and that is more important. And yes, it does kinda of hurt a lot... how strong are the painkillers you have?"
Patrick still had some painkillers from when he was hit by the car. They were in the medicine cabinet over the sink and he grabbed them, carrying them over to David. "They'll help. They're strong." He didn't comment that having his brother injured was worse, for him, than being injured himself. They were all like that. David probably knew. "I'll get you a glass of water while I call an ambulance."
Nodding, David slid off the edge of the tub and sat down on the floor. Patrick's distress was tiring. He hoped that Patrick wouldn't do anything stupid about this. "They're stronger than they look, you know," he said in a conversational tone. "It was Macha who did it, I think. It's hard to tell them apart. I thought she was going to ask for a lot worse than a finger... she kind of did, you know, but I tried to negotiate it down. This was her compromise. Kind of."
"This was a compromise!? Hold on." Patrick dashed into the kitchen and he grabbed the phone while he filled a glass of water up and he brought them both back to David. "Here," he said handing the water over. "Drink that and take two of the pills. I'll call. What did she want, Dewi?"
David took the drugs. The slice across his palm was stinging like a huge papercut. "Well first she said she'd take my head instead, and then she wanted... well," he coughed slightly, "And when I refused she tried to swear me into her service. I tried to impose conditions and she lost her temper with me and just-" He made a chopping motion with his good hand. "She could have gone for something much worse than a finger."
Patrick stared at David while he dialed for an ambulance and relayed the information to them. Once they were on their way, Patrick hung up and he knelt down beside his brother.
"What you did was bloody ridiculous," he said firmly. "And you're lucky to be alive. You're right, she could have gone for something worse than a finger. As if that's not bad enough." The thought of David in Macha's service was almost as bad as the thought of him at her mercy. "Dewi...thank you. I can't even- You're brave and crazy and thank you." Patrick didn't want to encourage this kind of behaviour, but it wouldn't be fair not to acknowledge David's sacrifice.