http://christ-onabike.livejournal.com/ (
christ-onabike.livejournal.com) wrote in
lastvoyageslogs2010-11-18 12:12 am
Entry tags:
paddy's temper gets the better of his organising.
Who: Anyone lurking in the kitchen and Paddy. Eventually, though, Parker. He'll need her.
Where: Kitchen.
When: About ten minutes after Donny announces what Clapet was up to.
What: Paddy's cracking a little. Call it stress.
He hadn't really thought about the knives on his last dinner shift, or any of the recent ones. He trusted his staff, and his main concern was making sure only a very specific amount of food was used; and then worrying about whether that was too much.
So when Donny mentioned a knife being used to kill someone, he'd gone searching through his knife, re-counting them again. There was one missing.
Shit.
Shit shit shit. That was all Paddy's brain was capable of. He looked at Donny's hazy reply on his communicator, and swore loudly, "Fucking fuck fuck!" Then threw the communicator hard across the kitchen at the wall. Paddy had been working virtually non-stop for the past few days and had thought he was entirely on top of things until today. He pressed his palms hard into the side and tried to calm down. It wasn't working.
He just couldn't take this any more. Especially if he'd have to start killing things. Especially now people had died.
Where: Kitchen.
When: About ten minutes after Donny announces what Clapet was up to.
What: Paddy's cracking a little. Call it stress.
He hadn't really thought about the knives on his last dinner shift, or any of the recent ones. He trusted his staff, and his main concern was making sure only a very specific amount of food was used; and then worrying about whether that was too much.
So when Donny mentioned a knife being used to kill someone, he'd gone searching through his knife, re-counting them again. There was one missing.
Shit.
Shit shit shit. That was all Paddy's brain was capable of. He looked at Donny's hazy reply on his communicator, and swore loudly, "Fucking fuck fuck!" Then threw the communicator hard across the kitchen at the wall. Paddy had been working virtually non-stop for the past few days and had thought he was entirely on top of things until today. He pressed his palms hard into the side and tried to calm down. It wasn't working.
He just couldn't take this any more. Especially if he'd have to start killing things. Especially now people had died.

no subject
However, Parker was more worried about Paddy. It was weird for her, having that thing where she cared that much about someone who was aboard, and the franticness of the circumstances reminded her far too much of the zombie port and she didn't like it.
Hearing the bang from inside the kitchens, Parker quickly slipped her gun from her holster and had it pulled out when she walked it, expecting that someone had gotten fucking stupid and decided that looting was the way to go. What she didn't expect was Paddy to have been the one to do throw something. Putting her gun up, she walked over to him. "Calm the fuck down, Paddy-cakes."
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He shook his head, "People are dying. And it's my fucking fault, Parker. My fucking fault. Sure, there's nutjobs, but I didn't do a crucial fucking bit of my job because I got fucking complacent, and someone died. Properly, Parker! Properly!"
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"They'll fucking come back. All of them. They'll be pissed and feel like shit but they'll come back. But Paddy, this is not your fault. You're performing fucking miracles to keep people fed and warm and that's all you can do. I hate to tell you, Irish, but you're not Superman, you're not God and you're sure the fuck not the Admiral! You're pissed at the wrong fucking person!"
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He sighed, "If I wasn't pissed, then there'd be something wrong. I've lost some seriously heavy shit at home, and always fucking gotten pissed off at myself for letting it go, even when it wasn't... all my fucking fault. Here, people die, and I'm trying my best, but it's just not fucking good enough, Parker."
He shook his head, "I just... I dunno how much more of this I can take."
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She said his name quickly, and she gave him a little push. "Stop trying to take all the fucking blame for this. You didn't count, but you shouldn't have had to have counted with the people you trusted. You are making sure people fucking eat, Paddy. And that's enough. There are people here who aren't doing shit but being here scared of the dark, and once again you fucking stepped up."
She grasped his chin, holding it between her fingers. "Do not even fucking talk like that. You can handle this, I know you can. Now, come on. We're getting the fuck out of her for a little while."
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He shook his head away from her grip and swallowed hard, "I've barely fucking sat down. I just... fuck, Parker, I'm working my ass off and things still ain't working."
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"You need to fucking sit down, Paddy. You're not fucking sleeping and all you're doing is just fucking stressing. Are you remembering to eat?" The questions were quick and fast and pointed. "When was the last time you even thought about breathing?"
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He sighed, "I can fucking eat and look after myself, y'know, love. Someone's gotta take responsibility for this shit, you know."
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"Come on, we're going for a walk or a fight or something, but the fuck out of here. Let them handle it for twenty minutes."
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