Patrice is tired. Not just because the evening felt like it went on forever, not just because he had to climb shit and tromp through memories and try to fight off vines. He's emotionally exhausted, too, enough so that his mind drifts to tiny Desmond, sitting on a bench much like the one he's seated on now in town, and it makes him want to lie down. So, he does, head thunking onto the wooden slats of the seat of the bench. He's lost his suit jacket somewhere, but it doesn't matter. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly.
"I'm thirsty," he laments to nobody, because complaining about that is easier than complaining about everything else swirling around in his head.
There's a strange sort of itch crawling in Desmond's limbs. The night was long and tense and strange and, honestly, he's full of a restless need to move. The desire to go isn't a new one, but the urge to go home is a bit odd. Ain't really one he's ready to square with at the moment, so he's been walking instead. It counts as moving.
His feet come to a stop at the railing of the bench, though. Head tipping to regard the uncomfortable angle Patrice has chosen to sprawl himself in.
"You never get me anything," Patrice says, slightly whiney, deceptively easy as he opens his eyes to look at his friend. He remains sideways for only a few moments before righting himself, giving Des a place to sit beside him if he wants to.
"I got you back a little, though. I ate some of the pastries in your memory. They didn't really stick, though. I was still hungry, after."
Des hums, not necessarily in sympathy, but in something that vaguely resembles agreement. His shoulders tick upward for a moment before he shoves his hands into his pockets. "Got to put your requests in earlier."
Then he drops himself into the offered seat, legs stretching out in front of him and resting the heel of one boot onto the toe of the other. Probably be good manners to take up less sidewalk-space, but it isn't really top priority at the moment.
"S'too bad, though," he replies. "Real good pastries if they stick to you."
Patrice sticks out his tongue as he stretches his arms out in front of him, taking up more space without giving it any thought, unlike his companion.
"You know I always want something, you should just be better prepared." The whine has left his voice, even though nothing he says is even bordering on serious until he continues. "Yeah, they were really good; you must have liked them a lot to remember them that well. Weird to eat something grey, though."
Usually feels important to follow good sidewalk etiquette but circumstances are - Well, circumstances have been a bit exhausting. People can walk around. Or they can kick him the hell out of the way. Either's fine, honestly.
"Everything's grey," Des shoots back, easy as anything. It's the truth, after all. So it's easy enough. Then he tips his head, resting it against the back of the bench. "Ms. Mariah bakes the best puff pastries I ever had. Real nice too. Always invited me back to hers."
ELFLOCK FALLS: Patrice & Desmond
"I'm thirsty," he laments to nobody, because complaining about that is easier than complaining about everything else swirling around in his head.
ELFLOCK FALLS: Patrice & Desmond
His feet come to a stop at the railing of the bench, though. Head tipping to regard the uncomfortable angle Patrice has chosen to sprawl himself in.
"Can't help you with that."
ELFLOCK FALLS: Patrice & Desmond
"I got you back a little, though. I ate some of the pastries in your memory. They didn't really stick, though. I was still hungry, after."
ELFLOCK FALLS: Patrice & Desmond
Then he drops himself into the offered seat, legs stretching out in front of him and resting the heel of one boot onto the toe of the other. Probably be good manners to take up less sidewalk-space, but it isn't really top priority at the moment.
"S'too bad, though," he replies. "Real good pastries if they stick to you."
ELFLOCK FALLS: Patrice & Desmond
"You know I always want something, you should just be better prepared." The whine has left his voice, even though nothing he says is even bordering on serious until he continues. "Yeah, they were really good; you must have liked them a lot to remember them that well. Weird to eat something grey, though."
ELFLOCK FALLS: Patrice & Desmond
"Everything's grey," Des shoots back, easy as anything. It's the truth, after all. So it's easy enough. Then he tips his head, resting it against the back of the bench. "Ms. Mariah bakes the best puff pastries I ever had. Real nice too. Always invited me back to hers."