Saint Patrick ☘ (shamrocked_) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2011-06-04 07:25:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | michael, saint george, saint patrick |
Who: George, Patrick and Michael
What: Halp pls!
When: Friday evening
Where: Patrick's apartment
Patrick had finally given in. Famine had been playing with him for weeks now and it had gone on too long. He felt like a child, complaining to the teacher that he was being teased, but he was at the end of his rope. It had gone far enough. He had lost far too much weight and while he hadn't panicked through any of it, he was tired of feeling sick and he felt like if he let this continue, he might just die. And he didn't much like doing that.
Patrick was glad George would be there too when he spoke to Michael. He had texted his brother, telling him to just come in so he wouldn't have to stand to open the door. He curled up on the couch, under piles of blankets and he sipped soup constantly though it made no difference. He tried his best to hide the effects of Famine's intervention under the blankets, but he knew it showed in his face.
George walked through the door cautiously, bracing himself for Patrick possibly looking emaciated. He wasn't sure he'd be able to see that without freaking out on someone, most likely Famine.
He saw his brother curled on the cough, looking like the biggest ball of sadness in the world, and his heart broke a little.
"Oh, Patty," George mumbled, sitting next to his brother and pulling him into a gentle hug.
Patrick still smiled at George and he hugged his brother back as tightly as he could. "I'm alright, George. Michael will help. Famine will have to listen to Michael, he has that big sword."
"And he's also very good at scowling. Is there anything I can get you?" George asked, brushing some of Patrick's hair off his forehead. "Water, or, I don't know, crackers? Famine's head on a plate."
Patrick made a face at the idea of any head on a plate, mostly because a great deal of the paintings of his boyfriend tended to feature heads on platters. "I don't think that's the first meal I am going to have. Heads. I'm going to eat a shit load of Irish Stew when all this is over."
George couldn't help but smile at that. "I'll binge with you. We'll eat like six orders of French fries and have ice cream and not even try to be healthy."
Patrick smiled warmly at his brother and he reached out for George's hand. "Sounds good, Georgie. I never try to be healthy anyway..."
There was a knock at the door, and Patrick turned towards it. "Come in!" he yelled, steadfastly refusing to move. "It's open! And I hope you're not a demon..."
Michael stepped through the door, politely closing it behind him before turning to the both of them. "Not a demon. What are you doing? Hi, George."
"Hey, sir," George said, offering a smile to Michael. "We're glad you aren't a demon. The couch is comfy, if you want to pull up a seat?"
"I think I'll stand," Michael said, though he did lean up against a wall. It was as relaxed as he tended to get when not at home. "Patrick, you look horrible."
"Thanks, Michael," Patrick said flatly. "I feel horrible. It's Famine. She said she was bored and she's been taking it out on me."
Michael arched one eyebrow at Patrick, looking him over as much as he could. "What?"
"I've been starving for weeks. I thought she would get tired of it, but she hasn't yet, and I don't want to feel this way any more."
"It's, um, not just Famine," George added, a little sheepishly. "War started trying to do some stuff to me, but now she's on that pilgrimage. Whereas Famine is still here. We were hoping maybe you could use some angel mojo to get her to stop? Or your sword. Either one."
Michael looked back and forth between George and Patrick, and he crossed his arms, leaning up off the wall as he did so. "When did this happen?" he asked George, since Patrick had already explained Famine had been messing with him for weeks.
George carefully studied the point just above Michael's right shoulder. "About the same time Famine started in on Patrick. That was how my nose got broken."
Michael 'tsked' at both of them. "And the both of you never thought to mention that horsewomen were bothering you?"
Patrick glanced at George and then, instead of meekly apologising like he might have before, he straightened up a little. "I didn't want to bother you with something I could handle on my own. I can't handle it any more, so now I am coming to you."
George squeezed Patrick's hand and added, "And War's off on pilgramage, so I don't even know if she'll still be in a bad mood. But yeah, Famine needs to stop this nonsense."
Michael looked like he still wanted to argue with them, but he instead just glared at them for a moment before nodding decisively. "I'll speak to Famine and try to touch base with War if I can. I do wish you had spoken to me sooner, Patrick."
Patrick shook his head. "Michael, if I called you in five seconds after something went wrong, what kind of message would that send? I'm not weak. Well...physically now, but I don't want to fold every time someone tries to mess with me. I'm a saint. I'm Saint Patrick. I'm not a child. I need your help, but I am asking as a friend and only because I can't go any further alone."
George's expression was somewhere between scandalized and delighted. He tended to have a 'No, stop that!' reaction to anyone disagreeing with Michael, but seeing Patrick being ballsy made George happy. One day, he'd be kicking monsters in the face, just like old times.
"Famine isn't impressed by our scowls," George added after a moment. "But yours is a scowl from God."
Patrick chuckled at George, because he thought George's scowl was adorable. He wasn't usually on the receiving end of it, so he had the luxury of thinking that.
Michael sighed deeply. "I'll go scowl from God, though I am still not pleased I didn't know this was happening. Even if I understand your reasoning."
"Your protectiveness is endearing," Patrick informed Michael.
"Hush," Michael commanded him. "I am not endearing."
"You're pretty endearing," George said, nodding in agreement with Patrick. "Hey, we're going to binge on ice cream once Patrick gets his appetite back, want to join us? We can get cookies 'n cream flavor."
"I like cookies and cream," Michael said, managing to sound like someone who was unfamiliar with the concept. "I would be pleased to join you. I'll go see what I can do and I will make sure you know the outcome."
Patrick nodded. "I'm pretty much eating constantly anyway," he said, holding up his soup. "So I'll notice when it stops hurting."