#so uh enjoy the philosophy and the hypocrisy and the sads(tm) of all of this?? ( and his cat too <3 )

[clemencetaught]

I wasn't sure if y'wanted them sent in today or tomorrow, BUT TO NOT MESS UP-- (you mentioned answering ic in the tags so yeeting these directly at Patrick >:3 sorry if they're too many omg)

Patrick (any verse)

What does it feel like when others depend on you, in one way or another?

Are you more prone to assuming someone needs you (in a service kind of way, for aid, for support-) or more likely to think they don't?

If psychics were 120% reliable and you could connect to those long gone… would you?

In which contexts are you more 'do as I say not as I do' and in which will you listen to your own advice?

Do you ever catch yourself growing… a little bitter, maybe, at people describing their comparatively 'mundane' problems? Is it envy?

Do you believe children should be shaped for the likeliest future or the future should be shaped for the children to come?

When is self-sacrifice acceptable?

When is hurting those you love acceptable?

in which the 54th victor of the hunger games gives an impromptu interview ( nosy questions for the birthday enby w/ @mythvoiced )

The tea cup is set on the saucer. Discreetly, Patrick slides his other hand into his pocket, where the synthetic patch on his palm wraps around his pocket knife– a habit of sorts, since he won his games. His pocket watch sits on the table, next to the saucier and on his lap, Sun has wrapped herself into a ball, her paws disappearing into the mass of orange fur. On the balcony outside his apartment in the Capitol, this is the only place Patrick knows he will be granted a modicum of privacy in the viper’s nest. 

The shadow of the balcony covers the upper half of his body. Sun keeps dozing on his lap, in the sun. 

Most times, when the questions are directed at him, they’re expecting an affirmative. Doesn’t matter if it’s coming from a District person or a Capitolite– they go to him for answers, first and foremost. And in the case of the latter, these questions are not questions so much as veiled demands. 

Ones that he must always accommodate, regardless of the nature of the demand. 

But these questions, this voice, is…well they seem genuinely curious. And the questions they’ve lobbed his way, they don’t seem to be expecting one correct answer.

Sun shifts on his lap. His leg vibrates from her purring. Patrick sighs, leaning back on his chair. “That…quite a lot of thoughts you have going on there, hm?” The knife stays in his pocket as he gently scratches the top of Sun’s head. “I’ll answer your second question first: people will always look out for themselves first. If they don’t think you’re useful, that you can contribute something good to their lives, then you’re dead to them, if they don’t kill you first. Make yourself indispensable to them and they won’t hurt you.” At least that’s what he tells himself– it’s easier to simply assume anyone who approaches him that they want something he can give them. “The younger victors will need someone to guide them anyway.” 

And even the ones who vehemently deny needing someone, anyone. Patience is always key in those instances– from Taiyang whom it took almost six years and his tribute’s sanity to finally approach Patrick to María, who still slaps away any hands offered, friend or foe. Ironically, he had to approach her first.  

“…I suppose I don’t think too much about that. If someone was asking for your help, you would be more caught up in what they’re asking, more than how you were feeling no?” A Trojan horse, he’s lobbed in their direction although he’s quick to revise: “...It scares me sometimes.” He confides, fingers pausing in their administrations on Sun’s head. Actually it scares him, a lot. “They’re…they’re relying on me to guide them to the best outcome and I want the same thing for them. I promise you, I really, truly do.” Whether it’s Hyuk, Devora, a tribute he’s been assigned to mentor, or any of the victors. And sometimes even the furball in his lap and yet– “But I…I can’t always guarantee that. But they still trust me, especially the younger ones.” The tributes from District Three– his tributes, the ones who take his hand, look up at him with wide eyes, clinging to every word, every gesture he makes as it will guarantee their survival. “Sometimes I think it would be better if they exercised more caution with me.”   

A smile, bittersweet, if not actually just bitter, graces his lips. He shakes his head though, chuckling at the next question. “...Forgive me, that’s quite a question you have there. ‘Psychics’... I don’t believe that’s information that just anyone, district or Capitol, can get ahold of–  although I have heard of some old religions still practiced in the districts so I suppose the knowledge and belief in such mediums is possible to get ahold of.” He stares down at his tea, the steam still rising. Even if it is a hypothetical question on a medium known to be more shoddy than reputable, he can’t help but pause. If they could contact those ‘long gone’; would that mean, if he asked them to, would he be able to speak to her one last time–

He shakes his head, eye catching his pocket watch, metal beaten and faded, the clock face wearing a crack down the right side. Still, it shimmers in the sunlight. “Even if I could, I…I highly doubt she would want to talk to me of all people.” If they hadn’t met, if they hadn’t fallen in love, she probably would still be alive. Tellessa’s family too. 

After all, he was the first person outside of Tellessa who knew about her forbidden books. “Wherever they are, it’s probably better than here.” Or at least he hopes it is for her. A place where life doesn’t have to be perfect, but it is…easier. A place for souls to rest at long last. If such a place even exists in the first place. He picks up his saucer once more, still careful not to jostle Sun on his legs. She’s taken to loafing now– he knows her eyes are closed even if her head dips every few seconds. But make no mistake, that does not mean she is unaware. Trusting of the one asking the questions. If it was just him, she would be stretched out, a white underbelly waiting for his hand to scratch kindly at the ceiling.

Perhaps the saying is true after all: like owner, like pet. Although Patrick would argue she’s more like Hyuk if anything.

“It depends on the circumstances,” he says as neutrally as possible. A vague answer for a hypothetical question, because that is truly it. “I suppose if one’s life was on the line, it would be better if they followed my lead, no?” 

Not that that’s stopped, those with rebellious tendencies from committing treason anyways. ( And unfortunately, he can name more than one. ) It is ironic in that manner– for someone who knows the system, knows how to work within the rules all, has spent years perfecting his craft in survival arts, it would make more sense to invest on those with similar goals. And yet here he is, worrying about the ones who are decided not interested in survival and therefore would spurn his advice at any given moments. “Not that…that following my advice has ever helped them make it through.” 

(His tributes. All thirty nine of them. No two games are ever the same, the gamemakers would never allow that. If the circus known as the Hungers Games must be reborn over and over again if it wishes to continue.)

He takes a sip of his tea, washing down the momentary displeasure. Or at least he thinks it will be only a moment long. “I suppose what a Capitol citizen would consider a ‘mundane issue’, as you put it, would differ from those of someone from the districts. The former does seem more inclined towards complaining if only to build comradery amongst one another. I’m just glad that they have such means to…channel their frustrations.” 

( It’s in times like those, where he wishes his temper could curdle, the way Devora’s does in the face of the Capitol Elite. How he wishes he could simply let her use the knife to silence those idle complaints. )

Patrick takes another sip of his tea. It burns in his throat. It’s bitter too– he must have let the leaves seep for too long. But the asperity doesn’t just settle on his tongue. “Are we talking about an ideal world or the one we live in now? Depending on who you ask this question to, you’re guaranteed to get quite…different answers.” A smile, as frigid as the shaved ice the Capitol serves as a delicacy during the games, crosses his lips. “Our great nation was built to provide safety and prosperity for the children. To serve them. Although whether the truth is actually the other way around will again, depend on who you ask. As a mentor to my tributes, I suppose…we can’t deny the reality in front of us, no?”

Sun yawns. He puts his tea down and idly, he scratches the underside of her chin and he feels her purring against his finger. “Are you sure you should be asking me that question? I would think there are more…suitable candidates for this question.” People like Hyuk, he means. People like María– the kinds who would gladly make sacrifices, give pieces of themselves for a cause. “Self-sacrifice won’t get you where you need to be– there’s a reason martyrs are only known after their death– they’re even given a chance to be known. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool. They’re only deluding themselves into believing they can make everything better. A…colleague of mine said it best: ‘a martyr works, a survivor works better’. If you want to truly help the ones around you, self-sacrifice will only get you so far.”

Or so Patrick claims. He can hear it though– the sound of Hyuk shouting at him to stop lying. The truth is, self-sacrifice, if it is for a tangible reason, is…well maybe it is not worthwhile, but it can be certainly respected, especially if this tangible reason is a human life. The Capitol will always wonder what spurred Patrick to hold his district partner’s hand even if it burned a hole through his skin, will always wonder why Taiyang insisted on protecting Link in the arena, will always wonder why, why, why would Devora so willingly serve as President Snow’s puppet even if it further severs her ties to the districts despite everything the games took from her.

They would never understand compassion in a dog-eat-dog world– self sacrifice.

“...However, I suppose, if there was truly a good reason to do so…well, I have yet to see it.”

( Like the promise of a better world. If there is even one that exists. )

His hand stops. Sun turns her head towards him, copper eyes watching him. “When do we not hurt the ones we love?” Perhaps the better question for him is: when is he not hurting the ones he loves? He saw it in her eyes and Hyuk’s too. And yet they forgave him, somehow, every time. If not for that, well…would there even be a reason to keep going? “That’s part of caring for someone, no? You are preparing for them to hurt you without retaliation.” He shakes his head, snorting. “I think the answer should be obvious, if it guarantees their well-being in the long run, I think that is a gamble to be considered. That being said–” 

Sun jumps off his lap and stretches, paws facing this curious passerby. Patrick crosses his legs, hands resting on his lap. A veneer, similar to the one he dons in the Capitol flashes through, even if he is not currently in his usual suit. “You wouldn’t want to be close with someone like me. I’ve been known to have…a reputation of sorts. One of burning and you could…no, you would most definitely get hurt, one way or another and we wouldn’t want that happening, no? Just a thought for you to consider.”

He watches Sun make her way to the sliding glass door in the shade. Her tails whips side to side as she looks up at the handle. Then she looks at him and meows. 

Patrick glances at his pocket watch. “It’s feeding time for Sun.” Well, sort of– it’s more like it’s half an hour before her feeding time, but he knows gets antsy the closer meal time gets around. But this person doesn’t have to know that. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be taking care of business now. If you need anything more, you know where to find me.”

Or better yet, he’ll know where to find them.