Saint Patrick ☘ (shamrocked_) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2010-11-18 09:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | saint patrick |
Who: Saint Patrick, Nemain and memory-mentions of Michael
What: Ah, crippling self-doubt in the wake of an angel tongue lashing
When: Sunday night
Where: A bar!
Patrick wasn't good enough and he knew it.
Michael had come to him in good faith and probably friendship, but his words still resounded in Patrick's mind.
Patrick, are you really alright? You are not the same man you once were.
Even though his words had been meant to show his concern, he had phrased them as an unfeeling angel would. Angels didn't know how it felt to be a man. Michael didn't understand how it felt to live a life in faith, and to change the course of an entire nation, only to see his feast day descend into one big party. Patrick did enjoy parties, he couldn't help that that was part of what he had become. But he hated that what was left of the rest of him was being swallowed up by confetti and green beer.
I ask because I care about you, Patrick. You were such a warrior for the Church.
He was. He had been. Now he was an excuse to have a parade.
Patrick had been at home and he had fully intended to curl up and sleep away the hours alone in his room, but then his dear friend, Saint Agatha had said she was coming over and he wasn't allowed to argue. He couldn't face her. He had left again the moment he hadn't been able to convince her to stay away.
It was easy to find a bar to steal yourself away in in New York City. And once there, it was all too easy to order a drink and gulp it down hastily before ordering another one. Patrick didn't want to feel. He didn't want to remember.
By drink four, he was well on his way to numb, and that was when the beautiful raven-haired woman walked up to him and immediately occupied the seat next to him.
Patrick choked on his beer and when he looked up at her, it dribbled down his chin as he coughed and spluttered. Eventually, when he had swallowed his troublesome mouthful, his mouth fell open and he stared at her. "H...hello?"
"Hi," the woman said, smiling widely at him. "The name's Anna. What's yours?"
"P...Patrick," Patrick sort of squeaked at her. And he wanted to tell her he was a Saint and she was wasting her time, but she might have laughed at him, called him a drunk, and ignored it as a joke. He was a joke.
"Well hello, Patrick!" Anna ordered two more beers, one for him and another for her, and then she turned to him. "You look troubled. What's wrong?"
"Ur?" Patrick asked, confused as to why she cared. "I'm mmm- bad day."
"Coherent," Anna teased. "How about I tell you about myself instead."
"...okay."
And so Patrick sat and listened and drank and drank some more and so by the time Anna asked him back to her place, he was so out of it he didn't even realise he had said yes.