Saint Patrick ☘ (shamrocked_) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2011-04-09 12:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | saint george, saint patrick |
Who: Patrick and George
What: Someone can't handle not talking to his brother every day. Hint: it's Patrick.
When: Friday afternoon
Where: New Orleans hotel room and where ever George is!
One of the hardest things to handle while Patrick was away, was not talking to his siblings as often. Of course, he still texted every single one of them quite often, occasionally sending them random photos he had taken on his phone. He had sent a photo of a rather suspicious looking pigeon to Callum on a whim a few hours ago. But it wasn't the same. Hearing George had witnessed a fight between John and Richard just made Patrick miss George even more. He loved his brother and would never fight like that with him, and he had still missed George's company for centuries. Luckily, now he could reconcile missing George with the power of modern technology.
He dialled George's number on the hotel phone and when George had barely picked up, Patrick was already chattering at him. "Georgie, hi! It's Patrick! It's me! It's very warm here, how are you?"
George laughed and rubbed Bruce Wayne the Corgi's stomach. The dogs were enjoying the warmer weather and so was George. Having a backyard to let them run around in was another plus.
"Hey Patty," George said, grinning. "It's not too bad here, actually. I think it might actually be spring now!"
Patrick grinned and he settled down on the bed so he could be comfortable and still see John from where he was. "I'm glad spring has sprung, it was about time! I'm sorry you had to see that other John and Richard fighting," Patrick said with sympathy. "Do they ever stop?
"Never," George said with a snort. "They're still arguing about who their mother and father liked better, and the invasion of Aquitaine. Oh! And John said I wasn't really English, that little shit."
Patrick's lips thinned and he groaned out loud. "He said what!?" George may not have been originally English, but Patrick wasn't originally Irish either, he was Roman. It hadn't seemed to matter to the Irish who claimed him almost militantly. "Did you tell him you're older than the country of England is and he should shut up?"
"Yes! I was English before England was English! English George suggested I kill him to restore our honor, but I figured that was probably an overreaction," George said, with a regretful sigh. "I'm trying to be all impartial about my kings, but knowing Robin Hood is planning to resume screwing around with John makes me pretty happy."
"Yes, don't kill people, George. I like not visiting you in prison. And not having to talk to you through that plexiglass stuff using the prison phones. We could make a really sad movie out of it though. It would be hard to find someone to play me, my hair is wacky." Patrick blinked at himself and then he laughed. "Sorry, that was some outer-internal monologue! So. Robin Hood is going to mess with that other John, hmm?"
"I could get a cool prison tattoo, though," George suggested, grinning and flopping onto the back porch to let the Corgis crawl on top of him. "It would make me look tough. And yeah, I'm assuming. He seemed pretty interested in irritating him, anyway, which will make Richard happy."
"As long as one of them is happy," Patrick mused.
"I don't think a prison tattoo would make me look tough, though you would look all rugged and handsome with one. I can't even pull off the silly, drunken-mistake tattoo I have on my ass. And sometimes I feel like one big drunken mistake, so if I should be able to pull off anything, it's that damn tattoo."
George sat straight up, dislodging Kal-el who barked with displeasure.
"You have a tattoo on your ass?" George said, in the delighted tone of someone who has just heard the funniest thing in the world. "What is it? What is it of? Don't make me fly down there and noogie you for being down on yourself and make me see the tattoo myself!"
Patrick laughed loudly and he pulled the blankets over his legs for the comfort. "I wasn't really being down on myself! And the tattoo, well it's on the side of my ass. And I'll give you three guesses as to what it is," he said, and then he laughed merrily at his clever joke. It was a shamrock, the symbol of the plant the Irish falsely claimed Patrick taught them about the holy trinity by using it's three leaves. He had never done such a thing, but to this day he could make shamrock grow out of pretty much anything kind of earth, even if it shouldn't be growing anything.
"Hmmm." George hummed and made faces as though he was thinking hard, despite Patrick nod being able to see him. "I'm going to guess either a shamrock, or Ireland itself is gracing your butt. Although I actually want the answer to be 'Liam the Leprechaun's face'."
"Hah!" Patrick barked. "It isn't Liam's face, it's a shamrock. I was drinking with these nationalists one night and we decided tattoos would be a good idea. Only theirs were tough guy tattoos and mine was this girly, green shamrock on my ass. And then I woke up in one of their beds-" Patrick shook his head and sighed. "Have I mentioned how glad I am to not be doing that any more?" Although Alcohol and issues surrounding her was actually why Patrick had wanted to call.
"I'm glad you aren't doing it anymore too," George said, wishing Patrick was here so that he could hug him. It was his usual response whenever Patrick said something that made George worry about him. "Are you and John having fun? And is he impressed with your tattoo?"
Patrick grinned at John and then he nodded, forgetting for a moment that George couldn't see him. "Yes! Though he saw the tattoo ages ago, so I don't know how impressed he still is with it.
"Georgie, last Sunday John preached to this crowd and it was amazing. Then he led them to a river and baptised the lot of them. And while it was all happening, I remembered about a decade of my life. I've been trying to frantically write it all out so I don't miss details but the thing is, I haven't forgotten any of them. I remember preaching to people in Ireland and baptising them like John did. Well. Not like John did, because that was amazing," Patrick said, self-deprecating as always despite the fact that he had begun the process of Christianising Ireland.
"Oh, wow," George said. "When were the memories from? And hey, John's the original baptist, he's got, like, the magic touch."
"He does have the magic touch!" Patrick said, bouncing on the bed as he said so. "The memories were from my life. You know...the real one. They were of me moving around Ireland and spreading the Word of God and bringing people to Him. It's like...I've suddenly remembered who I am," Patrick said, sounding more at peace with himself than he probably had since George had come back into his life. "It's wonderful."
"Good!" George said, grinning. "It's not fair, you not being able to remember all the awesome stuff you did. But it sounds like the holes in your memory are getting patched up pretty well."
"They are!" Patrick said, sounding incredibly pleased. "Patched all up! Well not all up, but there's 1,624 years that need to fill themselves in. George! Georgie, guess what!?" And then, since he didn't think George would be able to guess at all, "this man listened to John preach and then he got baptised and now he's coming back to New York with us because he wants to learn from John. He's really nice and his name is Nicholas!"
"Wait, seriously?" George said. Only John would find disciples while on vacation. "John is going to end up with a pack of people following him around and hanging out in your apartment."
"Seriously! And if they are all as lovely as Nicholas, I don't mind at all. Oh, George, you should see him." Then Patrick cleared his throat and said, "he has a...brilliant...personality."
George snorted. "Nice to know the men John is collecting are easy on the eyes. But seriously, I can't wait to meet him! You'll have to bring him over for dinner. Did he really just agree to pack up and move to New York?"
"He was the one who suggested it," Patrick was quick to say. "He's a club owner and he said he thought he could open one in New York too. He was talking about how he spent his childhood moving around so a move like this isn't out of the ordinary. He really is though Easy on the eyes. And really thoughtful too. And he fed us rather a lot of food."
"Heh, no worries, I don't think you or John would've strong-armed him into moving," George reassured. And oh, he cooks and/or provides free food? I like him already."
"I don't think he cooked it, but he wants to open a bar that sells food like the have here in New Orleans and I will go there every day, Georgie. It's so good. I have eaten so much here. Which I know will probably please you. My jeans aren't falling down as much any more."
"Good, because if you got any skinnier, you were gonna be a stick figure," George told Patrick. "And then I'd worry about hug-tackling you the way I like to do, because you might snap in half."
All joking aside, he was enormously relieved to hear that Patrick was starting to actually eat normally again. His brother's relationship with food was an odd one, not that George blamed him, but Patrick had been looking worryingly gaunt before his trip.
"I was not!" Patrick argued, but he knew George was right. "Anyway, it's all better now. Except uhm...well what Alcohol did is starting to affect me again. So...when I get back to the city I'll have to do something about it."
George bit his lip, reaching out to rub Kal-el's stomach. It was hard to get either depressed or blindingly furious while petting a dog, and George needed to focus on helping Patrick instead of considering how to best murder Alcohol.
"You're going to have to figure out a way to appease her, I think," George said after a moment of thought. "If it was just addiction that was the problem, there's always Op--there's always options. But since she's got her claws in deeper..."
Patrick knew what George meant by options, though he wasn't actually sure there was. He wasn't just another alcoholic. Alcohol was part of him. "I'll do my best to appease her," Patrick agreed. "I think I've left it too long, anyway. I should have tried a long time ago, I'm just stubborn."
"It's not being stubborn to tell her to go fuck herself," George said, voice rising without him realizing it. The dogs gave him twin looks of 'What's wrong with you?', and George calmed down a little. "She shouldn't be able to just make your life hell whenever she feels like it for no reason. It's not fair."
Patrick chewed on his lip while George's voice rose. "Georgie, I'm going to be okay. I know it's not fair, but she can and she is, and it's better to deal with it than groan about it. Don't worry, George, I'll be fine."
Patrick understood George's worry though. David was still unaccounted for and that would, unsurprisingly, make poor George worry even more about the siblings who were accounted for.
"I just..." George ran a hand through his hair and flopped back down onto the ground. "When me and Sebastian went to Opium, I was scared he do to us exactly what Alcohol is doing to you. And I just wish we could trade places, because at least I can walk away from Opium whenever I want. You never did anything to deserve having to deal with this."
"You wish we could-!?" Patrick trailed off, shocked and slightly horrified at George saying he wanted to trade places with Patrick. "George, it doesn't matter! It doesn't matter what I did or didn't do to deserve this. It's my burden to bear, and I'll bear it. We couldn't be burden free, then what would be the point? And I would hardly want Alcohol after you instead!"
"I know," George said with a sigh. Saints didn't live lives free of pain anymore than humans did. It kept them humble, and it was a good thing, but George hated seeing the people he loved in pain. "I know. But she doesn't deserve to have someone like you tied to her this way. Not when she's throwing a temper tantrum like this."
Patrick took a deep breath and he let it out slowly, closing his eyes so he could just enjoy the warmth surrounding him while it lasted.
"I love you, Georgie," he said, his voice full of feeling. "And I am better than I have been in...decades. Maybe longer, I don't remember. "But I am going to be okay."
"I love you too, Patty," George said, smiling despite his worry for Patrick. He closed his eyes. "And of course you're going to be okay, considering the fit we'd all throw if you weren't."