Call of the Wild (Patrick)

[Alistair]

97th of Vhalar, Arc 716

As the man awake from his slumber, after a long night of charming conversation and the ravaging of his partner, he awoke to find that the one he'd held closely the previous night was no longer present. Rubbing his eyes and following into a yawn, Alistair proceeded to get ready by eating early breakfast, combing his hair, and taking care - of course - of his personal hygiene. As he did so, though, he couldn't stop thinking about the person he'd spent the night with. The one who disappeared from his side - for whatever reason that was. A part of him wondered if it was merely because his time was up, and he no longer needed to keep Alistair's bed warm. Even so, the nobleman had hope that he was honest when he allowed him the privilege of spending further time with him beyond just their sex and night of rest.

He moved to his desk, grabbing his quill and parchment and scrawling words onto its empty form.

To the ravishing Patrick Barnell,

It would be a pleasure to see you today, if you are able to tend to my desires this evening. I've thought about where we might go, and I realized something - I've seen enough of big cities. There isn't really all that great a distinction after a while. I've been to Etzos, Korlasir, Ne'haer, Andaris, and of course my home, Sabaissant. Now, Rharne. Aside from the drunken crowds and ridiculously attractive men (particularly ones named Patrick), however, what makes this city all too different from the ones I've caught wind of alongside my jovial companions arcs ago, rushing to see the 'lighthouses in Ne'haer' or the 'Fields of Gauthrel, where monsters freely roam'?

I suppose what matters is that you are present, a man who I've come to realize I quite enjoy. They say that a place is only as good as the people within it. If that's the case, Rharne is naught more than an unruly whore, so we should seek to enjoy our time together outside of the city walls. I'd love to see the lightning-twig bushes, the wolves that can be bribed off via alcoholic beverages, and of course the river nymphs (hopefully they have some male ones too) that will rob you blind.

I doubt any of these things exist, but that's what the other people on the ship told me, and I'd love to verify their integrity.

The One, The Amusing, The Well-Endowed,
Alistair of House Venora, First of His Name and Heir to the Ducal Throne

Post-Script... I forgot to write this in, and unfortunately I'm too short on parchment to re-write the letter. Meet me by the gate to the Stormlands, noon sharp. I should be there. If not, I probably went off to pee or something.

With the letter given to one of the barmaids, Alistair pleading with her to ensure that she forwarded it to the man he sought, the Venora began to prepare himself. He got himself dressed into more relaxed clothes than the day before, with a simple white shirt that clung to his chest, and brown linen trousers accompanied by boots so as to not impale his foot on a sharp object on the ground. He did intend to take Patrick out to a particularly unusual location, after all - the woods. He didn't know what even lived there, if anything, but the stories intrigued him enough to want to go.

With a note left at his door - that he was out for the day - he walked through the city towards the gates leading to the Stormlands. He noted the drunken brawls going on in daylight, and remembered very clearly that he was in Rharne. A roll of the eyes accompanied almost every block, though in general the people seemed quite friendly.

As he arrived at the gate, the man yawned and stared out into the streets. It was calm, and fairly warm for how late into Vhalar it was.

[Patrick]

Patrick had left early before the morning sun rose as to get ready for another start, his day practically began with little rest and a warm wash to clean yesterday away. It seemed like today would be another usual day for him, though he hadn't forgotten the rather charismatic noble he'd first met prior last night. Alistair Venora. He hadn't quite comprehended the gravity or even levity the name carried, but as far as Patrick could tell the man was somebody different. Quite different actually. He belonged to a background, or rather a world, that differed from Pat's own.

After Patrick finished with washing and cleaning up he realized he'd forgotten something, he was meant to fill in the last of his work ledger before he'd left this morning. The memory must've slipped his mind due to the fact he resided with his client, a request he hardly felt inclined to satisfy so willingly. So why did he do this for Alistair? All factors counted in the man had something about him, something that for once gave Patrick an unusual sense of ease. Maybe it'd been the companionship or the intimacy from last night, but either way the Hound didn't expect to see or hear from him again. Not this soon at any rate. "So it looks like you've gone and captivated yet another poor soul!" Sugar teased while his eyes finally finished the last section of his letter, a look of mirth on Pat's face as he looked to her next.

"Have not! I only did what he wanted me to do." He remarked almost a little defensively with his cheeks a little flushed.

"Yeah right! Look at the ravishing Patrick; so eager to please but when it comes to love, he finds it in the worst of all places!"

"Hey! All I did was bear my cock, not my heart!" He reflected as she couldn't help but laugh, he took the quill from the inkwell and flipped back to last nights page.

"So you're going then, right?"

"Should I?" He paused with a look up to her, the response came as a shrug with amused look.

"Why not? I mean he's so handsome and charming, maybe with luck he'll whisk you away back to his place." She teased and he quietly laughed as he finished adding his numbers, a shake of his head added to show humor his disapproval.

"I'm never gonna live this down am I?" He pegged with a scratch at the side of his neck.

"Never." She answered with a giggle. Patrick wondered just what Wendell would've thought if he were here.

And so with that out of the way and the day still somewhat young for him, Patrick decided to go ahead and entertain this 'second date' that the Venora seemed to plan. He hadn't any idea just what the man had planned, but he figured it would beat going back home to sleep the morning off. Though he would've much rather preferred to sleep. Still he went ahead and made sure he was dressed comfortably and appropriately, his return to the apartment led him to a change of a cotton shirt with long sleeves, dark brown pants, and then of course his usual boots for a trek through whatever terrain. It had felt rather modest outside today what with the sky nearly free of clouds, the sun's warmth beamed down on Patrick as he walked onward to reach the gate to the outside. The Dust Quarter was what lied beyond there, and then beyond that it depended on where one wanted to go.

There were the docks just on the outskirts of the city, but from the looks of the note he had, Alistair wasn't planning on leaving Rharne just yet. No he wanted to explore the wilderness, to see what the Stormlands had to offer in terms of... what? Scenery? Honestly Patrick hadn't any clue what they'd find, or what Alistair truly wanted to seek for that matter. Either way there was bound to be some fun in going, and so when Patrick arrived he greeted with a warm smile and hands tucked in his pockets. "Well it looks like you've got a good rest in. How d'ya feel after last night?" He teased with the corner of his lip tucked upward in a smirk.

[Alistair]

Seeing the man arrived, Alistair's face lit up with a bit of excitement. He'd kind of gotten tired of staring at children throwing rocks at each other from a block down, and so the man was even more of a sight for sore eyes than usual. Not to mention, he looked quite handsome - he did yesterday as well, but Alistair's interest in him had grown since then. "I did get a good rest," he nodded. Most of his rest, he'd had his arm wrapped around Patrick's chest, nakedly intertwined with him. He doubted that there were many rests quite better than that.

As for how he felt, after last night . . . well. It was a mixture of feelings. He could hardly lay them all out in one conversation. He felt excitement at having a new door opened for him - sexuality. He felt enthusiasm at seeing the man who'd unlocked those doors. He felt himself wanting for more, too, though he would never admit that so openly. Instead, he could only summarize it as this.

"I feel spectacular," Alistair said, nodding. "I know I was nervous and pretended I didn't want anything, but I'm thankful that you persisted. It was one of the best nights of my life. It was almost as if a burden that had been accumulating for years had been dropped, right then." He supposed that was sort of a complex way of stating it, but it was the truth, laid out. After saying all that to Patrick, the man stepped towards him and planted a kiss on his cheek, though acknowledging that their intimacy from last night may be unwarranted now. While he knew that he greatly liked the man, he hadn't a clue what Patrick wanted, or what he'd expected from Alistair. In all likelihood, for the Hound it would be merely a passing penchant, this dalliance between them. One client of many. He knew that was a possibility. He would have to accept it, if it were the case.

"What about you, Patrick?" he asked, stepping back after the brief kiss. "How're you feeling?" The nobleman's lips curved to smirk as well, although - somewhere in his consciousness - he was at least somewhat concerned. He was a doctor of exceptional medical knowledge, and so he knew that he had the capacity to hurt his partner. Alistair had little skill in the art of lovemaking, so mistakes and painful results of idiocy on his part were on the table. Then again - Patrick hadn't really complained about anything, he had been encouraging quite the opposite from the "restraint" Alistair fell back to. Maybe he'd worried for nothing, but worry he did, as he knew in reality that he actually cared at least a bit for the wellbeing of Mister Barnell.

Regardless, the gate opened behind them and Alistair took it as his opportunity to pass. He beckoned for Patrick to follow, and then headed towards the outside of the city, towards the Stormlands that he'd heard such a great deal about. Upon the region being unveiled, he was impressed; the coloring of the trees was particular and unique, even for the season of Vhalar. There were leaves that seemed to have a shade he'd never seen before, like a milky beige, and trees that twisted and shaped themselves in unruly ways. It was going to be exciting, going through them, from the perspective of adventure and because of the danger. He'd not ventured into the dark unknown since the Willow Woods, far across the world they walked.

[Patrick]

The entertainer laughed a little when Alistair nodded in admittance to a good rest, something that surprisingly reassured the man somehow. He'd expected the man to be a little tired more or less but then again, the after feeling from tussling between the sheets also had to be considered. Often a man could feel rejuvenated the entire day afterwards if the performance was good enough, from what Patrick could tell it had been just that since the nobleman seemed particularly enthused to see him again.

The man approached with a soft kiss placed on Patrick's cheek, a soft and short chuckle his reward as the Hound merely smiled. "I've done worse, but fer a first timer ya did pretty damn good." He mused with a thumb pressed at Alistair's chin, a soft brush made as he allowed the man to step back. He looked to see that the gates had in fact opened and wondered just what it was they were going to do, it wasn't often he went outside to the Stormlands with just anybody after all... nor had he gone out there period. Not since he was a child living in the Dust Quarter. To do so now though didn't provoke any anxiety though, instead it brought a sense of nostalgia to him that he never considered possible.

An adventure. Just how long ago did he pretend to have one of those with Dom? He was such a young kid back then, so simple and somehow naive in his own right. Even when he knew the grim reality of their living situation, he still hadn't been aware of everything going on then. "It's been a while since I've ever thought 'bout goin' out like this, hope ya know what kind o' trouble you're invitin." He mused with a smirk and raised eyebrow, his eyes in a squint from the light of the sun. He hadn't fully considered his stance on where he stood with Alistair, but it became quite clear to him how the nobleman felt. He didn't wish to mislead Alistair of course but at the same time, he didn't want to deny that he enjoyed the man's advances. Somewhat of a complicated situation that he felt would require explanation.

In due time of course, for now he went along to see just what Alistair sought to discover. As far as he could tell it was just the location itself, as the sights which Patrick had been accustomed to over the years, somehow seemed a new thriving experience for Alistair. To see such intrigue and excitement in the man, it somehow brought Pat to smile at least. He found enjoyment in seeing the fact somebody else still had a sense of adventure, something to excite him upon discovering something so new and vast to him.

[Alistair]

The mage blushed to hear that, in fact, he'd done "pretty damn good" for someone as lacking in experience as him. That was a relief. He knew that it felt like he was doing pretty damn good, but his own perception on the matter was about as valid and relevant as a century-old Alzheimer's patient. He didn't take the time to feel overly confident in his performance, however - the man was always trying to one-up himself. Get better. Prove himself to his peers. Ambition was the core fundamental of his nature.

"I don't really know what I'm getting myself into," he said, a small smile brushing over his lips, "but inviting trouble is a natural part of my life. And yours, it seems," Alistair said with a slight laugh. He couldn't imagine Patrick lived a wholly clean and commotion-less existence; the man was far too good hearted for that. People with compassion for others often had to deal with the greatest madness that the world had to offer. Alistair had seen that, not by his own experience, but as the wallflower that he'd been for so long.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, though, there was another type of person that invited danger. The ones without compassion, without empathy, and with absurd ambition. Therein laid Alistair, though he'd begun to fall away from that path. Still, the passion for knowledge and even for violence remained. Living life in the Coven since his teenage years, he'd grown accustomed to the wicked and the macabre. As things were now, more normalized, he sought his rush in other things. It was why he'd indulged in sex with a man he didn't know. It was why he wanted to go out into the forest, rather than having a simple dinner. There was a wild thrill that he'd come to find himself wanting, more often than not.

As they made their way to the edge of the forest, Alistair looked to Patrick and grinned. "Do you know how to fight, Patrick?" he asked him, curiously. He figured 'no' - but imagined he could always be wrong. "I know how to fight quite well - I've been doing it since my early days. My mother and father wanted me to be the classic, gallant Knight. It's expected of an heir of a prominent family." It didn't bother him, either. To teach discipline, statesmanship, physical health and personal responsibility - these were things important in raising an exceptional legacy. His father had done that well, with him. "I disappointed them in that I had little interest for fighting with blades or knocking an arrow into a bow. Instead, I learned a different style of fighting," he said, his face calm.

Alistair had no idea what the perception of magic was in Rharne. But, since coming here, he'd sought to feel liberated. To let himself be himself, something he could never quite do anywhere else. He could never be a man of desire in Rynmere, nor could he fraternize with those beneath his class. He couldn't speak honestly about who he was as an individual. And he couldn't ever practice magic. To do so would damn him from ever acquiring anything, if he wasn't executed outright.

So, he determined to inform Patrick now of just who he was dealing with. Someone atypical.

"I'm a mage," he told him. He didn't make eye contact after saying that, instead looking out into the forest. Somehow, not looking made him feel more at ease - he couldn't go wrong if he couldn't witness a look of rejection in the man's expression. "Quite a good one, at that. It's been a large part of my life, since I was a youth. I had always been obsessed with life, energy, the forces of nature. I learned that man could harness nature and energy to extraordinary levels, and I began to seek such a lifestyle myself." He decided to leave out the whole obsession with preservation and undeath - that was a conversation for another time. There wasn't a single city in Idalos that was comfortable with Necromancy, that was to be sure.

Was Rharne comfortable with mages, though? Was Patrick? He didn't know. But, he did not arrive here on a ship in order to be as repressed as back in the Kingdom. He came to try to live - for once - as who he was, rather than who Rynmere sought him to be. If Patrick did not wish to associate with him when all was laid out, then that could only be called a shame.

[Patrick]

Patrick couldn't help but again allow a short laugh when Alistair mentioned how naturally part of life trouble was, both for him and for Patrick as the man no doubt had learned. Not just because of his profession but because of his own story, his brief history he allowed the nobleman to know. It had been a personable moment worth remembering, as Patrick had honestly found comfort in telling such a story then. Before he always found it hard to even think on relevant subjects, mostly because of how alone he truly felt upon doing so.

What with everything that had been going on so far in Vhalar; with Wendell, Rei, and even Freya before she left. Now Alistair had a small part in it as well, and so far Pat began to wonder just how different things would pan out. "Aye I've a gift when it comes t' trouble." He agreed with a humbled chuckle to add while they moved along, from the looks of it they were headed to a forested area, rather than any farther out in the open spaces of the plains. That was more than fine with Patrick honestly, in truth he didn't mind the forest as it would've been close to a particular spot. One he and Dom used to visit as kids when they were both so young. He doubted it remained there now after all these years, but just the mere thought of visiting it again made him feel at odds.

It was unusual how he wanted to be there after so long, and then suddenly want to avoid going there because of old times. Memories were always like that with him apparently, but the bittersweet feelings tied in them weren't to be experienced alone. Not this time. Alistair seemed inclined to explore and so Pat could confide in him, share whatever he felt was necessary when the time finally came. "Not quite. I've had a few scruffs with Dom over the arcs, but nothin' ever serious enough t' actually considered a fight." He admitted with thoughts that trailed back to the beginning of the season, at his miserable attempts to boldly run the streets during the shadow crisis. Strange how that seemed like a distant nightmare to him, something he never really had to cope with after everything that's happened.

He often glanced over and watched Alistair as he talked of his past, how his family wanted him to learn the ways of combat. Chivalry and the like probably, or so Patrick considered anyways. Yet he came up short save for an expertise in something else, something he seemed to hesitate in sharing before the words finally came out. With good reason. At the mention of him being a mage, Patrick's eyebrows furrowed a little before he lightened up and laughed. He'd thought it a joke at first, one that he awkwardly laughed at for the most part. Yet... Alistair was serious. They had reached a stop as the nobleman continued on, explained how skilled and strongly affiliated with it he was. Patrick's expression became a smolder, distrust suddenly in his eyes as he muttered incoherently to the man.

"A.. ma.. y... bu..." Nothing but sounds could be uttered as his face slightly paled, a couple of steps taken back instinctively out of defense. Alistair could use magic? Like... actual magic. A supernatural force that shouldn't be in the possession of any mortal, and yet here it was right next to the entertainer with a cleverly attractive face. "No! No you're kiddin'." He denied as his astonishment wore off, though shock still overwhelmed his thoughts while he bore down on the nobleman.

[Alistair]

All was, of course, pleasant until he dropped the bomb of his magical talents. Shortly afterwards, Patrick's generally jovial expression became one of a distaste. His eyes became almost angry, or at least somewhat afraid. His perception changed immediately - and Alistair's heart would've dropped in disappointment if he wasn't already so used to this reaction from virtually everyone who had known. He hadn't spoken to his brother since he found out he was a mage. He had cut off ties with Duncan due to much the same thing. Being a mage and being a human were allegedly incompatible things, in this world they lived in - no one could ever seem to see the Alistair beyond the magic. And so he could only ball his firsts, frown, and accept defeat time and time again.

The man began to stutter. He seemed shocked, as much as he was terrified. You're kidding, he said. Alistair shook his head, his expression becoming dull. Completely formless - not a smile, not a frown, not a grimace, nothing. It was as if he'd entirely lost his ability to connect emotions to his complexion. He'd already begun to compartmentalize, preparing himself for the inevitability of Patrick simply stepping back and claiming that 'he needed to leave' or something of the sort.

"I'm not kidding," he replied calmly. "I'll show you."

He held his hand out to his side, as he faced Patrick. Looked him deeply into the eyes. To the left of them, further into the forest, a massive tear in space opened; a swell of energy rippled through the air before spreading it apart like nothing. Tearing into it - sundering the world around them. From this torn space, a portal opened, with a black core surrounded by a blazing swirl of energy. It was a doorway, and not far beyond it was another portal - the responder to the first. As each of them opened, a large rupture in space, the sound of tearing would play into their ears. It was loud; booming. It was rupturing, Alistair's most prominent form of magic.

"My sense of humor is quite underdeveloped when it comes to topics such as these, I'm afraid. So I can only tell you that I say these things in honesty. I'm a mage. I wanted to inform you now in case something happened later down the line - perhaps in this very forest - that required my talents to be put to use. I don't want to play games with you and lie. If you have issues with my abilities, then tell me. We can cease our relations and end the outing. It's fine." He didn't seem to really be saddened by the thought. Instead, his face - if there was to be a look at all - was filled by one of irritation. Another lost opportunity - another person who wouldn't give him a second shot, all because of one characteristic. A sad, tragic way to view the world.

And it was too bad, if Patrick really couldn't reconcile the fact. Because - he quite liked him. And for the time they'd spent, he'd already become someone of importance to Alistair. That didn't happen very often, to be sure.

[Patrick]

This had to be a dream right? A vividly odd dream where he'd went out on a stroll, randomly walked for memory lane, and then suddenly wound up meeting a magic thrower. Totally. He had dreaming to be sure, a really weird dream he just couldn't wake up from. Alistair seemed pretty serious however and when he held out a hand to his side, Patrick's eyebrows creased lowly with another step back in caution. The next thing he knew there was a swirl within the air, a random force of energy raveled around the space near Alistair.

Within a single moment of the gesture he'd given, the mage had managed to alter the very fabric of reality, and in turn generate something out of this world before Patrick. A... portal? Patrick's face had gone cold and completely white now, he felt his legs turn into melted butter while the nobleman continued. Was he tearing the fabric of reality? What did he just call it? Rupturing? Patrick's lungs seized for a moment, he'd forgotten just how to breathe. Then again it could've been the magic, did it have the power to keep him from breathing? What in Idalos was going on?!

Patrick couldn't understand it all. So much of it had come on so quickly, and Alistair only seemed to began. The entertainer took one more step back, his eyes lowered to the ground as he looked rather erratic. He seemed occupied with thoughts, thoughts that came out in incoherent mumbles. He tried to connect the dots, to understand just what reality he lived in. This wasn't a dream... Nope. No dream. He looked back up to Alistair once more as his head became light and fuzzy, his eyes however flew higher than intended as he looked to roll them.

Patrick merely stumbled and became limp as a rag doll, and then simply fell onto the ground as the world around him became a blackened haze.

[Alistair]

The man's look was one of shock. He didn't react well to Alistair's portal, no - and for that matter, he hardly reacted at all. He seemed dumbfounded, by the entire thing. The mage wasn't sure whether to gauge his response as utter terror or admiration. Until, of course, the man . . . quite literally dropped to the ground, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Alistair looked down, his eyebrow raising high. He couldn't believe what just unfolded before his eyes. For all the reactions he'd gotten to his magic, he'd never seen someone literally faint.

"Seriously?" he asked, as the man hit the floor with a thud. Luckily it was merely soil he fell onto, not hard cobblestone. Alistair, as a result, had the luxury to gauge over what had just happened. Patrick took such shock to the portals that he'd merely seized function. That, or he had some medical issue that made him susceptible to changes in lighting, sound or environment. Either way, he was as dumbfounded as Patrick had been. To see such a burly man fall over at the usage of such a minor spell was . . . something he hadn't quite expected.

Guess I know why he was the one taking it, last night, he said to himself with a faint grin. He wasn't honestly upset about the way the situation unfolded. Instead, he found it amusing. Genuinely. The dumbfounded surprise turned into excitement. How was he going to deal with the man who'd fallen back onto the cold ground out of fear of Alistair's... magey-ness?

He decided the best he could do was to shepherd him to a safer location to rest. This was certainly to be the end of their hopes of exploring the wilderness, but he couldn't complain. Patrick's health took priority, and as a doctor, Alistair's natural instinct was to ensure the man's wellbeing. He dispelled the portals he'd placed just a moment ago, and set up new portals - Compression Portals - to thin the distance between Alistair's room in the Harlot n' Hound and the beginning of the Stormlands. With a snap of his fingers, space was torn asunder before his eyes, and the mage responded by grabbing Patrick from the soil - bridal style - and stepping forth into the portal. On the other side of it, they entered into Alistair's rented room, the place they'd slept together the night prior. The portal opening had knocked his vial of ink onto the floor, and his chair had fallen back against the ground. His papers were spread across the room, messy - the force of the portal opening quite clearly deteriorating the organization of the environment.

His eyes lingered on Patrick's face. He wondered what expression he'd make when he awoke, into Alistair's care. Probably the same one as before - shock. Maybe he'd try to pretend it was all in his imagination. But it wasn't, and Alistair would be clear by saying as much. The man would not be helped by lies.

The nobleman set him onto the bed, then pulled the collar of his shirt down as he placed his head against the man's heart. It was beating fairly normally, not ragged; his tempo was smooth. His body heat seemed fairly typical as well. Alistair placed a hand on his forehead and felt warmth. There was nothing wrong with the man, evidently. Shock was all that there was. And how could he interpret that? As a slight? An insult? He'd have to see. The man would be conscious eventually, and then they could talk about what sort of thoughts transpired so dangerously as to make the man flail about and fall in defeat.

Over a damn portal.

[Patrick]

At first all of his nerves seemed to be asleep and his sense of awareness had diminished, but slowly as the perception of his senses returned he steadily found himself able to collect information once more. First he knew well enough he'd fallen on the ground but for whatever reason, the ground felt much more softer and... comfy. Grass usually felt itchy against the skin but now it felt like cotton, or perhaps even silk, though he couldn't even tell first hand. He twitched his fingers a few times as he felt the tips finally respond, the tingly numb sensations wore off to allow movement once more.

When his eyes came open to see that they were back at the Hound, his eyebrows rose for a moment and then furrowed right after, as the sudden revelation came about that he was here instead of home. He shot up with a new state of awareness as to where he was, the memory of being here and the sudden dream he had both a startling combination to juggle. When did he come back here? "The fuck is this mate? I must've had the strangest dream or somethin'!" He mused a little snidely. Alistair didn't seem to really do much other than laugh first, and when the awkward silence settled in Patrick knew... he knew that he had in fact not been dreaming. "Well... shit."

How does one handle the fact they just met a mage? Yet alone witnessed the very fabric of reality tear apart? To Alistair it seemed like it was no big deal, but for Patrick who wasn't a mage and had no experience with magic... that sort of had to be a big deal. "Okay. So... you're a... mage." He forced the word mage out with a perplexed expression, his eyes down on the bed in front of him rather than Alistair. "What does that... what does that even mean?" He finally questioned with his eyes now upon the noble, an eyebrow rose with wonder as he waited to hear the answer. Truthfully Pat didn't know how to handle this sort of thing, but seeing as how he wasn't dead yet... it couldn't have been that bad. Right?

Alistair had his shot at doing harm to him, although Patrick's own pride would demand that he did. Either way Patrick was still here with no real way of knowing how, and so the two of them pretty much had all the time in the day to talk things out.