Re: [Bar: Jack & Patrick]
[Patrick had, as a teenager, tried a varied variety of sexy looks at the bathroom mirror. He was way past this stage now, and he had not even had a mirror for the past two years, but this was not important. What mattered was that, yes, the smile was a most carefully cultivated one. And, maybe, it gave an indication of who Patrick was on a good and sober day, one with clothing that was not track pants and a hoodie, and one without a bruised hand and thrumming headache. Patrick, as presented in the moment in that bar, was not himself. He was, at least, not the self that anyone in this town knew, and this was a certainty.]
I saw one of the memories once. [He remembered Newt being small and frightened, and he had heard enough about the Penaligons in the wake of that to comprehend it was not a family to envy.] My fam was not much better. No one knows what happened to mom, and Webster disappeared into another dimension when I was just a kid. No lie, man, another dimension. I was raised by Con, and she did a most wonderful job at it. [Which was said most earnestly and with a final sip of the beer; Patrick would never be able to say sufficiently good things about his sis stepping in to raise him.]
Dude, I aged you down. I recall. [He did recall, and he was not surprised that Jack knew about the evening before. He did not facepalm, though he wished to. He did not punch anything, though he wished to. It was probably the two shots mingling in his gut that kept him relatively chill upon that stool.] Are you willing to tell me how fucked up Newt is about shit? Or is this an imposition? [He expected to be told it was an imposition, though the concern on Patrick's face in that moment was most genuine and earnest. As for moving in with Des and Newt:] We were living together before, my dude.