milliways_bar | (no subject)

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With an extremely (eyebrows drawn, a creased line between them. Lips thin, eyes sharp) introspective look on his face, Patrick sits at an empty booth, making a list on a paper napkin with his Cross pen. A glass with an inch of J&B left in it is keeping him company.

TO DO LIST:
- ~~Go outside~~. There's a squid in the lake, and it does not like golf.
- ~~Drink Atlantean.~~ Possible to repeat. Be careful next time.
- ~~Find out what a paradox is.~~ Why fried? Too much grease.
- Find a way to leave. This is the seventh circle of my own private hell.

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And what's Hell without the devil?

So Sam's not far away with his dinner and a sword propped against the chair next to him. He has (blue) paint on his nose, and either doesn't know or doesn't care.

The first devil he heard about (so easy to hear Satan as Stan) he refused to acknowledge, but Patrick is reaching his last few nerves (foot tapping the floor to an impatient rhythm). He looks up from his list, looks around, and clears his throat. "Excuse me."

"There's something on your nose." He informs Sam in monotone. Any less emotional, and he might as well be horizontal and six feet under.

"Is there?" Sam is Supremely Unconcerned, and looks it. "Oh well."

He nibbles a chip.

"Hey, you got sucked into that weird game-thing a month back, right?"

(yes)

The polite smile is painted on, "I don't recall."

"So, did you offer to strip while you were still drunk, or no?"

Jack's lips twitch.

"I...What?"

Patrick's expression of shock and surprise is not much different than his usual expression of indifference. It's all in the eyebrows (furrowing, the far left corner of his mouth is starting to twitch.) He folds the square of the napkin in half, and in half again, slipping it into the chest pocket of his suit jacket.

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you are speaking about."

"Oh, you poor thing."

Jack's been drunk before. He winces in sympathy.

"You are, apparently, stripping for charity."

"I contribute to charitable organizations, I do not strip for them." He replies firmly. A pause (wherein his foot begins to tap to the song in his head. Back in Black, by AC/DC) and he makes an attempt to smile slightly. "I will attend the event, but I am not prepared to participate."

"Then you had better go to the list and scribble your name out."

He points in the general direction.

"I admit, Mercutio will be disappointed. He nominated you and I both. In truth, I am not sure I have any intention of subjecting myself to such a thing either."

Lips twist, turn down, jaw tight.

"I will make sure to," he forces. Caps his fountain pen, and tucks it into his other chest pocket. "It's completely undignified."

"Well, that is Mercutio for you."

His voice is affectionate.

"He is a mad thing. But why is it better to attend a striptease than dance in one?"

"I suppose that he is." A humorless snort.

Patrick shrugs his shoulders, does not look at Jack while he considers a reply. His tone is detached, "Why? In an audience you are allowed to sink into anonymity as the one dancing reveals themselves."

"In the audience you are dependant only on what you are given. You cannot touch, only watch. You are another face. When someone is dancing then they are... dancing. They are moving and beautiful and alive and the audience is there only as mute witness to the motion they are experiencing."

...Jack's a dancer.

"But maybe stripping is different. It is more naked."

Another twitch of his mouth. His eyes flick down, indicative of thoughts that he keeps to himself. "You sound like you are a performer, and so you understand what it's like to be in front of an audience. Good for you." With a slight, polite smile. Adds neutrally, "Yes, less clothes. More bump and grind."

"I have never actually, except Satan, and he does not precisely count."

He shakes his head.

"That was for fiddling. And no grinding at all."

"Necessity," Patrick answers without looking up.

He is still adding more to the list.

"The bar won't give you any more paper?" Parker asks.

"I didn't bother asking. But the lack of paper is not an issue."

"And what is the issue?" Parker asks.

A terse laugh. "The list is, Parker. Not what it's written on. Could have scrawled it on the bathroom wall and it wouldn't matter, it's still the same list."

Parker glances a it.

"Anything you still want to do here?"

"Yes, leave. I don't know what else I. . . might do."

Parker looks at him, "You've tried all lake related activities?"

Patrick looks up, mildly confused. An eyebrow quirks in question, "Such as?"