Who: Patrick and Famine What: Talking calmly When: Friday afternoon Where:Irish Hunger Memorial
Maybe it was a bold move, but Patrick was feeling bolder these days, even as he was feeling hungrier and hungrier. Patrick wanted to see Famine face to face and to appeal to the side of her that he had known so long ago. He didn't think she was capable of caring that he was suffering, but maybe she would care that this wasn't her job. Randomly making him suffer wasn't on her job description and Patrick had a feeling it was Lucifer's doing. It had been Lucifer who had so recently been messing with him, it made sense to Patrick.
He waited at the hunger memorial, his features sombre and determined. He shut out anything physical he was feeling, something he had taught himself long ago during the windy winters of Ireland. A skill he had just remembered he had. God gave him strength and comfort and he would face this. He could collapse in bed with John later. For now he had strength to do this.
Famine was sitting in front of the memorial, smoking and waiting for Patrick. She still wasn't sure why she'd agreed to come, but, in her own weird way, she did like Patrick. She figured the least she could do was hear him out.
She spotted him and took one last drag, grinding the butt under her shoe. She made her way over, touching two fingers to her forehead in a kind of salute. "How goes it?" she asked.
Patrick had decided he wasn't going to whine anymore, so when Famine asked him how he was going, he just nodded. "Fine," he lied. He sat near Famine quickly, as he didn't feel like giving any weakness away. "How are you? I am assume not getting ready for Rapture?"
She cocked one eyebrow. "Sure it is," she said.
She sighed. "I'm peachy. School's out for the summer, I'm pretty sure Pestilence is irritated with all of us, and no, to answer your question, definitely not getting ready for the Rapture. I got zero notice, if it actually was going down, hopefully I'd know about it."
She lit another cigarette and took a deep drag, the tip flaring with orange light. She couldn't get cancer, and she needed something to do with her hands. Famine was a champion fidgeter at times.
"I would think you would be one of the first people to know, yes," Patrick nodded. "Does the hype it's getting amuse you?" He was stalling getting to the point with small talk, sure, but it felt better than just diving in.
Famine smirked a bit. "I'd like to think so," she said, taking another drag. "And yeah, a little, but honestly, mortals have said the world is going to end so many times, I really don't pay a whole lot of attention anymore. When seals are being broken and trumpets are sounding, then I'll pay attention." Another drag. "Plus, there's Matthew 24:36, 'But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.'" She shrugged. "But what do I know, you know?"
"People do tend to ignore that verse," Patrick said with a sigh. "Famine are you really so bored that you have to play games with me? What are you trying to achieve?"
"People tend to ignore a lot of the Bible," she countered. "Especially fundamentalists who like to claim they're 'spreading God's love'." She made air quotes as she said the last three words.
She sighed, shoving her hair out of her face. Conversations like this made her snappish and defensive. It sucked. "Yes," she replied, a little venom slipping into her words. "I'm bored and I feel useless and...god." She crumpled into a ball next to him. "And I'm not trying to achieve anything. You're not going to starve, and I'm not going to kill whole blocks of people because of misdirected, pent-up energy."
Patrick, unable to watch anyone be upset, even if they were keeping him hungry, reached an arm around her. "I feel like I am," Patrick finally admitted. "You're not useless. Your job is so important. Though I am sorry you're bored."
She flihnched, but didn't pull away. If it had been anyone else, she would have thrown off their arm almost before it touched her. But she was willing to let Patrick do this. They had history, and in her own, rather odd way, she liked him.
"It won't be like this for much longer," she said. "Honestly, games with people are all well and good, but there's other stuff I could be doing."
"But I can't leave this freaking country," she muttered, kicking her foot. "Sure, there might be another version of me out there, like you guys have, but it's not the same. I miss working with my hands, fulfilling the purpose I was made for. I don't really have anything to do until the End."
She looked at him for a long moment. "Thanks" she said, with considerably more grace than before.
If it wasn't going to be this way for long, then Patrick would shut his mouth and bear it. He didn't like it, but he didn't think begging her to change her mind now was going to work either. She probably didn't have any sympathy to play off of.
"You're welcome. And hey, even if you can't go out of the US, I am sure you could find somewhere to get away here. You could go to Hawaii!"
Famine had some sympathy, just, you know...not a lot. It wasn't that she didn't care, exactly, but she'd been the same person doing the same job for so long, that she saw little reason to change now.
Which is why she was planning on stopping all of this soon. She didn't have an exact date yet, but barring unforeseen circumstances, definitely before the end of June.
"Hmm," she said, considering this. "That's actually not a bad plan. I've never been to Hawaii. Maybe I'd actually get a tan." She peered at her rather pale skin. "Or, you know...maybe not. And school's out now. I should look into that."
"I went to Puerto Rico and didn't tan," Patrick said with a chuckle. Irish skin wasn't known for tanning, it was known for burning. "You could go there too, it's an American territory. And it might be fun to explore a new place. I've enjoyed it anyway."
She laughed a little too. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me at all. I think you might be whiter than I am." She held up an arm to compare.
"Always the catch, isn't it?" she sighed. "Has to be American. Still, they're both decent options. And I've always wanted to lay out on a beach, drinking out of a coconut. What'd you do down in Puerto Rico?"
Patrick held out his arm as well, comparing their skin tones.
"John and I went just to get away. We spent the entire time in San Juan just lying around. Indeed drinking out of coconuts and relaxing. It was great."
"Yeah, I think you're whiter," Famine said with a quiet laugh. "Not by a whole lot, though."
"Sounds like fun," she said wistfully. "I'm definitely going to look into that. Lord knows I haven't had a vacation in a couple of centuries."
"Then you should definitely take a vacation," Patrick nodded. He still felt terrible, but at least he could see Famine didn't seem to want him dead. Maybe if there was even more of a rapport between them she would stop this sooner.
"I can even recommend a hotel if you go to San Juan. It's right on the beach."
She sighed, thinking about it. She definitely could stand to take some time off, and it wasn't like anyone would really miss her if she left. "I think I will," she after a few moments. "Puerto Rico sounds nice. What's the name of the hotel?"
She definitely didn't want Patrick dead. He was her sort of-favorite Saint, and she didn't want anything to happen to him, hence the scales on his building to keep other Hell denizens away.
Patrick told her the name of the hotel and he described the room as well. "They have a great breakfast too, and the room service is great. Urgh, sorry. My mind is on food. But it's a quiet place and there's a market right down the road."