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Nov. 11th, 2012 12:34 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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nevermore_logsWHO: Patrick and Wrath (Open to George, but can stand alone!)
WHAT: Wrath having a freak out
WHEN: Very early Saturday morning
WHERE: Patrick and George's place
WARNINGS: Wrath has a knife but doesn't use it. She does use her mouth. ...for swears not...you know. /rambles
Patrick had been in a state of bliss for pretty much an entire day. He hadn't even realised time was going by and he had fallen asleep in a chair in his bedroom while sort of half-reading a book about fairytales. He only woke up when his back started to protest the awkward angle it was stuck at.
He put the book aside and rose from his chair with a groan. "Getting old," he muttered to himself. He tended to speak more and more of his inner monologue out loud these days, just in case his faerie cat was in earshot. It made him feel less alone.
Patrick ran his fingers through his hair and he stepped out of his bedroom and into the kitchen in search of a snack. Or maybe even some Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Patrick's cereal choices were often the same as an eleven-year-old's would be. He located the box and grabbed a bowl and he was about to tip the cereal into it when he heard a strange noise in the living room.
"Kellan?" Patrick left his cereal and he went in search of what he assumed had to be his cat. It wasn't. Wrath was sitting in the corner of the room with her back squeezed into it. Her eyes were wide and Patrick noticed with a jolt of fear, that she had a knife clutched in her hands. She was holding it as if she was ready to strike.
In a split second, everything he had come to believe about Wrath was replaced by the instinct to survive. He had come to think that she wouldn't hurt him even if she swore at him and called him names sometimes. Now he couldn't believe how stupid he had been. He had let a snake into his home with a serpent's promise to behave. But a snake was still a snake, no matter how you dressed it up. Right?
Patrick took a step backwards and he swallowed roughly. "Just...put the knife down, Wrath."
Wrath looked up as if she had just noticed him and she clutched the knife closer to her chest. "Irish. Just fuck off, will you?"
"Where's George?" he asked, trying to stop his heart from pounding against his ribcage.
"Asleep," she whispered. "Why the fuck aren't you asleep?"
"I wanted cereal," he said lamely. "Uhm. What are you doing?"
The way she looked up at him made Patrick feel instantly guilty for assuming she was going to hurt him. She was terrified and it was written all over her face. Maybe the knife wasn't for him, maybe it was for someone else. Or for her. "O-okay, Wrath." He moved closer to her but before he could reach out for the knife, she stood and held it out, threatening him.
"You stay right there, Saint Leprechaun!"
Patrick was stuck now, torn between the fear that Wrath could turn him inside out if she wanted to, and knowing she needed help. In the end his saintly side won, for better or for worse. "Wrath, I'm not going to hurt you. Give me the knife." And he stepped forward and held his hand out. Hesitantly and far too slowly for his liking, she finally turned it over to him. "Thank you. What did you think you were going to do with it?" He knew she suffered from depression and self-loathing and he hoped very much that she hadn't been debating suicide. George hardly needed to find his girlfriend dead again.
Wrath wrapped her arms around herself and she hung her head. "I had bad dreams," she admitted. "Got scared. If you tell anyone, I'll kill you."
"That's unnecessary," Patrick assured her. He went to the kitchen only to return the knife to it's rightful place before joining her again in the living room. "You know we have wards here. No one can get in unless we want them in."
Wrath glared up at him. "Yeah well, I used to think that about myself too," she hissed. Patrick, who wasn't aware of the specifics of what had been done to Wrath, had no idea what exactly she was talking about.
"I'm sorry, Wrath. But you do have two saints here to protect you, should you need it. You're going to be okay."
"No I won't," she breathed. "I'm not. And you can't fucking tell me otherwise. But I won't slit my throat in your apartment so you can calm your tits."
"To be honest, I was a little worried you were going to slit my throat too."
Wrath shrugged. "Nah." She didn't sound like she thought it was a preposterous idea, more than she was too lazy to do so. "George would be mad."
"That's...an understatement, I think. But he would feel the same if it happened to you." Patrick was going to hide the knives when she went back to sleep. Just until she left. For everyone's protection. "Uhm...this is probably a stupid question but has what happened to you made you feel...you know, like you used to feel before George."
"Pretty fucking much," Wrath growled. "There's a difference though."
"Oh yeah, what's that?" Patrick asked.
"It's not before George any more," she said easily. "I just didn't want to wake him because it's hard enough for him to sleep and he's been fucked with too." She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. "Fuck. I am so fucked up."
"I don't think anyone expects you to be otherwise. Do you want to sit down, Wrath?"
"No, I want to pace," she hissed, and she did so, pacing circles around their living room while Patrick just stood in the middle, turning to keep his eyes on her. It was making him kind of dizzy. "You know what I want? You know what would give me some fucking awesome closure? To cut off the Antichrist's dick and make him eat it like that cannibal douche in Russia or wherever."
"I am pretty sure it was Germany-"
"It doesn't matter where the cannibal was from, Patrick!" Wrath shrieked at him.
"Right. Concentrating on the wrong thing, sorry. And I know that might help in the short term, but I think it wouldn't help anything long term. Just talk about things with George. Tell him how you're feeling."
"Yeah well he's feeling pretty fucking shitty too!"
Patrick licked his lips and he nodded. "I know, Wrath." Sometimes explaining things to her was like talking to a child. She wasn't used to this kind of interaction yet. "But if he had a nightmare, wouldn't you want him to wake you? And if he was upset wouldn't you want him to talk to you about it?"
Wrath stopped pacing and she stared at him for a little while before scowling. "Fucking saints and your fucking logic. I kind of hate you. You're so annoying."
"I am," Patrick said with a nod, glad she had stopped going around in circles. "Still right."
She made a hissing sound at him and finally sat in one of their chairs. "Fucking fine. Whatever. I'm not going to sing kumbayah or what the fuck ever though. And you don't get to hug me or I'll tear your hair out. Got any cookies?"
Patrick chuckled and he headed for the kitchen again. "Always."
WHAT: Wrath having a freak out
WHEN: Very early Saturday morning
WHERE: Patrick and George's place
WARNINGS: Wrath has a knife but doesn't use it. She does use her mouth. ...for swears not...you know. /rambles
Patrick had been in a state of bliss for pretty much an entire day. He hadn't even realised time was going by and he had fallen asleep in a chair in his bedroom while sort of half-reading a book about fairytales. He only woke up when his back started to protest the awkward angle it was stuck at.
He put the book aside and rose from his chair with a groan. "Getting old," he muttered to himself. He tended to speak more and more of his inner monologue out loud these days, just in case his faerie cat was in earshot. It made him feel less alone.
Patrick ran his fingers through his hair and he stepped out of his bedroom and into the kitchen in search of a snack. Or maybe even some Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Patrick's cereal choices were often the same as an eleven-year-old's would be. He located the box and grabbed a bowl and he was about to tip the cereal into it when he heard a strange noise in the living room.
"Kellan?" Patrick left his cereal and he went in search of what he assumed had to be his cat. It wasn't. Wrath was sitting in the corner of the room with her back squeezed into it. Her eyes were wide and Patrick noticed with a jolt of fear, that she had a knife clutched in her hands. She was holding it as if she was ready to strike.
In a split second, everything he had come to believe about Wrath was replaced by the instinct to survive. He had come to think that she wouldn't hurt him even if she swore at him and called him names sometimes. Now he couldn't believe how stupid he had been. He had let a snake into his home with a serpent's promise to behave. But a snake was still a snake, no matter how you dressed it up. Right?
Patrick took a step backwards and he swallowed roughly. "Just...put the knife down, Wrath."
Wrath looked up as if she had just noticed him and she clutched the knife closer to her chest. "Irish. Just fuck off, will you?"
"Where's George?" he asked, trying to stop his heart from pounding against his ribcage.
"Asleep," she whispered. "Why the fuck aren't you asleep?"
"I wanted cereal," he said lamely. "Uhm. What are you doing?"
The way she looked up at him made Patrick feel instantly guilty for assuming she was going to hurt him. She was terrified and it was written all over her face. Maybe the knife wasn't for him, maybe it was for someone else. Or for her. "O-okay, Wrath." He moved closer to her but before he could reach out for the knife, she stood and held it out, threatening him.
"You stay right there, Saint Leprechaun!"
Patrick was stuck now, torn between the fear that Wrath could turn him inside out if she wanted to, and knowing she needed help. In the end his saintly side won, for better or for worse. "Wrath, I'm not going to hurt you. Give me the knife." And he stepped forward and held his hand out. Hesitantly and far too slowly for his liking, she finally turned it over to him. "Thank you. What did you think you were going to do with it?" He knew she suffered from depression and self-loathing and he hoped very much that she hadn't been debating suicide. George hardly needed to find his girlfriend dead again.
Wrath wrapped her arms around herself and she hung her head. "I had bad dreams," she admitted. "Got scared. If you tell anyone, I'll kill you."
"That's unnecessary," Patrick assured her. He went to the kitchen only to return the knife to it's rightful place before joining her again in the living room. "You know we have wards here. No one can get in unless we want them in."
Wrath glared up at him. "Yeah well, I used to think that about myself too," she hissed. Patrick, who wasn't aware of the specifics of what had been done to Wrath, had no idea what exactly she was talking about.
"I'm sorry, Wrath. But you do have two saints here to protect you, should you need it. You're going to be okay."
"No I won't," she breathed. "I'm not. And you can't fucking tell me otherwise. But I won't slit my throat in your apartment so you can calm your tits."
"To be honest, I was a little worried you were going to slit my throat too."
Wrath shrugged. "Nah." She didn't sound like she thought it was a preposterous idea, more than she was too lazy to do so. "George would be mad."
"That's...an understatement, I think. But he would feel the same if it happened to you." Patrick was going to hide the knives when she went back to sleep. Just until she left. For everyone's protection. "Uhm...this is probably a stupid question but has what happened to you made you feel...you know, like you used to feel before George."
"Pretty fucking much," Wrath growled. "There's a difference though."
"Oh yeah, what's that?" Patrick asked.
"It's not before George any more," she said easily. "I just didn't want to wake him because it's hard enough for him to sleep and he's been fucked with too." She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. "Fuck. I am so fucked up."
"I don't think anyone expects you to be otherwise. Do you want to sit down, Wrath?"
"No, I want to pace," she hissed, and she did so, pacing circles around their living room while Patrick just stood in the middle, turning to keep his eyes on her. It was making him kind of dizzy. "You know what I want? You know what would give me some fucking awesome closure? To cut off the Antichrist's dick and make him eat it like that cannibal douche in Russia or wherever."
"I am pretty sure it was Germany-"
"It doesn't matter where the cannibal was from, Patrick!" Wrath shrieked at him.
"Right. Concentrating on the wrong thing, sorry. And I know that might help in the short term, but I think it wouldn't help anything long term. Just talk about things with George. Tell him how you're feeling."
"Yeah well he's feeling pretty fucking shitty too!"
Patrick licked his lips and he nodded. "I know, Wrath." Sometimes explaining things to her was like talking to a child. She wasn't used to this kind of interaction yet. "But if he had a nightmare, wouldn't you want him to wake you? And if he was upset wouldn't you want him to talk to you about it?"
Wrath stopped pacing and she stared at him for a little while before scowling. "Fucking saints and your fucking logic. I kind of hate you. You're so annoying."
"I am," Patrick said with a nod, glad she had stopped going around in circles. "Still right."
She made a hissing sound at him and finally sat in one of their chairs. "Fucking fine. Whatever. I'm not going to sing kumbayah or what the fuck ever though. And you don't get to hug me or I'll tear your hair out. Got any cookies?"
Patrick chuckled and he headed for the kitchen again. "Always."
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no subject
Date: 2012-11-11 02:19 am (UTC)"Hey guys. We having a party?"
no subject
Date: 2012-11-11 02:30 am (UTC)Wrath, however, felt the need to be completely honest. "I had a knife and kind of threatened him a little bit but only for a second. I was hiding in your corner."
Patrick's eyes widened and his lips thinned. "Well okay, and that."
no subject
Date: 2012-11-11 02:47 am (UTC)He sat between them for good measure as he accepted his cookie.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-11 02:54 am (UTC)Wrath stayed silent.
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Date: 2012-11-11 03:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-11 03:40 am (UTC)"George, Wrath was having nightmares." Patrick felt like he had to speak up for her since she seemed oddly silent on the matter. "I found her out here."
"I don't want to bother you," she admitted to George.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-12 01:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-12 02:05 am (UTC)Patrick swallowed a cookie awkwardly at that and he had to run to the kitchen to grab a drink so he didn't die of crumb inhalation.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-12 07:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-13 12:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-13 02:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-13 03:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-13 03:40 am (UTC)Head canon = Antichrist is sterile :D
Date: 2012-11-13 03:48 am (UTC)SO SATAN WON'T HAVE GRANDBABIES?
Date: 2012-11-13 04:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-13 04:17 am (UTC)Wrath then frowned and said, "my balls do not like these lady-knickers."
no subject
Date: 2012-11-13 04:27 am (UTC)"Patrick, come see dude-Wrath before he takes his underwear off!"
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Date: 2012-11-13 04:32 am (UTC)"Weird," Patrick said, amused.
Wrath reached up under the nightdress he was wearing and pulled his knickers off. Then he threw them at Patrick. "Here. Present."
Patrick just darted out of the way of them and they landed on the floor near the dog.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-13 01:07 pm (UTC)George finally got himself under control enough to stop giggling. "We figure no Antichrist spawn this way."
no subject
Date: 2012-11-13 01:14 pm (UTC)"Seems like a wise plan," Patrick said softly.
"I forgot how weird dicks are though," Wrath said. "They're like...there. All obvious and shit."
no subject
Date: 2012-11-13 01:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-13 01:26 pm (UTC)"I'll be in my room," he said to give them some space. "But come get me if you need me. Love you both," he said and walked away to his bedoom.
Wrath watched him and then every so quietly it was hardly above a whisper, he said, "yeah yeah, you too."
no subject
Date: 2012-11-13 01:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-13 01:57 pm (UTC)