Re: log: patrick/frank - the capital, a meetup
Patrick stopped when the man rapped sharply on the metal, and he raised his arms in the universal sign of surrender. "Hey, my man. Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. Everyone told me to call Uber, but, no, I said. I got this, I said. I very obviously didn't got this, but I was trying to save face." Patrick babbled naturally. Or, let's just say the guy talked a lot, all his thoughts rambling together and connected by implied commas. But this was deliberate. He was a harmless chatterbox, and he wasn't any threat at all. Arms up, palms flat, and he took a step back. It didn't even look like he was paying any attention to what was going on in front of him, and all those crime procedurals were paying off in the acting department.
The door rolled open, and Patrick's grey-blue eyes focused on the new man. But just for a second, and then he laughed a nervous and apologetic laugh. The laugh was paired with a hand that lowered to the back of his neck nervously. "Sorry. I got lost. I wasn't trying to break up the party. Not that it's a party, but you know what I'm trying to say. I was looking for Euclid." He jerked a thumb back that way, no, that way.
His head jerked up at the comment about sucking dicks, but it was really the search thing that had his mind racing. "Hey, wait, it's not like that. I don't suck dick. I got a girl, and her name's Delilah." The best lies were mostly true. He raised his arms again. Fuck. Now he was going to have to explain the weapon, but luckily it was exactly the kind of shiny, mostly useless pistol that a pretty boy college guy would buy, you know, to impress the shit out of everyone. It wasn't even warm, and it didn't smell of ever having been fired, and Patrick was hoping he'd walk out of here without anyone noticing that vest sewn into his hoodie. His kicks complained against the ground when he was grabbed.
Connie was going to kill him if he died before Christmas.