Hegemony

[Alistair]

101st of Vhalar, Arc 716

Patrick... he called his name. A silhouette of the man climbed atop him. The two of them shared an impassioned moment, which led to another, and another, and...

"Fuck," he stopped himself, head rising from the surface of the bed as he jolted upwards. Raising his sheets, he stared emptily to discover that the night had ended with yet another change of linens in store. "Adolescence, at the age of twenty seven. You've done your ancestors proud, Alistair," he said to himself. Rising from the bed and going through the remainder of his clothes, he'd uncovered that - indeed - he still had a few clean pairs of pants left before he'd have to hang them up in the sun after a wash.

His mind wandered back to reality, slowly. Even so, it still lingered on Patrick. Bloody Patrick. The man he'd known for six whole days - or something of the like - but was bound to at the hip. They may as well have been strangers by the standards of an intimate couple, yet they'd professed love for one another, a thing they still hadn't really talked about. And that was why he called himself an adolescent, now, cursing himself in his thoughts at least thrice an hour. It wasn't that he was having ridiculously vague wet dreams, or the fact that he'd fallen in love with someone he met less than a week ago. These things happened to anyone. Hell, his grandmother claimed to have fallen in love with Alistair's grandfather - Karl - within twelve hours.

But the fact that he didn't acknowledge it, wouldn't talk about it, and tried internally to avoid it sealed it for him. Adolescence, ten arcs late. He knew why he wasn't acknowledging it. It was because he knew he was going to be the eighty-fourth wheel half the time, once the rose-tinted glasses wore off. Or, well... that was what the pessimistic side of him said. Optimistically, Patrick seemed to care about him immensely, tending to every need and paying heed to every word. But...

"Ugh," he said, groaning. Falling back onto the bed, the nobleman could only ponder more and more until his head exploded. "I love Patrick," he said. "And I love Duncan. And I love my family. Are these things incompatible?" he asked himself. "Jealousy..." he talked to himself, as he'd often done these days... "is a powerful compulsion. If not me, then someone else. Someone will get jealous - cause a ruckus. Dismantle everything I've built. And that's if it's not me. What will I feel when I see the face of those two people he's entangled with? Will I feel delighted by them - or will I want to add them to my list of undead horrors?"

. . .

Jealousy. It was a terrifying emotion, because it was spontaneous, and unpredictable. And dangerous.

His cynicism always took over. The perfect, halcyon time they'd spend together had already been spoiled by it. Alistair went his whole life assuming the worst possible outcome of every situation. It was why he and Duncan were still so far removed from what they were before - because he made it that way. He forced the worst of outcomes.

He didn't want that with Patrick. Hell, he still wanted to make things as they once were with Duncan. He was so fatigued, now, by losing all of the important people in his life. It was a trend of rejection that'd gone on far too long.

He'd thought about this for the first time last night, while entrapped in his thoughts. He thought - maybe - that if he could make the bond closer than what he could assure by human emotional capacity alone, he wouldn't have to worry. That they'd always stick together. He had been bonded to Ellasin for half his life, almost, despite their aversion for one another's beliefs. And still - even despite the loathing he felt for her - there was comfort too. Because they were bonded on a spiritual level. It was something that came with the Rupturing, the initation. Transcendence.

He wanted that kind of bond with the man. He wouldn't have to worry about a thing; without a doubt, they'd stay together. He could be content in the knowledge that 'I love you' were words that actually meant something. They were words that would never fade.

But it was so cruel, to do something like that. For his own reasons. His own wants. He couldn't console himself for even imagining forcing Patrick into a life-long bond. Instead, he floundered about on his bed for half the day each and every trial since they'd seen each other last, feeling sort of like a creepy, obsessive, virginal youth.

[Patrick]

"Oh grow up already!" Sugar butted in while Patrick rather subconsciously drank from his mug of cider, his quill dipped in ink to continue the latest addition to today's services. "First you fawn over Wendell, now you fret over this nobleman who is clearly interested in you."

"It's not that simple love." Patrick retorted almost in a snide but casual remark. "Believe it or not, I can't just go runnin' t' him at every whim. If he wants t' see me, then he'll see me. Otherwise I'm just gonna lay low." Although it wasn't like he'd been doing so already, each and every chance he had to be with Alistair, he found himself only wanting to be closer to the man. Everyone at the Harlot already knew of this relationship that had been developing between them, a bold and admirable thing to entertain if not rather foolish or so he'd been told. Out of all the others though, Sugar seemed the most intrigued about his predicament.

"Seriously; you're a dumb ass." She complimented with a lean against the bar, her eyes preyed on potential customers as she spoke. "I mean he pays you to deflower him and next thing you know, the both of you are in cahoots with one another. I mean he literally even suggested taking you back home to his family, so why the hesitation when you've clearly got him in the good now?"

"Plain and simple lass, we don't mix because of that."

"Oh right, like mud and blood I take it. Because that's totally what his family would see you as."

The comment lessened his smirk into a frown then, the truth of the situation pained him even more. No matter how much he felt for the man, there was no guarantee that they would actually be able to stick together. Not when there had to be expectations for him back home... but damn it he wanted to be with Alistair. Sugar nudged the mug closer to Patrick then, his eyes took note of the smug little grin she displayed. She always knew how to push his buttons, even back when it was just Wendell he wanted to follow around. He sighed and took one endless chug to empty the mug, the taste of apples and honey washed down his throat as he gave a large gulp. He caved in. "Your welcome!" Sugar taunted him as he moved to head further into the establishment, his patience finally broken as he longed to see the man once more.

He knew exactly what room to go to, not that looking at the damn ledger helped any. How many times did his eyes fall on Alistair and the number he stayed in? Enough. Thus when he arrived at the door he brought up a hand to knock, only to hold it midway as he hesitated to enter at all. He twisted back around to leave the room behind, then ground his teeth with aggravation as he turned once more back towards the door. "Fuck! Fates be damned!!" He muttered to himself with heavy pants, his face already in a slight flush as he tried to recollect his attitude. He'd spent his time away from Alistair so worried about the what if's, that the maybe's of them not working out would be more likely. Pat was never one to leave things to chance, not when it came to his own emotions at least. Any time he had a hunch or feeling in his gut, he knew it best to typically go with it; no matter the consequence.

So why did he hesitate now? Doubt plagued his mind and he honestly didn't feel like himself, in fact he belittled who he was due to the fact Alistair was a noble. A noble. He wouldn't let it get the best of him, he couldn't after the time they'd shared together. He sighed once more with a nervous scratch through the backside of his head, the locks of his hair brushed against his palm as he looked at the door knob. Finally. He managed a couple of knocks on the wooden frame, hopeful Alistair wasn't busy or didn't wish to be alone. "It's uh, Pat. Mind if I come in?" The question was followed with a pause, and when he'd been invited inside, he would enter swiftly with the door shut behind him.

[Alistair]

Alistair had attempted to distract himself, done driving himself mad with self-deprecation and flagellation. He'd gone, last night, to the blacksmith to commission the first few parts of his Rharne-based Sundial, imagining that he'd be spending more time here than he'd initially expected. Preparing himself for the arrival of his corundum telescope-like object, the young mage readied the markings and had already begun to jot down the distances from certain points; A to B, A to C, with A being Rharne. He'd drawn the digits thusly, with their accompanying letters beside them, and the Idalosian Global Index open beside the sheet of paper Alistair had been scrawling ticks onto followed by numerical values. He kept his lines straight by pressing another book against his pen - Anatomical Surgery of Rynmere - and drawing down until his line had arrived at the end of rhetorical Sundial's width.

A thousand four hundred and thirty two kilometers, Sabaissant, he scribbled. Six thousand eight hundred and ninety four kilometers, Ne'haer.

He drew their trajectories from his current location. Rynmere was almost straight north, slightly west, while Ne'haer was southwestern. He knew that it didn't need to be perfectly exact, as memory helped guide the dial to the intended location, but he did best to draw the numbers properly and completely straight. He'd essentially be carving from reference once the dial was here. He'd already begun by cutting into a thick, model bust of the top of his dial. He'd kept one for reference for each city, as Alistair's specific model was one he'd custom created for acknowledgment of latitude and longitude.

As he held the model up between his hands and observed it, however, he was immediately staggered by a sound at the door.

"Ah!" he yelled, dropping the hard bust onto the ground. It missed his foot by a mere inch or two, and luckily its contents weren't hollow enough for it to shatter. But the impact was loud. Alistair's teeth practically bit into his lower lip as he scurried to get it back onto the table and to change his choice of pants. There was a particular stain on these ones near the pelvic area, and he didn't need to be made fun of for it. Especially not considering who was asking for entry - Patrick Barnell.

"Shit," he whispered under his breath. The man threw on a pair of differing trousers, though he rushed to the door before he conceived of putting on a proper shirt. It was as if a royal visitor had descended upon him, and he didn't want to hold them at the door for any longer than necessary. The man stepped to the wooden frame, opening it enough for him to fully view his... lover, he guessed he'd call him... through the door.

In reality, he'd been hoping for a visit, as much as his mind wandered on pessimism. That was who he'd always been.

"Patrick," he said his name upon seeing him. Moving forward for a soft kiss on the lips, Alistair beckoned that the older man come inside. The room was clean - exceptionally so - though as a notable exception, Alistair's books and parchments were spread across the table. His clothes were organized nicely, though, as well as his belongings. The man had an obsession with punctuality, propriety and self-sufficiency. He'd never been one to require a maid or a companion to clean up after him.

Other than that, Patrick could note that the man's hair had changed; instead of slicked and restrained like usual, it looked more unkempt, somewhat spiked at the top. He was trying to look good. No surprise why.

"Hey," he said softly. "I hope you're doing well. Didn't see much of you yesterday. Busy week?"

[Patrick]

For a moment a loud bang had been heard on the other side of the door, and Pat's composer eased just a little as he could only smile. From as far as her tell Alistair hadn't expected company apparently, if he had he at least didn't suspect it to arrive now. With the door opened for the two and the chance to greet each other in person, a soft kiss had been exchanged between the two whilst the Hound entered the room. Alistair had kept the place neat and tidy during his stay here, and honestly Patrick wondered just why in the world the man persisted to remain here.

There were other taverns of better quality to stay within, or even Pat's own apartment if the man needed a place to go. Although Patrick did recall ravishing him for breakfast the other day, which likely didn't help reinforce the idea that Alistair could stay there. To the man had changed his look just a little though, it brought wry smile out of Patrick as he could only chuckle a little. He wondered who Alistair had to impress with such looks, other than Patrick himself although he really didn't care much about that. He'd already seen Alistair enough to know the man was attractive both physically and mentally, as he'd just recently confirmed that he might've in fact started to feel actual love for the nobleman.

Love. Just how many times would Patrick encounter a chance with this obstacle, how often would he meet and feel inclined to allow someone else in? To experience the deeper sensual passion he wanted to express. "Busy everyday actually." He answered as he walked closer and drew in to smother the man in yet another kiss, as he did this his stomach suddenly went in a flutter. "Spent much o' my time missin' ya. Can't get ya outta my head no matter how hard I try." He admitted in confidence as he looked into the man's eyes, somehow he found it easier to share personal things like that with Alistair.

His eyes then fell to the desk area as well as the odd metal object that had been placed there, his eyes suddenly glinted with curiosity as he looked closer at the parchments. "What's all this then?" He inquired as he'd been unaware of the fact it involved magic, he still proved to overlook that aspect about Alistair even though he'd confessed the possibility of love.

[Alistair]

He nodded, face flushed, as the man expressed that he'd been thinking about him consistently throughout his day. Alistair wanted to admit that he'd been going through the same rounds, but he was too embarrassed to really admit so easily just how fixated he'd been. In his mind, fixation was unhealthy; it made another individual necessary for one's wellbeing. He'd been trying to think of other things, take it slowly. Relax himself.

It was difficult with his metaphorical prince-charming in his face and kissing him nonetheless, but he would keep composure. Probably.

What's all this then? he asked. Alistair looked behind him, and moved his hand to the back of his head, stroking through his hair, ruffling through it nervously. "Well..." he struggled to answer it simply, so he decided to go with the full explanation. Alistair found it all exceptionally interesting, not even capable of acknowledging that he was likely about to bore Patrick to sleep.

"Remember that portal magic I'd used earlier? It's called Rupturing," he explained. "For long distance teleportation - like between cities - something called the Sundial is utilized to focus, refine and improve mass-compression; hyper long distance teleportation. But the Sundial is a large, complex physical object, and a Rupturer must build many in order to genuinely perform inter-city travel on a consistent basis. For each one, a commission is required - a purchase of usually a custom made model. That's that stone model you see on the table back there," he pointed to it. It was also, as the man might realize by examining the weightiness, what Alistair had just dropped so loudly onto the floor.

"Then, one has to observe the coordinates listed in the Idalosian Global Index. Then..." the mage must've talked for about five minutes about the absurdly detailed process of properly fitting and marking a sundial for reliable use. He even went about the cautionary procedures behind the mass-compression, explaining it all to Patrick as if he were his mage's apprentice. But that was really - more than anything - just Alistair's passion showing. He had a love of magic, particularly Rupturing, and if given the opportunity he'd sit in a hall and profess knowledge about it all day. It was the curse of both a career and personal academic; Patrick would probably get sick of the overly-studious rantings eventually.

"So, yeah!" he said, smiling awkwardly. "That's what's back there. I've just been drawing on the coordinates and preparing the blueprint of the carving for when I actually get the dial delivered. I'm not sure where I'd put the dial, though," he shrugged. The thought crossed his mind that he could leave it at Patrick's house, but he didn't know how secure it would be. What if one of his bedmates knocked it over, or something? Or stole it? The dials were quite valuable - even the least valuable among them, the corundum model, which was five-hundred gold nels.

He didn't know. Patrick probably wouldn't want his telescope-looking magical device lingering in his room, anyway. Unable to be moved, extremely delicate of change due to the trajectories of the 'ticks' marking each location... and of course, if damaged the mage could very possibly kill themselves by using it. He didn't know where he'd put the bloody thing.

He did know, though, that he'd ranted on for quite a while about something that Patrick likely had no interest in. "Anyway," he cleared his throat, "as I said, that's a sundial. Charming, right? I certainly think so. Nothing - from my knowledge - can get a man's juices flowing like seven thousand kilometers of skidding along the fabric of reality in the form of condensed matter." He was being sarcastic, of course. The actual teleportation tended to feel quite nauseating, though as he improved in the magic, the process became smoother and less likely to result in the clearing of one's bowels onto the floor.

[Patrick]

Patrick should’ve guessed that whatever was all over that desk had something to do with magic, honestly he’d hoped it’d been something a little less interesting like… maybe politics or some other academic subject he could’ve been writing about. He didn’t want to play the bored uninterested party though, so in turn Patrick did his part to in turn try and look interested in the matter. As far as he could understand though, Rupturing or whatever the skill was, had a lot of mathematics as well as logistics involved.

It was almost rather peculiar if it wasn’t so damn… supernatural. Something so scientific from the way Alistair described it, nearly came off as something intellectual in regards to Patrick. It honestly nearly brought a short amount of arousal out of the man, but of course he’d been more intoxicated with the thought of Alistair’s own body. Something about the man no matter how much he talked, he just plainly sent signals that invited Patrick to go in for the kill.

Although it wouldn’t be a kill necessarily, just another wild romp between the sheets of his room. Still Patrick needn’t worry about playing the part of looking interested, instead he likely came off looking dumb and overly occupied with Alistair in general. Much of what had been said near the end practically went in one ear, only to fly out the other as he simply nodded along with whatever he’d been told. “Right,” He added a chuckle before the joke pitched in, “Skidding does so fun.”

He honestly didn’t know if he’d been obvious with his disinterest in magic, the subject in general didn’t really appeal to him. What did appeal to him however was Alistair, and the fact they were in the same room together… distracted him more than frequently. “So listen; since we’re all ‘bout skidding, why don’t we just have another go at it ourselves.” He teased as he rested a hand on the center of Alistair’s torso, he gave the man a nudge towards the bed as he presented a mischievous grin. “After all I love t’ hear all that sexy intellectual stuff ya like t’ talk about.” He remarked with a playful wink, his heart felt a flutter already as he tried to keep control of his breathing.

[Alistair]

As always, Patrick was horny. Alistair could only roll his eyes as the man made a joke about skidding . . . and then recommended that they do it themselves. As much as Ali wanted to - judging by his dreams alone - he couldn't bring himself to just sleep with Patrick right now. The man had come to his door and he'd been helplessly excited about it, but for more than just the chance at physical intimacy with him. That could come later. Right now, he wanted to talk to him. Just talk. He made that clear.

"I don't think you came over just because you wanted to get... romped," he called it. Though, using that word made him uncomfortable on second thought since it usually applied to energetic interactions between... children. He ignored that context.

"You want to talk, don't you?" he looked at him, observantly curious eyes staring him down. Patrick would likely notice that Alistair was very clearly alluding to the idea that he knew the man wasn't completely comfortable yet. No one could be. And Alistair certainly wasn't completely comfortable - he had the same look about him as Patrick right now. Both of them looked enthused to be with one another, and infatuated, but also apprehensive due to some fear. Ali knew how to recognize that look in others; Ellasin had taught him well in the art of observation, and it usually was something he'd channeled from a projected knowledge of his own thoughts. With Patrick's hesitation in coming to the door, and the quiet way in which he spoke to him at first...

He knew there was something more. That, or he was wrong, and the man only did want sex. Which he hoped wasn't the case; as much as he had a hard time not jumping the man virtually twenty-four-seven, there was more to love than sex. And Patrick loved Alistair, apparently... and vice-versa. It was why they were so drawn together. It was why the passion between them never seemed to be let off, and Patrick couldn't keep himself off of the nobleman any more than the nobleman could keep himself off Patrick.

"I love you, Patrick," he said. It felt extremely relieving to say it - not accompanied by "I think" like last time, or apprehension, like he'd been ingrained to have towards the concept. It felt right to say it now that he'd thought so long about what their interaction before had meant.

The man pulled his lover closer to him, kissing him on the forehead, accounting for the fact that Alistair was somewhat taller than him. "So let's do as lovers do - let's talk about things," he said. "These people you're concerned about... I've thought about it quite a bit. I'd like to help you. With the person that's been kidnapped. With everyone. I care about you. So even though I know my shot might end the moment these two people of yours are back in your arms, I'd like to help you out. And I might know a way."

[Patrick]

Patrick's demeanor lessened as somehow Alistair saw right through him, easily in fact and almost quite astonishingly well. The noble dispelled the front that Patrick put on, right on point with the discussion of the elephant within the room. He'd came here to see Alistair to be sure, but there was more to it than physicality now. Patrick nearly felt need for the man which drove him crazy, a problematic occurrence that nearly labeled him as clingy... if he was not mistaken.

Patrick didn't want to come off as that therefore he naturally resorted to the one thing he knew, the one thing he believed to excel at when it came to expression of the mind. "Y-yeah. Guess I do..." He hesitated once more without knowingly doing so, the beats of his heart took another jive when faced with the question. There came a brief moment of silence as the two stared at one another, the awkward feeling which clung to Patrick grew as he wasn't sure what to say though. He wanted to talk yes, but talking required expression of the thought. Of the mind and the emotion which he felt, and to be honest Patrick was the worst when it came to that.

Then it happened. Either it was deliberate or slipped out, but Patrick could've swore it had been deliberate. The four words cut down to three, with their meaning expressed with a pull in closer to the man. Pat nearly felt petrified as he became embraced by the man, the gentle kiss on the forehead somehow excited as well as intimidated him. Love? He loved Patrick? Did he really mean to say that? Was he absolutely sure? Doubt and paranoia nearly took over Patrick then, his breathing nearly shallow as he fought to keep calm. By the Fates he could've melted into butter then, just by merely being treated gently as Alistair did. Afterwards he spoke to Patrick with the inclination to help, to maybe provide a way to help locate Wendell. Could he do that?! Could he really figure out where Wendell was?

Patrick scoffed at the last part, the idea that Alistair would forfeit his own chances with Patrick, put it all on the line because he cared enough to help him out. Nobody in a long time had considered putting his needs above their own, not since his brother to say the least. So to actually hear that Alistair would do so, spoke volumes of his character to Patrick. "Alistair you've no idea what you've become t' me." He practically could've scolded that to the man. "I love these two but they're in love with each other, it's been my curse ever since I've met them. T' hear that you'd put aside your personal gain just t' help me? Nobodies done that in a long time." He rested hands on the man's face with a firm kiss planted on his lips.

"Nothin' would make me happier than t' be with ya instead, if in the end I can help bring these two together. I... I love you. I know this and know I don't deserve someone like you, but would give anythin' t' be with you." He admitted with sincerity as he practically had to swallow hard, he'd almost choked himself up admitting the strong personal feelings. "Whatever it is, I trust you Alistair. I trust you t' with whatever's necessary t' find him." He felt pretty sure he knew where this could lead, granted the man had a strong affinity for magic. While Patrick himself didn't wish to just easily give in on a whim, the chance to find Wendell and see where he was, how he was doing all by himself would've been outstanding. He wouldn't know what to tell Rei of course, but he'd think well on whatever he learned before doing so.

[Alistair]

You have no idea what you've become t' me.

. . .

He knew. He had known. It was easy to see just how ridiculously close they'd become - they were passionate and empathetic with one another, concepts entirely new to Alistair. Not since Duncan, really, did he feel an emotional compulsion towards anything, and this one had been undeniably potent. It was like he was under the effects of a spell. And he knew it was mutual. He could see it crystal clear. That was why he kept onward through what he perceived to be their inevitably short romance, even though he was so petrified by the potentially poor outcomes. He'd been conditioned to accept rejection, if not imagine it. Few people tended to like him for who he actually was. In fact, Patrick didn't really know him for who he actually was. A murderer, a Necromancer, a servant of evil.

Yet from what Patrick had already known, which was a great deal more than most people, he saw only love and a deep connection. They'd been connected since they first met; a natural fit. A brooding, dark-minded intellectual and a suave man with a heart of gold. It was like something from one of those absurd novels he'd used to read.

That was why he'd been so melodramatic. His entire thought process lately had been some ridiculous drama about the irony of how he'd found such an excellent match, yet only on vacation, and with someone sadly reserved for other people. He realized though that he needed to accept things for what they were. To not feel jealousy. He couldn't approach this relationship from the lens of a fifteen arc old teenager first grasping with the pain of juvenile love. He needed to be strong about it, and acknowledge Patrick's nature as a man as well as his relationships with other people.

He would be fair. He would be good to him. He would accept that he didn't only have the nobleman in his life.

I love these two, he started with. The mage nodded his head, slowly, trying to accept that fact. As he continued, though, it didn't sound so much like he was trying to convince Alistair of his attachment to them. Instead, he spoke only of his appreciation for the Venora and everything he'd said he'd do. Considering sacrificing one's own personal happiness for another.

Well, if he didn't do that, it wouldn't really be considered love by his own books. It wouldn't really be anything. It'd just be him using Patrick as a distraction; having casual sex and claiming intimate feelings, when in reality a relationship like that didn't mean anything. He had to be good to at least the people he cared about, or they'd never be good to him. That was a lesson his grandmother taught him well, though only with this man could he see the significance of it.

And it seemed to work out. Patrick wanted more than a tug-of-war between multiple parties, it looked like. He actually wanted Alistair. In fact, he claimed to not even deserve him. But that wasn't true. He was honestly perplexed that the man before him could consider devaluing himself so much as to consider himself worth less than the noble. This city wasn't even an aristocracy - he hadn't been taught that he was worth less than those of wealthier blood, surely. So what about himself did he devalue? Was he like Alistair, perpetually fixated on doubting himself?

He accepted the man's kiss, tightly wrapping his arms around Patrick's back and holding him against his chest. "Of course you deserve me," he reassured him. "What about you is less than me?" he asked. "You're clever, intelligent and well-versed in the world. I pale in comparison to you in my experiences. I've been bound to books and crypts for all my life just... learning, examining. Hiding. I'm not worth much outside of my noble name. You're worth a great deal." He said this in a soft voice. It had become his instinct, now, to affirm Patrick. To make sure he felt good about himself. That was his duty as a... whatever they were.

"You don't have to give anything to be with me, either. Just be as you are."

There was no reason for either of them to act so unworthy. The Venora felt like he was going to faint from all of the mutual self-deprecation between the two. It was time for them to be silent and acknowledge their strong bond without worry of one being less than the other, or of one leaving the other for someone else. Dwelling on fear and saturating a relationship with it was a source of indignity and often broke people apart.

No more of that. He'd focus on the business of it all; doing what he said he would. Helping Patrick find this disappearing act.

"I have an idea, but it's very ambitious," he told him. "It's likely that it won't even work. But it could," he frowned. It was the best he could do, really. "First, I need any information you have on this man's whereabouts. Potential whereabouts. Is he in the city...? Elsewhere...?"

[Patrick]

Patrick lingered closely as he nearly caved in to the urge to wrap himself around Alistair, the need to bury his face almost an overwhelming burden for him to handle. For what it was worth the entertainer had been trying very hard, and now that his personal feelings were in fact now public, he dreaded the fact that this man could see him plainly. By now he would've either forced the sex or simply walked away, spend time alone with a full bottle of whiskey like before.

Yet even so his capacity to belittle himself, talk down about how his role fitted with Alistair, and about how low of a person he was in comparison... that didn't stop the noble from putting a stop to it with affectionate arms, which strongly wrapped Patrick within for better comfort. He'd almost felt vulnerable enough to tear up actually, as he didn't know what he did, to deserve this sort of quality affection from someone like Alistair. Yet... Alistair wanted nothing more than that. To be just as he was, not who he thought he should've been. Patrick had always been the type for trouble, the sort that only brought others down. It had only been by the grace of his good brother Dom that he didn't repetitively keep to trouble, and when he lost that quality then Patrick lost himself in general.

Maybe... maybe because of Wendell and Rei, he'd found that aspect once again. Only he didn't know how to handle it alone, at least not at the time anyways. With Wendell being gone and only having Rei around, Patrick slowly found himself better familiar with the idea but... only because he wanted to be good. Do good at least. Rei brought that part of him to life in her own way, even though deep down he knew he could never... he could never truly be a good person if he wanted to. He was bad. Trouble. It was part of his nature, and for what it's worth Alistair seemed to accept that. "Yeah... I think..." He finally responded after Alistair spoke to him further, what he needed to know what a general idea of where Wendell might be located.

"I... don't know for sure. Rose believes he might be abroad somewhere, there were sailors here not long before he disappeared... Deep down though I know he's out there, just waitin' for us t' find him and bring him home." He finally raised his eyes to look up into Alistair's, their surface glassy from nearly losing his composure in the man's embrace. "Is that enough? Can we at least try and find him with just that?"