WHO: Patrick and Mairead [NPC] WHAT: Mairead being ADORABLE WHEN: Monday afternoon WHERE: Patrick's office WARNINGS: None
Henry was back. King Henry VIII who had made George torture Patrick for information regarding any remaining Plantagenets who had claim to the English throne. Then Henry had had him executed. but not before he had kept him in the Tower of London for nine long and miserable months where he had suffered much. The thought of that man being in his midst made Patrick want to vomit with fear.
Instead he was staring uncomprehendingly at an excel spreadsheet on his computer.
"Hey." Patrick looked up, aware of who the sweet and lilting voice belonged to. Mairead, a teenager from one of the families he was helping, was standing in his doorway. She now visited Patrick every time her family came in to meet with their lawyer and Patrick was always glad for the interruption. Especially now. "Why do you look like this?" she asked, and then she frowned and made her eyes as wide as possible.
Immediately Patrick chuckled and his expression of subdued horror was replaced with one of light amusement. "Hello, Mai. It's nothing, just...and old enemy is back in the city, orso I hear."
Mairead entered the office and she flopped down on his giant, red sofa. "An old enemy? What are you, like a super hero or something. Nah, you couldn't be one of those. Your hair is too-" and then she held her hands above her head and wiggled her fingers about. "You know?"
"Are you saying super heroes can't have messy hair? I think they can."
"No. Sure and they have a super hair dresser or something, behind the scenes. Oh! You could totally be a super hair dresser!"
"Thanks," Patrick said dryly, but he was incredibly amused. "How are you?"
"Fine fine. So this enemy. Is he like...an old best friend? Did he steal your wife?" If it was evasion turning the topic back to him, Patrick didn't notice. In fact it was what Mairead always did and Patrick never noticed.
"Nothing like that. Anyway I have a fiance. And he's a man."
Mairead grinned widely as she folded her legs up under her body on the sofa. "Oooooooooh! What's his name?"
"John," Patrick replied with a smile. "And he's wonderful."
Mairead made a face. "John? That's boring name. Everyone is named John. Except in Ireland where everyone is named Patrick. You guys are like...Joe and Joe. You should change his name to something like...Draimond!"
Patrick burst out laughing and he shook his head. "Somehow I don't think he'd go for that. And he doesn't look like a Draimond."
"Jude? Sequoia? Anything but John!" When Patrick giggled again, Mairead shrugged. "Fine, keep your boring names. Does John know about this enemy? Did this guy steal your stuff or something?"
Patrick couldn't actually explain what Henry had done. "John knows, but no the enemy didn't steal my stuff. He was just...not very nice to me."
"Well that's stupid. Sure but you're the nicest man I have ever met. So he didn't steal anything. He hurt you then. A fight?" Patrick shook his head. "What did he do like...torture you for information or something?" When Patrick didn't say anything, Mairead's eyes widened again. Only this time she wasn't doing an impression. "Whoa, what?! Were you like...in Guantanamo Bay?"
"No!" Patrick said with a snort. "No, I wasn't there."
Mairead jumped up on the sofa then and she pointed at him. "AHA!"
"I have it!" She raised her arms in triumph.
"I...don't think you do, actually," Patrick said kindly.
"No, I totally do! 'Cause see the ladies downstairs said you are from Ireland originally but came here to help like. So you were in the IRA but you had a change of heart and you came here to make up for your crimes and to fight for...puppies and justice and ice cream. That's totally what it is, isn't it? And your man, yeah, this enemy guy. He's someone who used to work alongside you and now he's shown up and you're worried he'll find you and torture yourself. I am so Sherlock Holmes right now."
It wasn't anywhere near right even though elements of it weren't entirely wrong. "You think they'd let me in the IRA with this hair, but I couldn't be a super hero?"
"Totally, that is well Irish hair. They can't exclude buggers for looking a bit off the biff." Mairead sat down again, looking pleased with herself. "It's okay, I know you can't tell me I'm right, but I know I am. I think it's good, you know? The things you're doing?" She crossed her legs and smiled at him. "When did you come here anyway?"
Deciding to be vague about it, Patrick said, "During the diaspora..."
Like he figured Mairead would, she nodded. "Ah, in the 80s. Must have been late 80s because you look young."
"I have a deceptive face."
"So you lost your accent over 20 years then? I hope I never lose mine. I don't want to sound American. I want to go back to Ireland some day and I want to still sound like I belong there."
Patrick couldn't actually remember when he lost his accent, but he nodded anyway. "Of course you will belong. Now. I am in the mood for a corn dog. You?"
Mairead jumped up again, grinning. "Always. And a lemonade!"
"Oh, that goes without saying." His fear and his spreadsheet could wait. He had corn dogs to eat.