Red Thunder

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Patrick shrugged. The Walker lay more or less exactly where he'd dropped, slumped over on his right side in reaction to the blows he'd been taking to his face. It'd been about seven minutes since the last punch: he ought to wake again soon. Leaning back into his chair, the Irishman reached for the remote to his television. He stopped; Sapphire might have fallen silent, probably focusing on not aggravating her injury. But she could still talk; she'd shown that quite clearly. And he was damn curious about her.

"So," Paddy broke the silence with a raspy cough, knocking the ash from his cigarette into the bowl with a flick. A few flakes missed the impromptu ashtray entirely, landing instead on the side table to join hundreds of other such flakes. "Yer a bleeding vigilante, huh? That's...well, ya weren't like that in school, yeah? They say people change after high school, but shyte. Didn't know they changed that much."
 

CloudyBlueDay

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Sapphire inhaled deeply. So it was definitely him. She wondered, out of everything, what he really needed to know about her. Did it matter? Would she be sticking around him for long? Probably not. She hoped not.. Sapphire had promised herself not to get close to anyone anytime soon. But he'd saved her life.. perhaps she owed him that.

"I didn't change." She wheezed. "Hate to break it to you Patrick. But I was always like this." She felt that ever present sting of regret, but she had no patience to break it to him gently despite all his efforts to patch her up. Remorse was an emotion Sappire trained herself not to feel, and now was no exception. A part of her wished to sit up just to see the look on his face, because she wondered if his eyebrows still shot up like rockets when he was surprised, but that wasn't really an option.

"I mean, where the fuck do you think I get the hair from? Still think I'm dying it this color after all these years? Am I still that much of a child to you?" She murmured. It was common sense in her eyes, but she hoped that Patrick, who also had abilities, had figured it out by now. "And what about you, huh? Have you always had the ability to open gateways or something?"
 

Red Thunder

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"I didnae mean that kinda change," he muttered, more to himself than anything. Shrugging, Patrick took another drag on the cigarette, sparing a sad glance at the increasingly shorter stub he held in his hand. "But nah, not always. Apparently these powers or whatever you wanna call 'em can show up later in life because of trauma. That's me, I guess. Bleeding traumatic."

Shyte, he still had all that cash in the pockets of his pants and jacket. Best take care of that. Pushing his way off the chair with a grunt, Patrick grabbed the jacket and meandered toward a back corner of room. He looked at Sapphire: good, her head was toward him, which meant turning to look at what he was doing would be quite hard. Reaching down, his fingers found the divot that marked the location of the small bit of false floor. He pushed on the far corner, and one side popped up. There, underneath floor level, was a hollowed out space in the ground. A metal lockbox, caked in rust and age, nestled into the dirt. He pulled open the lid and began placing the small amount of money he'd managed to grab into it, the $400 dollars or so joining the perhaps $75 dollars already there. He closed the lid, a bit more at ease than he had been that morning; it he was careful, that money would keep him warm and fed for a few more weeks. There was a small picture beside the box, protected from the elements by a laminate covering. It was perhaps a little faded, but the distinct blue of the girl's hair still read as clearly as the day it'd been printed. Turning back, Patrick crosssd the distance and knelt down next to Sapphire, checking her injury and the suture's integrity.

"Gates or no, I can't watch your arse all the time. Next time you decide to get knifed, do it on someone else's damned doorstep. Like, I dunno, your own."
 
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CloudyBlueDay

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Bleeding traumatic, huh? What was so traumatic that happened to him after he graduated to bring about a power? "What the fuck kinda change do you mean then, huh?" She huffed, but they were already past that point in the conversation. Sapphire let out a small sigh. Patrick moved out of her view and for a moment Sapphire struggled to keep him in her line of sight, even going to the point of trying to sit up, but admitting defeat quickly before falling back down with a strained gasp of pain. Idiot, she murmured to herself.

After all his rustling and all of Sapphire's curiosity, he made his way back and knelt beside her to check her wound. Squeezing her eyes shut to try and block out the pain, she hardly caught onto his words. "I'd tell you to fuck off again but I already used that card," She wheezed. "So, I'm really damn sorry for getting knifed on your doorstep. Wasn't my plan." She paused to cough in between. "I was hoping for three streets over, really, I was."

Walker, off to the side, began to stir. Sapphire's gaze flicked over to him as the man struggled to stand to his feet. "Take one of my swords," Sapphire whispered hastily, staring at Patrick with pleading eyes, "Jab it in his chest, and I'll tell you what I need to know from him."
 
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Red Thunder

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"Ya want me to what?" Patrick had turned at the movement, but swung his head back around to stare at Sapphire in disbelief. He didn't remember he capable of this kind of violence at all. "I'm not a murder. If I was, I'd have done worse that beat him by now."

"No, you ass." Sapphire rolled her eyes. "Just stab him a little. Really. Poke him in the chest just enough to keep it there. No killing involved."

Patrick grimaced. He still didn't like it. Reaching down, he tugged one of her swords free from its scabbard. Hurrying over to meet Walker before he could get his bearing, the Irishman swung out a leg. It caught both of Walker's in the heel, and he toppled backward with a crash. Victim on the ground, Paddy pressed the blade into the man's chest. He frowned; this felt like torture, and it didnt sit well. His face betrayed his thoughts as he glanced back to Sapphire expectantly.
 
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CloudyBlueDay

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Patrick seemed to be hesitant, which, frankly, surprised her. Here he was, with a goddamn rifle off to the side and gladly punching Walker out for the last god knows how long ever she was out, and only now did he get cold feet. Well, perhaps not. Because quickly after his rebuke he executed it just as she had hoped too.

"Ask him where and when he was supposed to be meet Inter." Sapphire said through gritted teeth.

Walker hissed in pain, hardly able to open his eyes but knowing that he was in a bit of a bind judging from the goddamn sword in his chest. "Fucking try me," he hissed.
 
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Red Thunder

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Patrick's eyes flashed at the Walker's comments, and he turned back to the man lying prone with defiance in his face.

"Try you? Try you?!"

Doubt. It was in the man's eyes. Wait, not doubt: disbelief. Walker saw in the Irishman hesitancy, weakness, and the look he returned to Patrick was full of contempt. He took hold of the sword hilt in a firm grip. He hated that look; it was the same his sergeant had given him, the same that his younger brother had given him when he'd entered the MCPD. Eyes narrow, Paddy lowered his voice.

"You heard her, ya bastard. Now answer."

Walker's face twisted in a scowl, and he spat. Spittle and blood spattered across the floor.

"Fuck. You."

Without a word, without a pause, without a hesitation, Patrick twisted the sword. The blade dug further into the Walker's flesh, exacerbating the pain by magnitudes.
 

CloudyBlueDay

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A disgusting screech of pain came from Walker as the sword was twisted inside his chest. He gasped for air but struggled to find it as he writhed on the floor under Sapphire's blade and Patrick's grip.

"H-he was supposed to meet me in the alley at 5th and West," Walker wheezed helplessly. "Right after I made it out of the bank. But if I don't come immediately afterwards he leaves. He's p-probably already gone."

Sapphire watched in shock as Patrick ruthlessly twisted the sword, and Walker babbled out the information without a second thought. Moments ago the Irishman had been hesitant, but now he was merciless. She would have thought that Walker was bluffing, but how well could you really bluff under that type of pressure and pain?

Unfortunately, if Walker wasn't bluffing, Inter was already dead gone, suspecting a trap or some sort of compromise. Sapphire didn't doubt it. She groaned angrily. Her only lead, worthless.

"Patrick," She said, defeated. "Let him go."
 
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Red Thunder

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"Fine."

Yanking free the sword, Patrick tossed it away. It clattered against the floor, the bit of blood covering the tip spattering from the impact. He spared a glance to his prisoner; Walker was cradling his stomach, trying to stem the flow of blood. It wasn't a terribly deep wound; by Paddy's guess, he'd only pierced the skin and muscle, leaving the organs alone. He could be wrong, of course, but the height of the blood on the blade tip was low. Shaking his head, the Irishman crouched down beside Walker.

"I don't really have the means teh fix yah up, so yah better get to ah hospital righ' fast. I don't think I got vitals, but..."

He shrugged uncertainly and stood. A few steps carried him to the door, which he yanked it open. Stepping into the street, he looked around. There; a tall dilapidated apartment building brushed against the dark skyline, and it was full of balconies. Choosing one three stories up, Paddy placed a gate on the wall inside the balcony and glanced back inside his apartment.

"Gonna have teh find yer own way, though. I'm not a taxi service."

Suddenly a gate appeared under Walker on the floor, and he fell through it onto the apartment building's third floor balcony. Each gate winked out of existence, and Patrick stepped back inside, closing the door as he did.

"So," he grumbled, striding over to his chair, "yah gonna tell me who the bleeding hell this Inter is exactly?"
 
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CloudyBlueDay

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Sapphire watched as Patrick yanked the sword out of Walker, who Sapphire was admittedly beginning to feel just the slightest bit sorry for. The sword clattered against the floor and Sapphire closed her eyes, suddenly not very keen on watching Patrick yank Walker out and about. She had failed her mission. Inter had slipped through her fingers once again, just like the thousand times before.

Patrick stepped back inside, somehow without Walker, and Sapphire let out a sigh. Did he really need to know? Did she really have the energy to tell him? What parts would she even, or could she even describe to him? The simplest way to put it would simply be that Inter was a menace, worthy of her full attention and every ounce of her anger.

Sapphire hated Inter with all of her being. She wasn't sure that she needed to plague anyone else with that same problem.

Ignoring his question blatantly, Sapphire moved her hand over her wound, brushing over the stitching lightly. "So you're definetly the Patrick I met in highschool, yeah?" She said without much facial expression. It was clear she seemed to be avoiding the topic.
 
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Red Thunder

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He paused, scowling.

"Shyte, woman: if yah don't wanna tell me, say so. Don't leave me guessing as teh why ya dinnae answer."

Muttering grumpily to himself, he collapsed into his chair. His pack of cigarettes sat on the side table, nearly empty. Patrick considered it for several seconds, debating whether it was worth holding off smoking that last cigarette or not. With a huff he grabbed it and lit it, taking a long drag; those new funds he'd stored away would buy him plenty later if he wanted them. He thought about treating Sapphire the same way: skirting her question, or hell, avoiding it entirely, and pressing the issue of this object of her pursuit. Whatever it actually meant to her.

"Sure, I suppose. Been some time though, hasn't it." He let the observation hang in the air awkwardly, letting any implications or inferences made stew. It had been a while, and ultimately, life carried on, completely ambivalent to the fact that she'd-

"Teh hell'd yah go, anyhow? Yah jest...left. Bleeding thought you'd gotten in teh shyte, or god knew what trouble."
 
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CloudyBlueDay

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A huff of a laugh escaped Sapphire. It was more of a wheeze as she brought her hand to her forehead, covering her eyes. Patrick never was one to skirt around questions as she had just done. She remembered that now. She was beginning to remember a lot of things about him. At first she thought that he had changed a lot, but really, he hadn't. "Guess I'll keep that in mind for next time." She said with a weak grin.

Been some time indeed. What.. eleven? Twelve years? She lost track. Sapphire purposefully lost track. Thinking of him would do her no good. Thinking of anything of her past wasn't going to do her any good. She had a goal -- she focused on that goal, and only that goal.

At his next question her smile faded. "I guess I kinda did get into some 'shyte', Patrick. I think I was always in some shit, really. " She murmured. "I'm sorry I up n' left. You know.. I was sixteen and stupid. Thought it was what I needed to do. Pretty sure it fucked me up. As you can tell." She sighed. "Guess I shoulda.. stayed with you, huh? 'Till ya left?"
 

Red Thunder

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"Hell, I dinnae care. Wasn't gonna make you stay. I jest wanted to know yah were safe. Bleeding disappeared, and I didn't know what to do."

Patrick fell silent. Cigarette clutched between his teeth, he leaned back. The fabric of the chair was rough and worn. Not old; a manufacturing mark on the frame underneath dated it back only a decade. But it looked like they had been hard years. He inhaled deeply, partially dragging on the tobacco. With a heavy release of air, smoke poured out through clenched ivories, yellowed from such free and frequent activity. His eyes stared forward without seeing, the man's mind clearly not on the present. And how could it be? A high school girlfriend, one with whom he'd had a great relationship, had suddenly reappeared in his life after disappearing the same way. It left him feeling... he didn't know, actually. It still didn't quite feel real to him; how was he supposed to attach emotions to it? No, that could wait until morning. Taking a last pull on the it to finish it off, Patrick dropped the cigarette butt into the makeshift ashtray on the table and stood up.

"Yer gonna have to spend the night there, stitches being what they are; I dinnae wanna agitate 'em." He paused, as if considering, then stepped out of the room. A few seconds later and he was back, two ratty but clean blankets in his arm. One was dropped to the ground while the other, smaller it looked, Paddy stuffed under Sapphire's head. The first he then opened up and laid across her; it was more a quilt then a blanket, and though the material was thin, it was warm and cozy. Grunting, he stood back up, considering what else might need doing. Ah, water; she was likely pretty dehydrated. Walking to the pantry, he swung open the door, grabbed a few bottles of water, and returned to her side. "Here; the tap ain't good, but these'll work, yah get thirsty.

"Now, it's gonna get cold in here. Damn heater doesn't work, so keep that quilt on yah. I don't wanna hear any complaining; it's plenty warm. Alright? Alright."

Grabbing his leather coat from where he'd left it on his dining chair, Patrick moved to the front door and bolted it closed. He threw the light switch, and the room plunged into darkness. Suddenly a soft golden light burst to life near the recliner, generated by one of his gates, and he made his way to it. Throwing the coat on, he sat down, kicked the chair's feet out, and put his hands behind his head in a makeshift pillow. The gate disappeared, and darkness came once again. But sleep didn't, and Patrick lay awake, staring into the blackness and wondering how his Sapphire had come back into his life.

CloudyBlueDay CloudyBlueDay
 
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CloudyBlueDay

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A breath escaped Sapphire. All he wanted to know was that she was safe. That hurt. It really did. She hadn't meant to hurt him. Sapphire had only been swept up in her own misfortune and a thirst for vengeance. She remembered it being hard for her to leave him. The feeling of her bundled up in his arms was not one she could ever forget, but Sapphire was and still happened to be a rage fueled person. She had a quest to conquer. And she had never thought it would take twelve years of her life.

She could've spent those years with him. With what remained of her family. It was beginning to creep up on Sapphire that she had thrown away the best years of her life. For what? For Inter.

She was too deep in. She couldn't stop now.

He returned with two blankets. Patrick knelt beside her and lifted her head gently to stuff one underneath her head like a pillow. She might've protested if she had the strength too, because she knew that if he gave her this he wouldn't have a blanket for himself. The other he draped atop her, and she felt like a child being tucked into bed. Nostalgia crept up on her slowly but she pushed the feeling away. It wouldn't help her.

He placed a few water bottles near her, and as much as she would've liked to drink, Sapphire felt glued to her spot on the floor, unable to move. "I'm not complaining." Sapphire murmured, eyes following him until he shut off the light switch and the room was suddenly black. Her eyes began to close, but not before one of his portals opened, giving off a golden glow. She stared at it in wonderment, because she never would have believed Patrick would gain a power, and especially one like that. He collapsed in his chair and the room was dark again. She was out in minutes, too tired to think of but one thing as her mind drifted to sleep. Him.

~~~

She slept heavily, and that was a good thing, considering her current physical state. Sapphire awoke slowly, letting out a slow groan as she attempted to push her self upright. The pain was more dull than yesterday, a good sign, she hoped. The stitches seemed to be holding up well enough for the time being, though she wasn't foolish enough to go running around. She reached for one of the water bottles and unscrewed the cap, downing almost the entirety of the bottle perhaps a bit too quickly.

Sapphire was ravenous, but she wasn't sure whether to wake Patrick up or not. It was certainly daytime now -- sunlight crept through the cracks in the door and everything was lit. "..Patrick?" She murmured, her voice coming out raspy and hoarse. She coughed and tried again. "Patrick.."
 

Red Thunder

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A dull gray blanketed the room, the infiltrating daylight illuminating the bare furnishings. Patrick's recliner was empty, and his rifle and jacket were gone. There was no answer for a fair amount of time. The seconds passed by, and then the minutes. Time seemed to drag along, exacerbated by the lack of any real time keeping device in the place, short of anything Sapphire might have on her person.

The apartment creaked and groaned, the rattle of pipes, the distant closing of doors, and the gentle minuscule sway of the building on a weary foundation robbing the atmosphere of complete silence. It was an unobtrusive ambience, however, easily ignored in favor of other sounds, and it provided a familiar feeling to those who lived in it. To those who didn't, the dull groan might be distinctly unsettling, as if the whole structure might collapse at any moment.

Suddenly the doorknob rattled loudly before falling silent just as quickly. A voice outside began muttering curses that was soon accompanied by the sound of jingling metal. There was the sound of something being inserted into the lock, it turned with a click, and the door was pushed open. The rush of daylight was near blinding after the dim light of the room, and the figure that stood in the doorway was little more than a silhouette. Across its back there seemed to be a long gun, and in its left hand was a duffle bag, loaded down with...something. The figure stepped inside, yanked the key out, and kicked the door shut. Turning, it looked Sapphire's direction. Or rather, where she'd been. He called out to the room in general, unsure of where she might have gone.

"Saph?" the Irish brogue cut the air; it was most definitely Patrick. "Got some better med supplies. Fix yah up right this time 'nstead of damn field dressing."
 
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CloudyBlueDay

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It took her a moment to realize that he wasn't there. She had to blink furiously and try to clear away the morning fog to see that his recliner was empty. No worries, She told herself. He's just in another room. Or went to get breakfast. Apparently she'd have to handle it by herself for a little while. Sapphire leaned back, trying to focus on anything but the pain and the eeriness of the home that Patrick resided in. The creaking and the rattling, however.. slowly it began to become unsettling, and in such a defenseless state, Sapphire found herself more and more on edge. You're losing your damn marbles, Sapphire. Keep it together.

Suddenly the doorknob rattled. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she made a dash for her sword which had been left on the floor, except her wound and the stitches screamed it's protest. She froze in her tracks, and the door swung open. Thrusting her hand forward, she cast an illusion on the silhouette that stood in the doorway, hiding herself from sight.

"Saph?" The figure called out, and her eyes widened. It was Patrick. She let the illusion crumble, and suddenly she would appear, on her knees on the floor, clutching her stomach, halfway to the sword. She was heaving like she'd run a marathon, and pale as a ghost. "Patrick..." she croaked. "Couldn't you say it was you next time?"
 
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Red Thunder

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When she appeared, Paddy dropped the duffle in shock. But he quickly regained his composure and ran to her

"Shyte, lass, I dinnae think I needed teh in mah own place." Lifting her up, he carried her back to the makeshift bed. "And I thought I told yah teh stay in bed. Yer not any kinda ready teh be moving around like that yet. Bleeding hell, woman."

Satisfied that she was comfortable, he dropped off the rifle by the recliner before grabbing the bag. It was an old thing, as ratty and worn as the rest of his place, but it was still in reasonable condition. Setting it down beside her, he opened it up. Inside was an assortment of painkillers, bandages, and sterilization chemicals, in addition to other things harder to make out. Reaching inside, Patrick grabbed a bottle and handed it to Sapphire. It was small, perhaps only 8 ounces, and he dark liquid inside was obscured by a small label marked with a faded "Whiskey". With a simple Drink up, he dove back into the bag, pulling isopropyl alcohol, bandages, and stitching material from its depths. Slowly, without so much as a warning, he lifted the bottom of her shirt toward her head, exposing the work he'd done the night before. He cursed; it was inflamed, both along the cut itself and at each place a stitch entered and exited her skin.

"Figured it might happen. Gonna take a bit; don't want yah catching gangrene or some shyte." His golden eyes glanced at her briefly with regret. "This is gonna hurt, lass. I weren't kidding; drink that bottle.

"And after yer through,"
he added, pulling a few more instruments from the bag, "enlighten me on this Inter bvastard. Medical care is expensive, and that's mah price."

Without waiting on her to begin, Patrick started, arranging a good bit of gauze beneath the wound before cutting the stitching with a scalpel.
 

CloudyBlueDay

consistently inconsistent
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Sapphire had scared him. The shock on his face was both priceless and depressing - she hadn't meant to frighten him like that. In turn, however, he had scared the shit out of her. Perhaps they were even now. Sapphire winced as he scooped her up -- it was an insult to her pride and definetly hurt to be moved any bit at all. "I thought someone was fucking breaking in, with all your door-opening troubles," She grumbled as he set her down. "Sorry if I tried to defend myself."

He'd bought a bag chock-full medical supplies -- no doubt that was expensive as hell. She felt bad, dropping in on him like this, leaving him with no choice but to help her out. Spend his money on supplies and give her the only two blankets he had. He handed her a small bottle. She squinted at it, making out the label, until Patrick told her to drink up. She gave him a weak grin as she uncapped it and took a big gulp.

His diagnosis wasn't peachy but he seemed confident she'd live, if only for the price of knowledge on Inter. Letting out a deep groan and taking another big swig off the bottle, she figured it was better to blab than to watch him remove and then restitch her wound together.

"Damn right he's a.. bvastard." What kind of pronunciation that was, she didn't dare ask. "Power hungry, chaos wreaking bvastard. God, if I could bury that son of a bitch alive I would." She winced at his poking around in her wound. Another swig. "Treats the city like it's his. Climbs to power in the shadows. The fucking police haven't even caught a scent of him, while I'm out here doing the damn work. Been doing it for twelve years. What do I get? I get stabbed in the damn stomach by the last lead I got, and he isn't even worth shit."

One last swig. The bottle was already empty, and she had her eyes squeezed shut, both in pain and anger.
 
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Red Thunder

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He kept his focus where it needed to be: on cleaning and closing back her wound. Sleep hadn't come as readily as he'd have liked, and the little that did didn't stick around nearly long enough. But years of working shift hours had trained him to work with what he had. Patrick concentrated on the sterilizing the wound as Sapphire explained, rather vehemently, just who Inter was. So. It seemed like he was the leader of some kind of terrorist or criminal group. He nodded as he threaded the stitching needle and prepared to put her back together.

"Sounds like a winner. Real stand up guy."

As he talked, he pushed the needle through her skin, hoping his conversation coupled with the whiskey would keep her from attending to the pain.

"But yah weren't never the bleeding heart, Saph. What'd he do teh make yah drop life and focus on him?"

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Patrick paused every so often, catching blood from the punctures in the gauze that sat nearby.
 

CloudyBlueDay

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I am generally not a huge fan of RPing Fandom, but it can depend.
Sapphire hissed. Between the whisky and the pain there was no way she could manage a decent lie; in fact, her words were almost beginning to become slurred and breathing irregular.

"Killed my dad." She got the words out quick, trying to lessen the sting of their truth. "Had to -- I had to take Percy and run.. you remember.. do you remember Percy? I don't.. I don't know if you ever met him." Sapphire hissed, trying to concentrate on her sloppy breaths. "Inter... he.. he tore.. tore my family a..ah..aaarhg.... shhhhhiiiittttt.." Sapphire was clearly struggling with the pain, fists clenched and eyes tightly shut. "Hurry... up...." She groaned.