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  • Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    Pharos
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    Everything posted by Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick

    1. "Uh huh and I've been killing people on my nights off for the fun of it" She obvs didn't believe him about the accountant thing. It was kinda a stupid look for him, all Clark Kent and shit by day and dumbass relic hunter getting shot by night. Soft chuckle was deep in his chest. "No really," brows twisted into a look of faux hurt. "I'm not just all dumb looks..." He winced slightly and almost said ow as she finished something... Almost. Getting shot sucked balls. So did asking someone on a date ..he wasn't a formal dude outside of his "day job", he was just like "can I buy you a beer". She'd stopped working... fuck fuck fuck... then looked at him... fuuuuuu... he was hoping the flurry of him moving to collect his shit at least hid some of the burn of ginger freckles as he honest to god blushed. Adulting without beer and a pub was HARD! "Accountant thing?" "Um... ya," he squeaked. "me...the accountant. I'm smart and stuff... Like Einstein, without the science... wait I think he was mostly a math guy, or a science guy? Anyway... dress?" Awww shit. Did she not have one? "I don't really have anything fancy to wear, I don't really get asked out on many dates..... or to functions" Weren't all women supposed to have one? Aw crap. "I suppose I could go shopping for one though or maybe even ask some of my friends at the hospital if they have one I could borrow." Um yahhhhh. He was still trying to find words. He was having trouble wording properly. "I wouldn't happen to be in any danger at this accountant thing, would I?" "No yes..no" it came out without thinking. "I was invited to a Bakkhos...thing. But it's a fancy thing so lots of security. You'll be fine." He washed off the best he could in the sink, being all extra carefully to clean up after himself. Leather was stained. Fuck a duck. Angry eyebrows settled downward to mask the weird embarrassment. He was never embarrassed, he felt sixteen again. What the hell was this? "Shopping will probably be a good thing, it's like a masquerade thingie, so extra stuff. Hey, I know somebody that can get you all set up, I asked so um...I'll make sure you're set." Throat cleared quietly. He hadn't thought this through, there would be vipers there...the heaviest fucking hitters in the world. Snoots and bitches. Dudebro predators looking for side chicks. She wasn't like that, and he felt bad that he'd asked her suddenly. She was shy, and kind...the rest of his acquaintances weren't. "Sorry...I didn't mean to put you in a weird position." It was the most serious she'd probably ever seen him, the humor and bravado gone for a moment. "If you're not comfortable that's okay....but the offer does stand. I can take care of everything." He pulled the envelope from his coat pocket, a small smudge of blood hadn't soaked through to the invitation thank god. He slid it on the counter over to her so she could see the ultimate fanciness. "No pressure..."
    2. He'd always wondered why healing wasn't a part of his abilities. He could change his density, alter his skin, become something else, but he couldn't close a wound. It was almost as if his body had a memory; when he altered it, it would return. A good thing he supposed. Being molten forever or a pile of skin and bones would kinda suck balls. He was checking out her place, nonchalantly, as she put her hand to his arm. No dudes. No dude stuff anyway. Didn't smell any dude cologne. Good, no boyfriends would be walking in the door at this awkward moment. "Damnit, Boone. I told you to be careful. Sometimes I really do hate your line of work." Eyes flicked up to her from the wound, then back to it, "I'm actually an accountant. Started in the Motor City. Came here after shit went to hell. I just collect things for fun." It was the first hint he didn't just live in his garage. Healing always felt funny, as if she was mingling in his ability to snap his atoms back together. Maybe it was just the reminder of a life before chaos, anger and recklessness. "Stop. Getting. Hurt" He blinked at her. "You know. One of these days I'm not going to be here to heal you. Then you'll just have to suffer the pain and then have scars from all the stitching." He showed up next to her at the sink, rinsing off blood when she was finished cleaning her hands. "Self-stitches suck," he said absently, rinsing carefully by getting his hand wet and 'squeegee-ing' it off his skin. He'd done this many times before, that was obvious. "You wanna go on a date? I have this... accountant work thing." It was so nonchalant, moving to pick up his shirt and coat to clean them up as much as he could. "Interested? I gotta wear a tux, so... you would have to wear an evening gown. A fancy one. You have a fancy one?"
    3. "Oh I think I could have you fix up some things. My sink has been acting up lately. I will just have to put you to work." “I can do that,” he said without hesitation. He did know if she knew exactly how handy he was. Their encounters had been mostly based on him doing something to get his ass injured, and then the healing chit chat that came afterward. Other than that…. his bar. He loved his bar, wait… that sounded like a bad country singer’s attempt at a failed side gig... moving along…. "Up two flights. I would offer to carry you, but that might look weird.” “Careful, I’m heavier than I look…” he grinned. He knew she was aware of his abilities, but wasn’t sure if she understood exactly what he was. He trotted up behind her, already sliding his leather coat off. "So how bad is it?" “Mother foooo…” he grumbled as he shrugged off his leather. His right arm was bound tight at the bicep in a swath of tee shirt he’d torn from the bottom of the one he was wearing under his Henley. Knife was pulled from his hip, the make-shift bandage cut off with a swipe and a hiss. Not much blood until now. The arm of his tee shirt underneath was starting to soak quickly and he yanked that off too, winding the bandage higher on his bicep above the wound to stave it off like a tourniquet. The grunt when bare skin hit air was annoyed. JEEEEEBUS it was fucking cold, every muscle tensing for a moment as he wiped the blood off his arm with his now decimated tee shirt to prevent it from getting everywhere in her rather clean place. The tourniquet wasn’t doing much anymore. He needed stitches. “Colder than a witch’s ti…” he stopped himself. “It’s just a clip, but it hit all the wrong spots.” Half dressed, bleeding, covered with goosebumps, and with nipples so hard they could cut diamonds in front of a pretty girl was NOT where he’d imagined he’d be when he got up that morning!
    4. "I'm guessing this isn't a friendly check up call, is it..." …awwwww hell… American honey had a bite to her. She always did. She was the only person who ever gave him hell for fucking up. No no, that wasn’t true. His boss at Pharos was constantly pissed at him for one reason or another but he was just an asshole too sensitive for his own good. He thought the damn git would burst a blood vessel when he ended a conversation a few days prior with ‘Ok Boomer’. Dude looked like he would explode, but just told him to fuck off for the day. Then there was Bakkhos, but he hadn’t fucked up for them to be mad at him. They would probably try to kill him or some shit like that. Give him an offer he couldn’t refuse. "There's no way that you are calling just to hang out because you're bored.... I know you and I know the kind of trouble you get into." If a wince was audible she could probably hear it… air sucking through his teeth at her dig. “Yahhh….” he said rather dejectedly. "And I'm at home. It's a block from the hospital. Makes it so I don't have to drive to work everyday...." That was unexpected. "God damnit, Boone...." If a puppy dog look could also be audible she could probably hear it, or at least the pebble his toe was playing with as he sat on his unmoving bike. “I’m sorry,” he didn’t know why he said it, just felt like it needed to be said. "How close are you to the hospital? If you can make it to my apartment you can come to my place. Or I could meet you at the hospital, but I'd rather not make a big scene there. Of course I'm free. I mean. No. I'm not busy tonight. And you don't have to freaking bring a beer if you're shot. Just get here and I'll heal you." “Ten minutes maybe?” He squinted in every direction. He knew where he was, but it was human nature apparently to always double check like idiots. “I'll be downstairs and out front waiting for you." “Okay,” he said quickly and hung up. Coat was pulled off for a moment… “…colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra…” he muttered to himself as he stabilized the wound again to try and mitigate the bleeding. Hurt like, FUCK… hard to steer his little beast with a weaker side. Smirk recognized how wrong the thought sounded. Coat back on, he wiped the blood on his dark shirt under his coat as he zipped it up and tucked his gray wool scarf tight around his neck. It was the end of the rides for his bike, would need to store it for the winter within days he suspected. Pull out his Brute. He hated winter. Sucked balls. As promised, ten minutes or so. He drove past it at first… an idiot wandering around on her street trying to find her was stupid. Drive past, confirm where she was, park decently and look like he was supposed to be there. Kept suspicion down at least. Going around the block, he returned and parked across the street, kicking the stand and stuffing both hands in his pockets. It was bleeding down his arm under his motocross jacket, he could feel it. A few more feet and he would successfully have not made a spectacle of himself after getting shot for the first time in HISTORY. He felt pretty proud of himself. Looking both ways, he trotted across the street. Eyes had already surveyed the place for idiots. Just him, all safe except a doorman. Smile was brilliant and a bit sarcastic. “Hi,” he said to the door guy, looking toward Altheia. “She knows me.” He stomped a bit of wet slush from his Tims, hands stayed in his pockets. Blood. Blood was bad. “I forgot the beer,” he whispered to Altheia loudly. “Sorry… we'll have to find something else to do.” Stupid grin was cast back to the doorman. She was gonna Gibbs-slap him. As soon as they were alone he was gonna get hit. "Like watch TV," he finished quickly, thinking twice about it. If she decided to punch him in the arm, all his stealth shit was for nothing...
    5. It was a nick, but damn… right on the fucking edge of the connective tissue on his bicep. FUCK! Eyes scanned the area just in case the idjits had brought back up. That would be the most royally stupid thing to do, but hey they tried to strong-arm him. Like, jeeeeeeesh, he did have a reputation for being a little quick on the trigger and an asshole. That should mean something, right? Like, NOT shoot him for once. What the fuck were they thinking? He probably was being watched, great… he was being watched as he played with his crotch because some brute squad had given him a pinch bruise. Stupid fucks. "Hello, Altheia speaking." “Hello Miss Altheia speaking,” he charmed in his ‘I don’t want to come off as needing something but I probably am so I’m just going to hope you don’t notice’ sort of tone. “Where you at? I have beer and I’m bored.” Okay, big ass lie. He could stop and get some beer. He needed a damn beer. Shit, she could probably hear the fucking bike through the phone. His gig was up, maybe… she could probably believe he was just riding around but it was late and when was he ever just riding around late and not getting into trouble. Like… NEVER. “Okay, so I sort of got shot…” he blurted out. “Okay… I know I know, I promised I wouldn’t get shot again. I was waiting all patient-like, and this dude came in like a dufus and his muscle cocked at gun on me then I got searched and I had to headbutt the one and shoot the other…” he reached up to his forehead absently just to make sure he wasn’t bleeding. “Don’t worry, I didn’t kill anybody, but if you get someone in the hospital shot in the foot that was probably me I’m going to shut up now.” He was quiet for a moment. “Are you free? I can still bring beer. I’m shot. I’m sorry.” Throat was cleared softly. "If you're not free I'll go to the hospital."
    6. Butcher Shop Meet-Up, after hours 11pm Snickers were great. Snickers were FUCKING great! Hulk of a man was leaning against a stainless steel prep table, battered Tims crossed at the ankles as he waited in the cold, munching on the Snickers he'd pilfered from piece of crap party store before finding his way to the meet-up. Smelled like blood, of course... duh. Not so much in the cooler. Why the cooler? Because that's where all the stupid asses wanted to meet and pretend to play mob. So he waited, ate his Snickers and dropped the wrapper into a trash can full of... who the fuck knew? The floor had pooled blood on it in various places, could have been anything. Hand slid into the inner coat pocket of his leather motocross jacket, a few envelopes he'd snagged from his actual LEGIT business before he'd headed over to do Pharos stuff. Accountant, square suit and tie bullshit. One from Bakkhos. Had to be. As much as the group was straight laced and proper on the outside, it was always a TRAP! Fuckers. Thumb pried at the prissy pants envelope, ripping the flap open. An honest to god fucking invite to...? "Crazy bastards," he muttered, stuffing it back into his pocket and looking at the other one. A report from another client. Stupid idiot didn't know his ass from his elbow. The click wasn't unexpected. Dealing in shadowy places after hours was never something for the meek. Sigh was slow, taking one last look at the paper before folding it and stuffing it back into his inner pocket with the other. "This place stinks, can we get this done?" Another click. Really... Hands went up lazily as he pushed off the prep counter and faced his "dealers". A girl this time, peachy. They were worse than dudes. Tended to be more aggressive because they weren't in a dick measuring contest. They just fucked you up instead. Hm. The invite did say plus one. She was cute... in a "I'm going to fucking kill you" sort of way. *npc* Search him. HEY HEY NOW! Now he needed to ask her on a date because she knew what religion he was... incredulous expression in her direction was rare for him. She'd just groped his ass. The fuck?? "Fuck this," it was rare his temper flared, but her pinchy pinch business to find a gun HURT. "No weapons, that was the deal. You broke it first, I'm out." Muzzle was placed against his temple. "You don't want to do that," dark eyes had trained on the jackass calling the shots. Little spit of a man in his overcoat. "You got balls enough to put a gun to my head, I'll kick your ass just the same....girl or not." Why were people always so fucking PREDICTABLE! He was a fast motherfucker, barrel of the woman's gun grabbed as he pulled her toward him and gave her a vicious headbutt. She was down for the count, now he and Dr. Evil were pointing a gun at each other.., this wasn't going to go well. So he just shrugged and shot him in the foot. The guy squealed but still managed to get a shot off that grazed the Pharos' bicep. DICK! "YOU ASSHOLE!" finger tugged at the slice in his leather. Okay, so maybe it wasn't just a graze. "You fucking SHOT me!" Both weapons were secured, taken apart, throwing all the pieces in random directions. Prissy gun shit. Shotguns... that was where it was at. "Dick," he muttered, pushing through the stupid plastic flappy things to make his way outside. Belt slid out with a sizzled snap and he wrapped it around his arm, pulling it tight. Bike roared to life, phone already on his ear as he pulled at the crotch of his jeans. "Dumb bitch pinched my nads..." mutter was irritated as the phone rang. "Please pick up Altheia..." he had another meet-up tonight and didn't want to be bleeding for that one. But, it was late... and she was Altheia. And... Altheia was like apple pie, she was probably in slippers and snuggled on a warm couch with infinite comfort items while his ass was getting shot in a stupid stinky cooler. He really had to get another job.
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