Who: Clio and Saint Patrick What: General geekery/hang out times, with presents Where: Clio's home When: Backdated to last Monday
Burying herself in work and projects was probably not a good way to heal, but she'd rather not deal with her issues just yet. The healing was slow-going and she kept seeing things and dreaming things that she knew weren't right but she was healing.
Even if she ignored most of it.
She'd enjoyed the visit from the Angel, and some of her sisters were around, and both things were helping a lot but she did look forward to seeing Patrick. She was being useful to someone, doing her part again. She'd been sitting on her hands for so long, feeling adrift, and for that she could never thank the Saint.
She finished clearing out her living room so there was room to sit but hadn't made tea yet. Best to ask what type he liked. She had plenty.
She sat down and busied herself with papers while she waited, glad she'd talked to the Angel. Although she did hope he'd bring cupcakes.
Patrick did bring cupcakes, because Clio had mentioned them. He had gotten them from a bakery which did fancy designs and prided themselves on their elaborate, sugary masterpieces. The window had said they won an award or something. Patrick was sure that made them better somehow.
He knocked on the door, nervous about how he would find poor Clio. He chewed on his lip and tried not to just set the cupcakes on the stoop and runaway yelling that he was sorry.
No. He would face this. He stayed where he was.
When the knock came she hurried to the door, it was freezing and she didn't want anyone to be cold, and opened the door grinning to the sweets. "I need to make more requests. Come in."
Most of her wounds were under her clothes, and Raphael had healed the ones that hadn't been able to be covered. She didn't want people feeling guilty.
With a smile she took the box, "make yourself at home." This would distract her, which was good. She needed more distractions.
She moved into the kitchen, half tempted to scarf down the cupcakes. But she had some manners, "what sort of tea do you like?"
Patrick smiled and he shuffled into her place, glad to see she looked better than he had expected. He sat on one of her couches, watching her carefully as she moved because he was still worried about her, though seeing her was a relief. "Uhm, anything you have is good," he said, playing with his sleeves. "I like all tea. I think it comes with the territory," he said, of course meaning being a patron saint of the the British Isles.
She had one cupcake already devoured by the time she was making the tea. "And tea is great." She looked at him and smiled, "alright. However much it will hurt I will sit on you to quit you to stop worrying. I'm not okay just yet, but I'm getting there. Friends are helping, and distractions are awesome."
She put the teacups on the table and smiled, "so young man, don't feel guilty. I blame one being for this and it isn't you. Unless I'm very clever and am hiding a deathtrap under my books. So what do you have for me?"
Despite the circumstances, Patrick grinned at Clio's sass. He liked sass. "I don't need the...sitting. I'll stop. And I can be very distracting," he said with a smile. Then he reached into his bag and he drew out two journals he had filled with memories.
"I have a lot of disjointed crap is what I have for you. That...thing where I blank out and uhm...act different for a while has happened twice more. I still don't remember it." He handed the journals over to her anyway.
Smiling she took the books, "Oh I know you can be. Now let me look at these" she sat down on her couch and flipped through the pages. "Hm. Well at least you can tell around when and how many times you black out. It's something. And disjointed is good."
She smiled then, "because mysteries are good. It allows me to influence better. Parts of a story still make the story. As long as truth preserves blanks aren't always a problem." She grinned, because she felt like a cat who had gotten the cream. "I'll give you more and continue your homework. Eventually it will help."
"Now I did promise presents so I'll get to those in a second. But first of all, how are you?"
"I'm okay!" Patrick said with a nod. "Actually enjoying the homework." He didn't add that he read his memories out to John. He wanted to keep that to himself. "And my brother...Saint George, he's not my actual brother but he's as good as, he said that some time soon, though I don't know when, we're going to go to England and Ireland. I'm...actually terrified of it, but I know it's something I should do."
She flipped through the pages, noting what to start with and where he'd blanked out. That and she was curious. "You'd be the first. Most people roll their eyes." She set them down to read later and picked up her tea, needing something in her hands before she'd fuss. "I think he said hello to me, although he didn't say who he was." She gave him a smile and look then, "pretty sure I said something similar."
She grinned then, "anyway you can tell me how he's sort of your brother while I get your things and please. Eat some cupcakes or I will and be very, very active. No one wants that."
With a smile she rose, "Oh and your Angels. Are they that cute on purpose? Because, seriously."
"You did say something similar, but I was too afraid to listen. Sometimes I have to be told repeatedly," Patrick said, picking up his tea. Then he snorted as Clio asked him if the angels were cute on purpose. "I think most of it is an accident, actually!" He reached out for a cupcake. "As for George...well he's the patron saint of England and I'm Ireland. David is Wales and Andrew is Scotland. We spent a lot of time together about a thousand years ago and now they're family."
She laughed, "I told you so." She winked at him, "Sorry, very standard Clio-comment. It is the most annoying thing I do." She walked to one of her book cases, setting books aside to get to her vault. "Right. Because I'm so the only one voting for them to take their shirt off. And I'm pagan, I'm allowed to think bad thoughts about Angels." She took a large box out and set it on the table. "I get that. I'm drawing blanks about comparisons but it sounds lovely."
She kneeled beside the table and opened the box, taking the old and ornate Bible out of it and handed it to him with a smile. "I have a contact that found this jewel. It's an original, not printed but actually written and drawn by monks. He found this in Europe and I pulled my 'hey I'm a Muse. Gimme' card." She opened it, letting him see the pages. "I figured you'd like this."
Patrick, who didn't want to think about any of the angels in a naughty way at all, turned red and hid behind his coffee. "Having them as family is lovely," Patrick said with a shy smile. Then he watched as she pulled out the Bible and his jaw dropped. "It's...so beautiful." He reached out to touch it and he hand stopped short- "Wait, me?!"
The blush was cute but she focused on giving him the Bible, chuckling to the reaction and setting it on his lap. "Yes. You." She rose and smiled, "and last time someone upset me I turned them into birds, so take it." She lanced to her hands and fiddled with the marks on her palms. She hoped they'd go away soon. "I found it a while ago, and while I adore the art and the tales sometimes Fate gives you something to give to another." She took a deep breath and got quieter, "when I was...held I thought I'd die. I was close, and this small part kept telling me I never got to give Patrick this book."
She shrugged and turned aside, "life is precious. I don't want regrets. I want those I care for and those I love to know that I do just that. Love and care." She moved to a pot of hyacinths and toyed with the flowers, "sometimes you never get to say I love you, one last time."
Patrick took the Bible into his lap, feeling unworthy and like dancing with excitement all at the same time. Clio was speaking honestly and he looked up at her, saddened and moved both at once. "Clio," he said softly, "thank you. This means...so much to me." He didn't understand the symbolism of the hyacinths, but he could tell she was thinking of someone as she spoke.
"Having loved ones ripped away...or being the one ripped away- It's one of the worst things to endure. I've been...remembering that too. And it's hard. Clio. I'm very glad you got to give me the book. And not just because it is the most beautiful present I have ever been given."
She smiled at him, "I'm glad too. I'm rather fond of you, strange as you are." She never minded explaining, hurt as it did, because then her children were remembered. But it was never something she was ashamed of. "Two children for me. My son and daughter. One murdered by a jealous god, with nothing but those," she nodded to the flowers, "to keep me company. And my little girl. Well. I still don't know. Fine one day and the next she slipped through my fingers."
Smiling she moved back to the couch and sat down, "so enjoy the book. All things have their time, even beings like me but like I said. No regrets. Besides' you'll enjoy it more then I will."
Patrick had never had children, but he had been a child. The looks on the faces of his family when he returned to them suddenly came rushing back to him and Patrick gripped at the Bible tightly. He couldn't imagine losing a child. He didn't want to.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I will enjoy it. It's beautiful." Beautiful and priceless.
Smiling she set her hand on his, not wanting to bring up bad memories. "It's alright. It hurts, always will, but it's alright. Remembering is good, and either way I saw my son a while ago. It was good having him around."
She released him and grinned, "no more sad Muse, I swear. And good. I'm glad. I'm happy to have met you and can call you my friend. And I get to be useful."
"Well I'm happy to call you my friend as well," Patrick said honestly. It wasn't hard to get Patrick to warm up, and he tended to like people immediately, but Clio was helping him. And she made him laugh, which he could always use more of. "And you are beyond useful. This has already helped so much. I hope you enjoy reading my gibberish. There was a part I wrote which was in Irish, but I did my best to translate...older me."
Patrick bit his lip and he explained something that tended to make him feel uncomfortable. "I'm not- No. Uhm, my education was interrupted. I never finished school, and so I wasn't as educated as I should have been when I entered the church. I've used a bit of my time since my death to study, since my lack of education always bothered me. But that's...this me. If that makes sense. The uhm...other me? He's me too, but his writing is simpler. It's less...less." Patrick shook his head, his explanation confusing even himself.
That made her unable to resist and she hugged him. Only lightly because otherwise it would hurt, but she couldn't not. He was too adorable not to hug. "You're the best." Smiling she released him before shrugging, "I speak a lot of languages and know plenty of people who can help me if you missed parts. I like discovering." She smiled, "and I'm glad I'm helping you."
She nodded, "I get what you're trying to say, I have moments where I write in the Ancient Greek letters, and no one reads those anymore. It's fine." she smiled again, "like I said I like figuring things out. Now, the thesis will probably not get much result, but there may be a potential book with one of my writers. I'd try for the History Channel but that's so fucked up I'm almost sure you'd get UFO's somewhere."
The hug pleased him and despite speaking about embarrassing things, he grinned as she let him go. And then when Clio expressed her distaste for the History Channel, he nearly choked on his cupcake. "Hah! UFOs! Oh goodness, none of them please! A book sounds like the best bet," he grinned. "I spoke to the Irish Patrick too, and despite being a bit of a tosser, he's going to help."
She may not be Thalia, but she liked making people smile. It made her feel better. She gave him a contemplative look then, "hm. I don't know. Suddenly, 'and Saint Patrick converted Ireland by using alien teachings' sounds so hilarious."
She nodded, "good, give him my number and I'll straighten him out. I have my intimidating moments." Odd to say seeing how small she looked. But then books and covers.
"It actually wouldn't be half as crazy as some of the folktales about me that Padraig sent along," Patrick said dryly. "I don't remember any of that yet so it sounds...ridiculous. Stuff about burning hands and...weird. I'll give you his email! I haven't spoken to him on the phone, he'll mock my accent," Patrick muttered. The idea of Clio intimidating Padraig was awesome.
She chuckled to that, "I think it's adorable. Anyway, now you must share the strange folktales with me you know. You can't just tell me that and then not expect me to ask. But email will be nice. Irish got nothing on me." With a grin she rose, "more tea?"
"More tea would be great," Patrick nodded as she rose. "As for the folktales, most of them are...okay well the one I mentioned says I have hands that burn red like fire or something. OH! And I can pray people off cliffs. Which...now I just sort of think is really rather rude..."
She wished she could be surprised at that. But her family had desensitized her to a lot. IT was funny how much she took as 'normal'.
"Huh." She returned with the tea and set it down, "so when your friends jump off cliffs this is bad, but when God tells you to it's cool?" Grinning she sat down, "And no burning me please, but I'll make sure it gets mentioned. If only for the 'hey that's cool' part."
"I don't think anyone jumping or falling off a cliff is cool any more. And I hope...other me doesn't either. That's what's a little scary. I don't remember everything about who I used to be, but what if he's some evil jerk who still thinks it's okay to cut off people's heads?! I don't want to cut off heads!"
When he started to panic she set her cup down and set her hands on his arm, "Calm down. First of all I doubt that will happen. Other you, which is so strange can't we say Patrick version beta, wouldn't be writing in journals you both know a pagan reads if he intended on cutting my head off. As we continue you may remember more of your past, and some of it may not be as pleasant as you'd like it to be. But, we have to accept these parts of us and come to terms with it. It was a long time ago and perspectives have changed." She smiled at him, "But bad memories will still come."
Patrick nodded, expecting the bad memories. "Alright. Thanks," he said, smiling at Clio weakly, though the expression became more firm the longer he held it. "I know I wasn't a terrible person. I'm just...much more a pacifist these days I think. And I like that."
"And that's fine. We all do things we're not fond of, or that aren't nice. As long as we don't repeat our mistakes and learn from them we're alright." She smiled, "you did what you felt was right, and it's in the past. And I'm here if you ever need to talk. I'm the Queen of Bad Mistakes."