|Famine | Fia Black (black_horse) wrote in nevermore_logs,|
@ 2017-01-23 04:53:00
|Current music:||The Civil Wars - From This Valley|
|Entry tags:||-abroad, famine, saint andrew|
Who: Famine & Andrew
What: It's the last check-in
When: Sunday evening
Where: Dublin/the farm
Notes: What even is sleep right now
Ever mindful of the fact that she couldn't physically look at Patrick every second of every day, Famine was mostly content to let him do what he liked. Considering that they'd ended up having sex in the kitchen the last time she'd tried the 'tough love' tactic, she pretty much stuck to making the meals and puttering around outside. She still updated Andrew every night on how the day had gone, and so far, he'd accepted everything she'd told him.
That evening, though, when they were talking, a thought crossed her mind. "How long have we been here?" she asked.
"Hmmm," he hummed thoughtfully in her ear. "I'm not too sure. At least a week and a half, I'd imagine."
"Then we should leave soon," Famine told him. "Otherwise we'll all get zapped back, which would raise a lot of questions. And I don't feel like arguing with immigration again."
"Again?" he asked, sounding amused.
"Different story for another time," she said dryly.
She heard a faint snort come down the line. "Fair enough," he replied, still sounding amused. "But you're right. I'll get the tickets all arranged, and we'll start rounding up all the things and various bags. I'll email you once we finalize flights."
"Awesome," she answered, feeling a huge wave of relief wash over her. Soon they'd be back in New York, and she was going to get drunk for days with Pestilence. And hopefully she and Patrick would have an actual conversation about what had happened. "I'll let him know when I find him again. He could be yelling at a pole again, I'm not really sure."
"...Do I want to know?" Andrew asked.
"Likely not," she told him. "Not a great story."
"I see," he said. "Truth be told, though, I'm looking forward to heading back home. Not that I don't think this trip was needed, and I'm glad we could be there for Patrick. But I think Scottish is going to strangle me if I'm in his house much longer."
Famine snorted. "Sounds like you're having fun."
"Aye, loads," he said, even drier than she had been. "And my accent's come back with a bloody vengeance. Not that it left before, but now it sounds like I never left." He then paused, before asking another question. "Are you alright, lass?" he asked. "You sound a wee bit off."
She sighed. "Nothing you can help with," she told him. "No offense."
"The two of you had a fight, did you?" he asked. "I don't think anyone would blame you, you've been cooped up in a farmhouse for almost two weeks."
"Something like that," she said, sounding very tired. "I'm sure we'll discuss it once we're home."
"I'll leave that to the two of you, then," he replied, and she could hear him starting to click around on his computer.
"Hmm," he hummed again. "Looks like we could all get flights out on Tuesday. We could come and get the two of you Monday afternoon, and then fly out Tuesday morning. I doubt anyone's keen on getting up at 6 a.m., but the next option is at 8 p.m. And I'm pretty sure that's even less appealing."
"Agreed," she confirmed. She fished her cigarettes out of her pocket and lit one, relishing the feeling of the smoke entering her lungs.
"Nasty habit, that," Andrew muttered absently.
"It's not like they'll kill me," she replied easily. It was a familiar exchange between the two of them by now.
"Indeed," he murmured, tapping away in the background. "Though I can't imagine he loves that smell in the house."
"I'm out by the barn," she said, exhaling a stream of smoke. "Because you're right, he doesn't. And sometimes I just have to get out of the house. No car means no going anywhere, so this is as good as it gets."
"Well soon we'll all be going home," was his reply, followed by a yawn. "I've booked us all seats for the 8:30 out of Dublin, and we'll come up to get the pair of you sometime after lunch tomorrow. So make sure all your things are packed and ready to go."
"Will do," she replied, yawning herself.
"Famine," Andrew said, suddenly sounding more serious. "I don't know if I've properly thanked you. For looking out for Patrick. I know it's not usually in the nature of Horsemen to take wayward Saints under their wings, but he didn't want anyone else around but you. But I also know you didn't have to say yes. So we're all very grateful."
A tiny spike of guilt bloomed in Famine's heart, because she was pretty sure Andrew's definition of 'taking care of Patrick' had definitely not included sleeping with him. But she couldn't exactly tell him that, so all she said was, "You're welcome. It really hasn't been that bad. He's my friend, I couldn't exactly leave him alone."
"We're still grateful," Andrew replied. "But we won't bang on about it, promise."
Famine snorted again. "Thanks for that."
"No problem," he said brightly. "By the way, whenever you check your email, the flight details should be there."
"I'll pass it along," she promised, grinding out her cigarette. "And after that, I'm going to bed."
"Good plan," he agreed. "Then I suppose we'll see the both of you tomorrow."
"Indeed. Goodnight, Andrew."