distractions

who: patrick and eris
where: her place/the kitten club
when: late

Patrick had been standing outside the door to Eris Stockard’s place for awhile now. He leaned one hand on the door frame, a bouquet of flowers clutched in the other hand hanging at his side. This, he convinced himself, was pathetic. It wasn’t like he had a legitimate reason to be there. Part of him tried to reason that he would just leave the flowers as an apology for showing up a drunken mess the other night, and take off. But never really giving a thought to anyone besides himself, he hadn’t really thought of a card, and now he was stuck. Fuck it, he decided. After a moment, Bull took a deep breath, and used his free hand to knock lightly on the door. The pathetic part of him reached up to quickly run a hand through his tousled hair in an effort to look in any way presentable.

If anyone was presentable at the moment, weirdly it was likely to be Patrick. Eris herself was not. She looked a bit of a wreck, a little disheveled, a little dirty from work, all in all? Not her best night ever. When the knock on the door came she was already in something of a buzzed state, having had a few pulls from the bottle. In a word, she was depressed. Though for her own mind, it felt far more important than that. It felt more like the deepest well of darkness and despair that she'd ever encountered, and that was saying something. Still, when the knock on her door came, she went to answer it, halfway through the motion before she even caught up with current events enough to wonder who it might be.

What she didn't expect was to see a mit full of colorful flowers and...Patrick Fucking O'Malley. She blinked once, then leaned far out into the hall, pushing up on her toes to peer up at him, eyes narrowing. "I don't think I've started hallucinating yet." she told him critically. "But it's possible."

“Very funny.” Patrick said almost immediately, eyes averted and ready to get her mockery over with. But then he looked up and found himself staring at a different kind of Eris than he was used to. He frowned slightly, and leaned the majority of his weight on the door frame as he offered the flowers over. Maybe they would do some good, after all. She looked... well, not her best.

She drew in a breath, let it out in a rush, then looked at the flowers. She considered for a long moment, still sort of vaguely wondering if her head was really fucking with her, and decided no. It wasn't. That was the universe's job. "Flowers?" she asked, reaching out to take them. She didn't really get flowers. Brett had sent some once, but it hadn't been because he wanted to send her flowers, he was just getting a note to her in an unobtrusive way. This...probably wasn't that. She was pretty sure Patrick couldn't spell well enough to give her a note. That and there was an entire lack of one.

Well, she’d actually accepted the flowers, and that was a relief. She very well could have thrown them back in his face. Patrick shrugged a bit as he crossed his arms over his chest. “For generally bein’ a prick, I guess. And for putting up with me the other night.” He continued to look down at her a bit skeptically, almost like he didn’t believe it was the real Eris.

Giving him an incredulous look, she then looked back at the flowers and turned around to head back inside the apartment. She headed to the small kitchenette area and rifled through the cabinets, though all she found was an empty bottle of whiskey. And, in her state, she figured that was as good as it was going to get, and she abruptly smashed the neck of it off. She did it into the sink basin. Filling the remains of the bottle with water, she set it down on the counter and dropped the flowers into it. Then she stepped back to eye the whole thing. "...huh." she commented. "Never really got flowers before." she said. "Generally, see, people don't do that for whores. It's a whole social order type of deal." she said, making a vague gesture towards the window, indicating society at large.

He hadn’t planned on coming inside. But with the door just hanging open and her rummaging around in the kitchen, Patrick found himself naturally stepping in and closing the door behind him. The apartment looked vaguely familiar. He just felt uncomfortable on the whole with the situation, mostly vulnerable and confused with her behavior. At her comment about whores, the normal Bull O’Malley would have had a comeback in an instant, but this version of Patrick fumbled for words. “It just felt like somethin’ to do. For someone.” he finally told her, but the voice in the back of his head knew he’d never get flowers for just anyone.

"Well you picked one hell of a 'someone'." Eris told him. She then turned to look at him. "So, what're you doing, Bull?" she asked. She leaned on the countertop and leveled her gaze on him, trying to assess, but she was just a little too emotionally chaotic to manage it. Well, beyond the obvious which was he was wickedly uncomfortable, and she was betting his grand plan right now was 'make it up as I go along'. "Whatcha here for? More advice? You want to yell at me a little? I'm sure there's something you can blame me for. I mean, it's kind of a thing lately too, though to be fair? Most of it's my fault, too. So there's that." she said, thinking maybe she was slightly more than just 'buzzed'.

Patrick’s eyes found hers at that first statement, and there was this tiny flash of something between anger and lust in them. He wasn’t happy that he’d picked her. But at the same time, he couldn’t help himself – it was just there. Which brought him to her question, as to what the fuck was he doing with this? His brow creased in frustration as he spoke. “I ain’t here to blame you for anything, sugar. I don’t know who else is givin’ you a hard time, but it’s not gonna be me tonight.”

She laughed a little bit, and it was a strange sound. Something that lacked humor and yet somehow was almost normal. "A hard time." she repeated. "I've given me a hard time." she said. "You know how I got here?" she asked, though she moved forward without waiting for him to say anything. "I got here through a series of deliberate actions on my part. I could probably whine and say that I was a victim of circumstance, sure." she said, waving at him like he was protesting even if he really wasn't. "I could do that. But I think there just comes a time in a person's life where they look around and say 'no, you know what? I'm here because I fucked up'." she told him firmly, nodding to help pound her point home. Then she glanced around. "I need a drink. I’m not nearly drunk enough for this conversation. Do you want a drink? Is there a bottle over yonder?" she asked, pointing rather vaguely towards the couch. Where there was actually a bottle, just not one that contained anything.

Whatever circumstances she was referring to, Patrick was a bit lost on that, as he could imagine there were many, many things he didn’t know about her personal life. He let her talk, still standing there with an uneasy look on his face, and eventually shook his head at the offer for a drink. He reached down to pick up the bottle near the couch, and turned it over to show her it was empty. “Someone told me to quit drinkin’ a little while ago.”

"Why is it when people listen to me it comes back to bite me in the ass?" she asked rhetorically. "I swear, everyone picks the most inconvenient time to decide I know what the fuck I'm talking about." She sighed, then dragged her fingers through her hair. "Fine. Whatever. You're taking me out then." she told him, abruptly turning on her heel to stalk down the short hall to the bathroom door where she kicked at it to open it, and she turned on the bath water. She was dirty, she knew that, so she'd need to wash up at least a little bit first.

He had to smile a little bit at that, just from the pure satisfaction. She wanted him to drink? So he wouldn’t. And that would be his retaliation for the night, instead of being, well... himself. He just needed to control himself for a little while longer while he apparently... wait, took her out? “Excuse me?” he called down the hall after her. “Look, I just came to...” He pursed his lips to one side and vaguely pointed to the flowers in the whiskey bottle. The word ‘apology’ never came easy.

She didn't see the gesture, since she was in the bathroom, and she kicked the door mostly shut but not entirely. "Fine, I'll go on my own then." she said. Which would likely be a bad idea, but then she wasn't really of a mind to give a damn what was and wasn't a good plan tonight. She was a little too messed up. A little too self destructive.

Patrick sighed and had to roll his eyes. “No you won’t. You need lookin’ after.” he called back to the half-shut door. And then he chuckled softly, and mumbled quietly to himself. “Besides, someone might stab you in an alley or somethin’.” He started to circle the small apartment, giving himself the less than grand tour as she bathed. Trying to busy himself while he attempted not to think about drinking.

Eris washed up in efficient order, washing her hair and the rest of the grime of the day off of her. Then she got out and headed into the bedroom, to throw on at least a vaguely nice dress. Nothing fancy, and it was a simple black number, but it looked good on her. If she was going out she wanted to look halfways decent. Then she threw on some make up, put her hair up, and headed back out to Patrick. "You're still here?" she asked, even if she had known he was.

Patrick had eventually settled himself on the couch while she’d gotten ready, and had tried to make out some of the words he didn’t know in an old dusty book he’d found on the floor. He closed it shut upon her emergence from the bedroom and looked up at her, trying desperately not to sit there and blink like an idiot. “You shouldn’t go alone. Somethin’ might happen. Another attack.” And I wouldn’t be there to protect you, he wanted to add, but wasn’t that the stupidest thing he could say?

"Like the one where I got dragged into an alley and stabbed in the hand?" she asked, holding up her hand while she was at it. The mark was still there, though it was mostly healed. It was still sore and the like, and still had the stitches, but the wound itself had healed up fine. "Maybe I just have one of those faces where people want to put the hurt on me." she said, going to dig out a pair of heels to put on.

He stood up, only feeling more awkward with her talking down to him like that. “Yeah. Like that one.” he said, tone slightly annoyed. He thought they’d gotten over that, but Patrick knew it wasn’t exactly something she would ever forget. He watched her put on her shoes and generally looked at the dirty floor. “Or maybe you just bait people when you’re drunk.”

"Yes, that's very much it. It was my fault." she said with a nod, buckling the strap on her heel, and she stood straight again. "I bait people and they've got no choice but to drag me off and take pleasure in making me bleed. That's got to be it." she continued. "Now shut the fuck up, you don't get to worry about me and my potential brutalization by others when you were the last person who assaulted me. We leaving or what?"

He could already tell this was a bad idea, but he nodded sternly and opened up the door for them to leave. “After you.” Bull said, teeth clenched. How Patrick O’Malley ended up in this situation he’d never know. The flowers – it had started with the flowers – and now he was following her out the door like one of her old bodyguards at Babylon. What a fucking world.

She walked out, then down the steps, gripping the railing tight even if it's stability was suspect. "Where are you taking me?" she asked, glancing back over her shoulder at him. It did feel like he was taking that ghost role, like Clayton back in the day. She'd spent a whole lot of time having a bodyguard, not that it had done her any good. Or, no. It had for a long time, just not when it counted the most. And it was simply odd considering who this man was. But then her life had stopped making sense a hell of a long time ago. She would have been a fool to expect it to start making sense now.

Taking her? Bull expected he’d mainly be following her, and so the question threw him off. The closest was obviously the Round, but he hadn’t shown up for work in ages. Plus, like they had established, he’d stabbed her in the hand and thrown her in the dumpster. No, things could only go badly at the Round. Although he really couldn’t see how they could go well anywhere. “You’re upset.” Patrick tried to reason. “Why don’t y’get some food in you?” He knew it would be a hard sell, but he had to try.

"Oh, I'm not upset." Eris said. Then a flicker of a frown went over her features. That was a total lie. She was upset. She'd been upset since Brett left and she was fairly certain that he was out of her life for the duration now. She wasn't as important as his job, end of story. She never would be. Expression clearing, she looked back to his eyes. "Patrick, just take me somewhere to distract me, alright? That's what I need right now. Not dinner, or flowers, or anything else. I need to forget my entire life for a little while." she admitted, looking away at the last second because there was true vulnerability leaking through. She didn't really want him seeing it.

It was almost like he was back at home, and someone was giving him simple orders. Just get it done, Patrick. And he always did. So he met her eyes and nodded like the good soldier he was, and decided they were headed towards Chinatown. They’d both seen their share of the Sprawl recently, and the Kitten Club would most likely deliver enough distraction for her. There would be booze, anyhow. He motioned for her to follow and started in that direction, not quite sure what to say after that. Small talk seemed too strange.

She went with, not even asking where he was taking her. Seriously, she didn't care. Anywhere that wasn't her apartment right now was seeming like a good goddamn plan. She didn't speak either, though it was less due to awkwardness and more due to the fact that she didn't know what would come out if she opened her fool mouth. So, she was keeping it shut. That was a good plan. She let him get her there, seeing Chinatown passing them by, and she noted the little shop she'd bought the poison she killed the commissioner with. She still didn't regret that, something she recognized as it was left in their wake. It had destroyed her life, but she didn't regret it. When they got to the Kitten Club, she smirked faintly. "Interesting choice." she told him, glancing in his direction.

It was a very interesting choice, and Patrick’s body language changed immediately as they entered the club. Familiar Lotus faces were already in sight, and he naturally fell into a defensive stance, alert and ready. Game face on. It would be clear to anyone that the two of them were not to be fucked with, or the Bull people were so familiar with at the Round would surely make an appearance. For now, though, he lead her towards the bar and did another swipe of that area for trouble.

Eris had to wonder how he felt about being in a place his family used to own. She could see looks shot in his direction, almost like a wildfire, she saw it ripple through the patrons and employees. Interesting indeed. Of course she was getting no small amount of looks herself. She saw a few people spot her then immediately start whispering. Sitting on one of the stools, she ordered herself a drink, one that was less straight up than she'd been drinking, but her eyes were landing on the stage. "Should I sing something tonight?" she asked. She was pretty sure she could get someone to let her on.

He sat down on the bar stool next to her, and the bartender gave him a wild stare when he waved off a drink order. The plan was still on. No drinking. If something were to go down? He’d be sharper, and more ready. Patrick’s eyes followed hers to the stage behind him, where an act was just finishing up. He smiled slightly. “People might like that.” he offered, and knew by ‘people’ he meant himself.

"Have you ever even heard me sing? Or do you just know that people still sometimes complain that I quit at the Round?" she asked. She didn't think he'd ever seen her. He didn't start bouncing at the Round til she'd taken his family down, and that had been after she'd left the place. She glanced to the barkeep, then crooked her finger at him, leaning over to murmur to him. She'd sing something. Surprise performance. That could work for her.

It had been after his fight with her that Patrick had overheard some patrons talking about the singer who’d been there before he’d started. She’d used a stage name, but word floated around that it was no doubt Eris Stockard. “The regulars used to talk about you sometimes. Said you were great.” he told her. He’d been curious ever since to hear her, and it looked like he finally would.

"I was." Eris said, voice oddly distant for a moment, but she noticed that there was a little flurry of activity up on the stage, and the bartender nodded to her. "And now you'll get to see that." she informed him, pausing to down a quarter of her drink. She set it down on the bar next to him, so it wouldn't get lost. Then she slid off of the stool and walked over to the stage, having a quick, quiet talk with the band there. It wasn't the one she'd usually played with, but it would do. They knew the song she was going to be singing. Then, she smiled as 'the shrouded angel' was announced as a 'special treat' for the patrons. There was some applause, and she smiled. People knew who she was. Then, she got up onto the stage, took the mic, and let herself fall into the song. As far as distractions went, it was pretty fucking spectacular. Singing had been a solace of hers, something she'd found she adored, and now was no different. She really threw herself into it, giving it her all.

Patrick spun around once she’d left him to face the stage, casting quick glances to the audience to make sure no one was going to give her any trouble, and then? He was frozen there. Her voice rang out through the microphone, and time seemed irrelevant. She really was very, very good, but it was more than that – she was very much enjoying herself, and a great deal of pride struck him as he realized he’d brought her to exactly the right place. Coupled with the feeling of having done something right for once, he knew he wasn’t alone in that he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. The music, her voice, the way she so easily fell into the performance, just her, had him in a thrall. Someone could have put a gun to his head and he wouldn’t have even noticed.

When the song came to a close, she had a pang of true regret, something she wasn't used to. But there was something bittersweet about it. Her life had crashed and burned, and she'd found that. Singing had been an escape for her after she'd left Brett's apartment, when she'd been trying to make it on her own. And now...getting to do it again after she left it behind, she didn't really want to be finished. She let the last strain ring out then fade, a smile touching her lips as she heard the applause. And it wasn't as if she'd never heard that before. It had just been a while, and she'd been feeling worthless. Like her life had no meaning, no merit. She came in second to Brett's work, she got left behind and that was going to keep happening. But this...it was the first thing that had felt good in a long time. So she smiled, and there was something genuine about it, something a little different than usual. She gave a little curtsy to the crowd, and winked before she headed off the stage, which seemed to be something the crowd protested, but she had to give herself a moment before she decided if she was going to do that again. Heading back to the bar she was stopped several times to be told that people had really enjoyed things, but eventually she got back to Patrick and her drink. "You've now heard a dead woman sing. Will wonders never cease."

The trance had lasted long after she’d left the stage, and his gaze had followed her from the stage until she had made her way back to him. When it registered that she was speaking, he blinked a couple times and cleared his throat. “Right...” he managed, and then licked his dry lips. Then his eyes landed on her drink, and pure instinct had him grabbing and downing the rest of it. It wasn’t too strong, and might give him just the right amount of balls he’d need to get through the night without coming off as totally ridiculous. “That was... you were very much alive, sugar. They loved you.”

She arched a brow at him killing her drink, and she crossed her arms. "Into fruity drinks these days, Bull?" she asked, taking up her seat on the stool next to him so she could order another one. "And yes, I was. Alive, that is. I like singing. I miss it sometimes." she said, glancing around the place as she saw people were still looking at her. "Maybe in a bit I'll give them another one. Think they'd like that?" she asked, landing her gaze on him again. "And what did you think?" she asked, a little amused because she was under the impression she'd had quite the impact.

“Whatever works.” he replied, narrowing his eyes a bit. “But that’s it. Just the one.” The words sounded off in his head, like a limit was something too foreign. He took another swipe of the room and she very much still had fans. “Prolly won’t leave you alone until you do. As for me? I ain’t one to judge musical things, but it wasn’t bad, Stockard.” He had never exactly been a good liar. It was fantastic.

"Uh huh." Eris said, smirking openly now as she got her drink. She took a sip of it, not letting her eyes leave his face, even if he wasn't looking at her. He was, in fact, a bad liar. "'Not bad', that's all you've got for me?" she asked. "You can do better than that."

Patrick looked right at her then, and smirked right back. “You want me to tell you how amazin’ you are, is that it?” he asked, leaning forward a bit. “Right. You were somethin’ else, Eris. Better than the regular shit they’ve got on the stage each night. Happy?” The frustration was coming back – mainly from fear that she’d be able to sense what he was feeling. “Now make fun of me and get it over with.”

"Thank you." she said. "And why would I make fun of you?" she asked, crossing her legs as she took her drink and swirled the ice around in it a little with the straw in it. "Seems like it would be rather cruel of me, asking you for your assessment, then cutting you down for it." she told him, feeling strange. It took her a long moment, but she realized she was feeling a little like the Eris she was before the brain damage. Maybe it was knowing she'd had a clear and large affect on him. She'd watched him a little while she sang, and then there was afterwards. She'd got his attention. it had been a long, long time since Eris had felt like she had the upper hand on anyone. Period. Even if it was just with her presence.

He chuckled slightly and shook his head. “That’s what you do. And I get it, I ain’t smart and we already know I’ve done all the wrong things. So you cut me down. Normally. Now the tables have turned, and it’s messin’ with my head.” He was already saying too much. Maybe he did need to drink more. Though last time that had only ended in awkwardness. Patrick waved it off and looked back out at the crowds. “Look, forget about it. You were really great. I mean it.”

"I make fun of you when you're being an idiot, and deserve to have your words thrown back at you, or you need a good kick to the pants." Eris told him. "You giving a genuine compliment doesn't really fit the bill." Taking another drink, she set it on the bar. "But thank you. It's been a while since I got to do that." And she missed it. Yes, she was feeling less useless. Less like she didn't matter in the slightest, like she couldn't impact anything even if she desperately needed to. It was a harsh realization, to compare things to one another. To truly look at herself and realize that she'd been feeling like she didn't matter, and to the person the most important to her. How that affected her life, how it colored everything in it. It was also more than a little heartbreaking. But she covered that, buried it down, and concentrated on her distraction. Patrick, at current.

Her words implied to him that she didn’t always find him an idiot. Patrick mulled that over for a second, and felt somewhat triumphant. They also implied that she found him genuine, or at least capable of being genuine, and that caused another small smile. “I’m glad you’re feelin’ better.” he told her, assuming that she was. It certainly felt like it, with her throwing herself into the performance.

She smiled faintly. "I am." she said. In at least one way. She still felt like hell in every other, but she could sort of put that off for now. She could focus past it, and that was a plus. She wouldn't be able to later, she knew, but oh well. She wasn't thinking about later. She was thinking about right the hell now. Getting through one moment at a time was her more recent motto. "So what had you picking out flowers?" she asked him, taking another drink.

Without a drink to hold, he found his arms crossed over his chest again. It was also his go-to posture when he felt vulnerable, and the feeling was back in full force as Eris turned the conversation back to his initial reason for visiting her. Patrick gave her a look that said ‘are you really going to make me say this again?’ and sighed. “I figured I could just leave ‘em by your door, easy. But I forgot a card, and I’m sure there are many folks who could bring you flowers, an’ I figured I’d just explain and leave.” He was quiet for a second in thought and then chuckled lightly to himself. “My father would bring home flowers for my ma when he really pissed her off, y’know?”

She wondered how he viewed things, how he saw her, himself in relation to her. Especially if he was pulling out tricks his old man had used on his mother. But she didn't ask that. Instead, she took the first part of his statement. "What makes you think I'd have many people who'd bring me flowers?" she asked. Being she pretty much had no one who would. But then she would have laid money on the fact that Patrick and flowers didn't fit into the same sentence.

“You had t’have lots of admirers back in the day.” Patrick reasoned. “Maybe not so much now after everythin’, but there’s still Trent and the lad from the Round in the mix.” When he realized that maybe gifts were a rarity, he tilted his head in question. “People don’t bring flowers anymore, then?”

Eris shook her head. "You buy into the image." she said. "I didn't have admirers, I had people who wanted something from me." she told him, taking another drink. "That's all. Just...people who wanted me to do something for them, who wanted a piece of me, or who knew I could get them what they wanted for a price. The world is made up of takers, Patrick. Never forget that. I haven't." Eris sighed lightly. "Trent...I'm in his wake." she told him, feeling that was the most eloquent way to put it. "So no...people don't bring flowers anymore. But the truth is people never did to start with."

Patrick really wasn’t sure what to say, or how to feel, speaking that his small gesture for redemption had been based on an act that meant nothing. “I don’t want anythin’ from you, Eris. You can throw ‘em out, if you like. I know I’ve been...” His eyes wandered off as he searched for the right word, and then they were back on hers to show he was serious. “... difficult. For you. An’ the flowers meant I recognize that. So you can look at ‘em and see somethin’ nice, and that was it. Maybe people don’t bring flowers, but I did.”

"Thank you." she said. Because in that moment she could appreciate the gesture. It was still odd for her, because no one ever did bring her flowers, but it was nice, if she sort of took them as they came. "They were pretty." she added. "Just unexpected. Like I said...people don't generally bring flowers for people like me."

“They should.” Patrick said all too quickly, and almost immediately turned his head towards the bar afterward. Pathetic, he told himself. “And you’re welcome.” he mumbled to the floor. The night was just getting weird, and he felt like anything but himself. If anything, Bull felt like the bumbling teenager he never was sitting there in front of her. Those awkward years he’d missed out on, diving right into work for his family.

Eris smiled, sort of internally laughing a bit at him. "You really don't hold real conversations with women very often, do you?" she observed. "How often do you have real conversations with anyone?" she asked. She did note that he seemed to be doing alright with not drinking, which was good. Even with her there with her own drink he hadn't ordered a new one, he'd just downed what was left of her old one, and that was it for now. So he had some self control, she was starting to guess that he just hadn't had much call for using it in his life.

It was Patrick’s turn to laugh. Loudly. “Conversations? No.” His encounters with women had involved hardly any words at all. “Women don’t wanna converse with me, darlin. Except for family. O’Malley women are smart and worth listenin’ to. As for everyone else, I guess people don’t bother with me. For good reason, I’d say. They’re too afraid.”

"Do you really think that everyone in the world is afraid of you?" Eris asked. "And that's why they don't bother with you? Just the fear factor?" Her tone was genuinely curious as she asked it, unsure what his answer might be. She thought that might be it, though. That he wouldn't consider another angle because that was the one that was the most flattering to him, and the image his family had cultivated for him.

“Of course not.” Patrick replied. “There’s always those who try to challenge me. They ain’t afraid of me. You, for example. Your friend who attacked me.” He was speaking like this was fact, of course, and all common knowledge. “Other than that? Maybe they’re afraid of me, sure. They just see a guy with tattoos and some muscles and think of trouble. But they ain’t wrong. ‘Til recent, I guess.”

Eris shook her head. "Sweetheart, with the people in this city, fear is something that needs more of a reason behind it. Just seeing some big guy with tattoos isn't enough to run someone's blood cold. They'd have to know your rep. Who you were. But just the sight of you...no. Beyond that, they might not bother with you because you don't give them a reason to want to." She sighed. “I think you suffer from an inflated sense of yourself. You think you’re bigger and badder than you are. That’s no good. Especially not in your case when you don’t have your family to back you up anymore.”

“I can take care of myself.” he countered. “I don’t need backup, me an’ Eily have been doing just fine.” Which was a lie. His sister had recently come home with a cast, and Patrick hadn’t been there to prevent it. Not to mention they couldn’t afford well, anything. “But people can think what they want. Yeah, I’m confident in my abilities. That doesn’t make me... inflated.”

"Confident in your abilities is fine." Eris said. "But what you just said makes me think that you think you strike fear into the hearts of everyone you come across. Like everyone knows who you are, and will shake in their boots just because. That's the dangerous part. Thinking you've got more going on than you do. Confidence is good--but expecting everyone else to just get it isn't. Don't expect anyone to give you the right of way, Patrick, you'll find people stepping into it just to spite you if that's the air you're going to give off." she warned, knowing it was sound advice.

He looked at her then with a interesting combination of both understanding and sadness, a half-smile on his lips. “It’s what I know.” he said, and couldn’t help turning his thoughts to his dead brothers, cousins, elders. They had not only left him entirely, but they’d left him with some serious issues to work out. It was hard, both mourning them and feeling slightly bitter that no one had ever sat him down to tell him these things. Like he’d been used. “But I’m workin’ on it. I ain’t afraid of much. Prolly makes myself seem scarier in comparison.”

"Not really. In my opinion?" Eris looked at him, finishing her drink as she focused. "You'd be easy to play. If I was still in charge of something, if I had some ulterior motive, you'd be easy to manipulate. And you not having a healthy fear of anything and thinking you're king fuck of shit mountain? Well those are the easiest to topple, Patrick. It doesn't give you an advantage, it just means you've got clear, easy manipulation points that you'd very predictably react to. You don't seem scary, to someone like me. You seem pathetic and a sinch to twist around." She said, and her tone the entire time was much gentler than her words were. She wanted him to know the truth of the matter, not needle him with it.

With this kind of far-off look on his face, Patrick blinked a couple times before looking at her again, everything just sinking in as it came. “That’s quite an opinion.” he said after awhile, a small smirk on his lips despite feeling truly put down. He knew she was trying to help, but he was just starting to feel like a lost cause. It sort of reminded him that he just wasn’t sure what he was doing – both in life and sitting there with Eris at the Kitten Club. “I should go.” he mumbled, standing up to crack his back. “But you should sing another song. They’re askin’ for it.”

Eris looked at him for a long moment, eyes ticking down for a just a heartbeat before they were back up on his. "You're going to leave me in a club that belongs to an organization that tried to kill me once and missed?" she asked, voice very, very light. It wasn't exactly that she was asking him to stay, more she was just asking if that was truly his intention. If it was, it was. This was Patrick O'Malley, and even if he did have some little crush on her or something, she imagined it was a passing fancy at best. And maybe it had just run out right now.

Her eyes on him like that pulled at his heart, and he narrowed his own eyes a bit, just completely confused and derailed as to the feeling at all. He’d never felt such a thing. It was disturbing. It was awful. Most of all, it needed to stop. This was going way too far and he needed to get out. Mind made up, Patrick set his jaw and once again made direct eye contact to prove his point. He stepped forward into her personal space so he could lean into her ear. “This was a mistake.” he said, voice low. “You’re playin’ with me. An’ I don’t give a shit what happens to you. End of story.”

So, that was it then. Even if she hadn't been playing him, and it would be wildly unintelligent for her to tell him he was an easy mark if she was, he'd just said it. He didn't give a damn. She didn't imagine he'd put together the idea that everything she'd been telling him would really rather lend evidence towards the idea that she wasn't playing him. "Whatever you say, Patrick." she said, voice a light little whisper.

It was unbearable now, the ache he felt in his chest. It was too dangerous. He had gone in to her apartment feeling vulnerable, and now it had escalated to such weakness in a very short time. Without even thinking, his fist lashed out to crash down on the counter beside them, causing heads at the bar to turn. And then, he was walking out the door they came from, away from the distraction that was Eris. The worst part? He knew he would wait outside, ready to discreetly follow her home the entire way. He’d done it enough times for the Syndicate when tracking a target. It would be fucking hard to explain himself if someone did decide to mess with her, but he would be there. Because despite what he had said, Patrick wasn’t letting go of Eris anytime soon.