Saint Patrick ☘ (shamrocked_) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2012-05-20 09:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | alcohol, saint patrick |
WHO: Alcohol and Patrick
WHAT: Drinking and Forgetting
WHEN: Saturday
WHERE: Hotel Plaza Athenee, Alcohol's penthouse
WARNINGS: Drinking and maybe swearing is all!
Nearly a year ago Patrick had made a deal with Alcohol. He would keep drinking if Alcohol promised he would never again lose his memories or his faculties while drunk. Normally he was glad of this, because it prevented him from going home with someone for a one night stand, or losing any more of his life to forgetting. Now though, all he wanted to do was forget.
After asking Alcohol for a one night repeal of their deal, Patrick was already feeling better. Alcohol had invited Patrick to her penthouse and Patrick was perfectly happy to accept. Alcohol was one of the only people he trusted absolutely with his unconscious body. He was too precious unharmed, and he knew she had absolutely no interest in sleeping with him. It made her a safe person to drink with when planning to black out. Perhaps it was a strange God to put his faith in, but he did. She had never once gone back on their deal and she had saved him from Lucifer. She had his trust.
After texting John to let him know he wouldn't be home that night and that he was perfectly fine, Patrick made his way to Alcohol's penthouse. Upon arriving, Patrick held up a bottle of very expensive Irish Whiskey. "I brought a bottle, though it probably means less when people bring you a bottle of you, doesn't it?"
"It's the thought that counts," Alcohol told him as she took the bottle with a small smile and ushered him inside the expansive suite. "That's what the humans say anyway."
Alcohol didn't really look like much of a god tonight. Brandy was the form the ancient spirit wore to slip through crowds, to look like nothing more than a normal person, to watch though parks full of children and never receive a second glance. Alcohol wore Jack for force and flamboyance, and Gin for the seductive powers of a beautiful woman, but Brandy was for misdirection. No one thought much at all about Brandy, and although the casual clothes she wore tonight were expensive and designer, there was nothing dramatic or all that memorable about them.
Brandy walked on through to the bar, pressing the button that would open the doors and reveal her impressive collection of bottles. She liked to keep everywhere she lived fully stocked even though she didn't drink herself. "Feel free to have anything you like."
Patrick followed her in, glad she wasn't Jack tonight. He liked Jack, but Brandy always made him feel safer and he had a feeling she had done that on purpose.
"I probably shouldn't be surprised that your collection is impressive," he said, sating at it with his mouth hanging slightly open. It was marvellous. Paradise and nothingness was laid out in front of him in dozens and dozens of beautiful bottles in all different shapes, sizes and colours.
Patrick reached for some vodka first, since it always made him feel tipsy rather quickly. Before he drank anything though, he felt he should say something. There was no way it would be misconstrued as drunken ramblings if he was sober.
"I...really appreciate this. I have had a hard time of it lately and you- You're the only thing that makes me feel even a little bit better."
Brandy turned her gaze on him and said simply, "I know." He didn't need to say it at all, but she sort of liked that he did. She pulled down a heavy green bottle from one of the shelves and put it down on the bar. "I know you better than anyone ever will, Patrick," she assured him, her tone free of any malice. "I understand your needs just as I've understood the needs of all humanity since the earliest years your kind took to using me. I am above you all, it's true, but I'm also dependent upon you. Mankind and I will always exist in symbiosis."
She pulled two glasses out to set them down and then lifted the bottle again. "French Abinsthe, from the early 1840's. Possibly one of the last bottles of its kind in the world." She used a knife to cut the wax top open and then uncorked it.
Well that sounded better than vodka. He put that bottle back and then he smiled at her as she set out the glasses. "It's beautiful," he said, the appropriate awe in his voice. He didn't believe he deserved it, but he didn't want to refuse a gift from her. "I like that you know me. Means I don't have to tell you anything. You already know."
"I'm enjoyable like that," Brandy said, pouring them both a glass and handing one to him. She drank simply because it was social. (Drinking was only of use to her if she was injured, but that was a rare event indeed.) "To your health," she smiled, touching her glass to his.
Patrick clinked his glass with her and he said lightly, "cheers" before sipping at the absinthe. It was wonderful and flavoursome and he let out the slightest moan of pleasure before taking another drink. "It's wonderful," he said as if that weren't already obvious.
"And before I drink so much I forget to ask- And I'm not asking really, this is hypothetical. But if I ever got to a point where I just couldn't take things any more could you- Is there a way you could just...leave me unconscious forever? With a vodka drip or something so you still got your power from it. Is that even possible?"
"Hypothetically," Brandy returned, enjoying the pleasant burn of her daughter on her tongue, "I'm not sure I'd see the benefit for me." Then she added, "but, yes, it could be done." (Alcohol didn't actually know if it could but she wasn't a goddess to offer any weaknesses to others.)
Patrick nodded, satisfied with the answer. "I am sure if I needed it, I could find some way to repay you. I'm not there just yet but...I'm not ruling it out." He took another drink and then he closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the way it made his legs feel ever so slightly fuzzy.