Saint Patrick ☘
25 December 2013 @ 10:13 pm
[For Christmas, Patrick gets several of his favorite people presents. He spoils Mairead and Ella rotten.

For Clio, he gives her an antique necklace, a claddagh ring from his own culture, and a rare antique book.

For Agatha, he gives her a 17th century Cross Pendant.

To George he gives a trebuchet kit and a special mug for his tea. Additionally he included a toy for Bunny.

For Famine, he sends energy gummi bears, bacon hot sauce, and hot spicy powder.]
Current Mood: cheerful
Saint Patrick ☘
05 November 2012 @ 08:24 am
It didn't matter who asked, Patrick would tell anyone the same thing. George was the person he looked up to most in the whole world. George was his hero, his older brother, the person he trusted above any other. He had spent nearly two centuries separated from the man and Patrick had thought about him every single day. When they had reunited, it had been the best day of Patrick's long life. He had vowed then to never lose track of his brother again.

And now George was gone. The letter he left was full of love and kind words, and Patrick wanted to rip it to shreds. He couldn't, because they might be the last words his brother said to him in some time.

People around him left or suffered and died, and Patrick had to fight so hard not to see himself as the only thing connecting them all. His ex, Neil Jones, Joey, George, Clio-

It had been days now, and Patrick just wanted George back. He hadn't left the apartment in case George came back, but he knew he was hoping in vain. George was being tortured by Hell beings, he just knew it. He knew George was strong, but after hearing what Joey had been through-

A sob caught in Patrick's throat and he stood up and shoved everything off of their table, as if that would make him feel better. "I want my fucking brother back!" he screamed to no one and his dog went running to hide under Patrick's bed. "Fuck!"

Later it would strike Patrick that this was exactly what Clio had been saying she would have gone through had it been him, and he would feel ashamed. For now though, he just went to George's room and melodramatically collapsed and cried in George's bed.
Saint Patrick ☘
31 August 2012 @ 12:45 am
Patrick has no idea George's contacts have located Joey. While he has his fears, he has no confirmation his friend has been taken by Lucifer. He is safely in Washington with Clio and Ella where he can avoid all the horrible things waiting for him back in New York City.

In fact, being in Washington with Clio is the first time Patrick has managed not to think about his breakup for an entire day. Here with is best friend and goddaughter, everything seemed fine and whole and perfect. Clio has a way of calming him and making him feel so much better without even trying.

Patrick had taken a nap during the day and so when Ella woke up in the middle of the night, Patrick had gone to be with her, letting Clio sleep. He had changed her and when she is clean and fed, he sits with her in his lap. Her tiny fingers curl in his hair and he grins at her.
My lovely little girl, he coos. I am going to protect you. Your goddaddy is going to make sure no one hurts you. And I'll protect your mommy too, because she's pretty special. Ella babbles at him and giggles when he makes strange faces at her. Patrick presses kisses to her hair. She's innocent and unaware how horrible the world can be and Patrick hopes that lasts for a good, long while. Come on, Ellaroo. I'll read you a story and then you can go back to sleep. I can sing you a song! Would you like that? Singy song! He stands and finds a book to read, perfectly content with the feeling of domesticity it gives him.
Current Mood: content
Saint Patrick ☘
21 September 2010 @ 08:59 pm
The sounds of the subway are echoing in Patrick's ears, but louder still are the thoughts he can't get out of his head. It is early morning, and he has been up all night, caring for the occupants of the youth shelter her works at and now he is going home to bed. He is thankful that George visited him during the night, though it didn't keep him from slipping a drink or two here and there. Patrick is crafty and sneaky and he has been at this a long time. Now he not only feels like a failure as a saint, but as a brother as well.

Despite whatever residue might be lying in wait on the subway window, Patrick leans his forehead against it. He watches the underground world go by in darkness, the occasional light illuminating the wall for a fraction of a moment. It is as he as watched the centuries go by. Dark, light, dark, light, day, night, day, night.

There was a time when his hair wasn't red. His hair had been light brown, and over the years the red had gradually sneaked its way in; not flaming crimson or overly obvious, but he knows. He knows this isn't how he began. Nothing inside himself feels as it should. He wants to be a soldier for God. He wants to fight the good fight and bring more souls to God's love. He wants to deliver people, as he delivered Ireland. The fight is inside him, but it dies. It is dulled by alcohol and public perception until he is nothing but a figurehead for buckled shoes and rolling hills and green beer and the eradication of snakes.

His hair is red. In the window of the subway, he sees his reflection. He doesn't recognise it.
Current Mood: guilty