Waiting for the Worms

Patrick Grey. English. Gay. Blind. Resident of Redwater, Washington.

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benoitly‌:

going to other people’s houses wasn’t something ariel usually did, if only because there were very few places he actually felt comfortable. those few places were almost never where someone else had created a space for themselves. he tended to not fit, in some way or another. really, the more he thought about it, the worse of an idea this whole volunteer reader thing seemed – he almost decided to turn back, then the door swung open, and he was faced with a friendly looking man. he cocked an eyebrow at the mention of tea, making somewhat of a face.

“ariel,” he repeated his own name, enunciating the long ‘a’ that most people up north shortened to something harsh. he hesitated just a moment before stepping past him through the threshold of his home, taking another moment to look around just past the entrance. northern homes were so much different than back home, less stuff cluttered everywhere, less… everything, really. he noted the lack of decor and blinked lazily as he turned back around to face his host.

“nice place,” he wasn’t lying, but he also wasn’t exactly being honest. but that was normal for him. “real homey.”

"Oh. Pardon me, Ariel." Patrick made sure to pronounce his name appropriately this time. It had a nice ring to it and he thought it sounded so elegant on the other male’s voice. The English man couldn't help but feel surprised as the other complimented his house. Indeed it was a homey place, but nothing fancy at all. He only got a few items with him from London, and it looked mostly empty. No art on the walls or China on shelves. He never got visitors, so he never really minded decorating the place, but his guest was somehow right, it was homey. At least for Patrick. “Hm, well, thank you. I hope you feel at home. Please, follow me.”

Patrick closed the front door and walked through the living room, then they walked in what was probably a library or a study before Patrick moved, now, the only thing in the room was a big old piano. It was the only place in the tiny home it would fit it in. Then they moved to the kitchen, right next door. The tea was served, hot smoke coming out of it, and a plate of Huntley & Palmers sat next to a little container with butter and another with jam. It wasn’t much, but Patrick was trying his best to be a good host. 

“I appreciate you coming. There used to be a young woman who read for me. But she was accepted to college and is leaving town. A great lady actually, I even wrote her a letter of recommendation, which seems to have served her good, but I ended up in need of someone else to help me with the newspaper.”

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dotfox‌:

Dot hadn’t noticed when a man sat next to her, but she blinked in surprise when he spoke. “Oh. Goodness, I guess I do, I was all caught up in it and didn’t even see you there,” she smiled. She blushed when she realized that of course, he couldn’t see her, either. She wondered if that was offensive, but then shook her head. She wouldn’t let herself worry about offending white men. Even if he was blind.

The song was a rendition of Fats Waller’s Ain’t Misbehavin’. She was tapping her foot and swaying to the song without noticing, even now that he’d snapped her out of her trance. She wondered for a moment if maybe she’d been a dancer before her accident. Someone might have told her…

“Do you want to dance?” she asked suddenly, surprising herself more than anything. She’d been in a constant bad mood for years, it seemed, but her favourite part of the song was coming up, and both her feet were tapping now. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you bump into anyone.”

Patrick giggled at the lady’s comment, sure she didn’t mean to be rude. In fact, she sounded quite polite. It was great to know people around town could the genius Waller was. Good music didn’t have to be restricted to a Harlen, or to a specific ethnicity. Everyone could appreciate it. And he loved it.

“Oh, no I...” Patrick was about to deny the offer. He was never the kind of man that would dance. Not even before the accident. At least not in front others. A little shy and quite clumsy he never saw himself as the type of person that could express through dance and not feel ridiculous. However, he would never get to know people and find fun in town if he didn’t get out of his comfort zone. “Well... okay. But don’t expect anything good from me.”

He consciously stood up and offered his hand, visually nervous with the whole situation, but it was too late to come back now.

[benoitly]

closed for: @greypatrick

when ariel had answered the ad in the paper for a ‘volunteer reader,’ he hadn’t been expecting much of anything. he’d talked on the phone with a mr. grey (in his best ‘phone voice,’ in his opinion), and still felt as if he wasn’t one hundred percent sure of what he was walking into. but he’d been promised food, and ariel was never one to turn down sustenance of any kind – especially when money was as tight as it was. he wasn’t sure why he’d felt compelled to answer the short, all too vague ad in the first place. maybe because he wanted company, feeling out of place in a town he still didn’t have a firm grasp on, or maybe he really was just after a snack.

he knocked twice, probably a bit louder than necessary, but he’d been out in the rain for far too long already that day, and he wanted to get inside as soon as possible. he knocked again, just once for good measure, and shifted his weight from foot to foot in an impatient kind of stance.

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For most people, Sundays could be somehow a dull day. Not as exciting as Friday and Saturday nor as busy as Monday. Yet, for someone like Patrick Sunday was usually just another day. He didn’t have a real job, which made him feel as if all days were Sunday. And he hated it. That particular Sunday afternoon, however, Patrick had something to look forward to: this was the day his new reader would come. Radio was amazing, and one could feel totally up to date with the news just relying on it. Still, Patrick wanted to be able to read the newspaper. It was the sort of thing he misses, and having someone to come over to help him with that helped added a little glimpse of fullness to his world.

The kettle had just started hissing when there was a knock on the door. He would rush to open it, but he prefers to first get the tea ready. It wouldn't be polite to have someone coming over and not offer anything to drink. So he took an extra minute or two to settle up. Soon, another knock. He left thing as they were and walked to the door, feeling bad to have him waiting.

“Sorry, I was just pouring us some tea. Ariel, right?” he tried his best to look welcoming. Tried a smile and everything. After a second he stepped to the side giving the man space to come in. “Plese, join me.”

[greypatrick-blog]

I have updated my intro post to include my wanted connections and plots. If anyone is interested, please check it out.

[greypatrick-blog]

bethperry‌:

 she wasn’t paying too much attention to the man, her gaze still fixated on the band. however, she turned towards him as he spoke again. “reminds me of home. someone always had a trumpet and they were always playin’ it,” she hums, reflecting on her hometown. beth took a good look at him once he spoke her name. “beth’s my name, yes sir.” she looked him over before it became clear. he was from the support group. it was strange to think that these people lived outside of the group. as talkative as beth was, she was nearly a different person in the group. “you must be patrick, right?”

Patrick had grown accustomed to never knowing people around, a year in town and he hadn’t really had the chance to make any friends. He was not exactly the most sociable person for sure. So meeting an acceptance was actually a thrilling moment of his day.

“Yes, yes!” Patrick didn’t hide the surprise when she recalled his own name. Deep inside this made him feel a little ashamed. How could he forget hers? Still, he didn’t remember her last name. He rubbed the bottom of his chin a little unsettled by this idea, he didn’t want to sound rude. “Patrick Grey I am. And I am sorry but I seem to have forgotten your surname.”

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bethperry‌:

beth had the day off which was always hard for her. though she didn’t care all the much for her job, at least it kept her occupied. it was warm outside and she found herself regretting the little cardigan that she had on. luckily, she had a a beautiful fan with her. it was her mother’s, and every time she used it, she thought of the woman. 

she thought a stroll around town would be nice. for once, it seemed, it wasn’t raining so beth was eager to take in the sunshine. a band played in the distance and piqued her interest. the young woman found a shaded spot and took a seat. for a moment, she closed her eyes and listened to the music, imagining that she was back in georgia. the song was over much too soon and her hazel eyes opened, once more. 

the voice besides her caused her to jump a bit, her hand on her chest. she laughed at herself before nodding. “to be honest with ya, sir. i love any song with a trumpet in it.” 

The English man smiled back at the lady, trying to remember where he had heard her voice before. Redwater wasn’t exactly a big city, therefore, it didn’t really surprise Patrick that he had his path crossed with someone he knew. The truth was, however, that the male only knew few people around, so he felt the need to remember the lady’s name.

“It does bring any song to life, doesn’t it? It is such an exciting instrument.” Suddenly he remembered: the support group. She was in the support group. Maybe the fact that she didn’t talk much there. Much like himself. There were those who would heal speaking and those who would heal listening. Maybe the woman and Patrick fit in best in the later. He only knew she, much like him, had lost a lot, and yet, she sounded so sweet. "It’s... Beth, right?”

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“What do you get your wife for your anniversary?” His voice squeaked, clearly overwhelmed. “Flowers? Chocolates? Jewelry?” Despite their unconventional relationship, he genuinely cared for her, “I’m struggling real hard.”

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“I believe that depends more on her personality rather than which one makes the best present for the occasion. Each person will have a different opinion about it, don’t you agree?” Patrick answered the man, not even sure if the question was addressed to him, but this sort of generalisations have always bothered him, so he felt like he had a point to prove. The English man stepped to the side for a moment, as if he needed space to think. “What is she like?”

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It was hard to admit, but Redwater was not quite what Patrick had imagined. He’d pictured a bohemian place, where the streets would be crowded with musicians and artists, someplace exciting and exotic. Yet, it wasn’t much different from his own little hometown. After living there for a while, the English man came to notice that his expectations were based on the view he had on Roger’s (his deceased partner and former resident) not about the city itself. In fact, the very own reason why Roger had left the city in the first place was to find something exciting overseas, right? Redwater wasn’t bad, though. In fact, it was pleasant. People were polite, the food was good and the fisherman always made sure to make the bars busy. So maybe, it was Patrick's own fault that he never got to experience the best the town has to offer. 

There weren't many people on the street that day, even though it was fairly warmer than the previous week.  Therefore, Patrick decided to take this chance and go for a walk by Cat’s Corner. He had a coffee by himself there (something pleasant, yet lonely) and as he was going home he was surprised by the sound of trumpets and horns. A little band was playing, and Patrick found himself hypnotised by their energy. He found somewhere to sit, leaving his cane resting close by so he could clap as they finished their act.

“Oh, that was wonderful. Don’t you love this song?” Patrick spoke almost to himself, not really expecting an answer. He was the stranger in town, after all.  

[greypatrick-blog]

{ CHARLIE COX, 33, cismale, he/him, muse f } welcome friend! you know, i just saw PATRICK GREY in town. it’s good to see them. they’ve been staying in town for ONE YEAR and making a living as a WAR VETERAN. not too bad. i hear they can be a bit STUBBORN, but KIND. so, really who blames them? i hear they’ve been thinking about STARTING A NEW LIFE IN AMERICA. good for them. { Jude, 28, GTM-3, she/her }

Hello everyone. This is Jude. I’ll be joining the group as Patrick. Down below you can find his bio. I’ll soon be posting some plots I’d be interested in. However, if you want to start plotting right now feel free to hit my inbox.  Please, mind the trigger warnings before reading.

Patrick is the youngest of three brothers. He was born and raised in the Ipswich, England. Their family fairly healthy, and they lived a comfortable life. As a kid he was fairly interested in music, he even took some piano lessons, but was never particularly good at it. Nevertheless, he grew up to be a talented man. Like his brother, when Patrick was old enough he was sent to London in order to attend King’s College. 

Going to London opened up his horizons, and he started to explore new possibilities, he took his degree in the art department. He was following his heart, even though this wasn’t what his Parent’s expected of him, they hoped Patrick would find a job and get married and have children, like his older brothers. Instead, he met a young man named Roger Gillian, passioned by life like he was, who could play the guitar like an angel and ended up stealing Patrick's heart.

Of course, coming out as gay would be too shocking to his family. So they always kept things quiet. The lovebirds moved to a house in the suburbs. Patrick worked on the fine art department of King’s college while Roger had a part-time job at a local pub and would play around town at night. On the weekends they hosted parties and Roger would teach Patrick to play. They didn’t have much, but they loved each other. Nevertheless, when the war broke, Patrick saw himself called by duty. All his brother were signed up and were ready to fight. He couldn't be any different. He needed to protect the people he loved. He believed he was making his country a service, but little did he know this was the beginning of the end.

Roger tried to go back to his hometown in America, stay safe far from the madness Europe was. However, Roger died during a German attack on the island. Patrick was just devastated. He lost most of the joy he had in life. Honestly, he hoped he never ever did it make it out alive. Even when the war was over, he would never see another happy day without Roger to bright up his life. He thought he finally would meet his beloved one again in when one of the bays was taken, enemy’s aircraft threw bombs over the English troops. He remembers well his body being carried away by the blast, his head hitting against something hard and when it was all dark he whispered his lover’s name.

Maybe by divine intervention, maybe by chance, Patrick didn’t die that day. He was rescued in time to survive but was heavily injured. He was in a coma for several months. When he woke up, he found out that the war was over, and he didn’t have to worry about not being able to see Roger’s smile anyway. His injuries were too severe, and he lost his sight completely. People said he was lucky. That he should be dead. Patrick wasn’t so sure, though.

He was sent back his home in Ipswich where his mother told him he was the only man in the family who had made it through the war alive. And this made him feel even worse. Patrick saw himself deeply depressed. He felt useless, lacking the motivation to live another day. But he had to try it a little more, for his mother. They only had each other now. Unable to work and with so little income from the retirement, Patrick and his mother had to grow accustomed to little. The little food and lack of wood to warm up the home were probably the reason for a serious pneumony to grow into Patrick’s mother’s lungs.

Mrs Grey joined her other children some years later. And Patrick was the only one left behind. He lost Roger, his father, his brothers... and now his mother. Patrick missed them. That was what triggered him to go to a pub, and drink as much as he could. And instead of going home, he would jump out of the River Orwell bridge. However, a song started playing, "We Will Meet Again”, sang by a beautiful lady voice. The lyrics made Patrick cry and he changed his plans for the night.

Patrick decided to move to Redwater, where Roger was from had spoken so much on how great it was. He wasn’t really sure what he would do there. But he was finally done with his grief, and want to try to live again.

TL;TR version

Patrick was born in Ipswich, England.

He went to London for college.

He met a boy there, an American musician named Roger, who he fell in love with and they decided to live together.

Patrick was sent to fight in the war.

Meanwhile, Roger was killed during a German attack.

Patrick was in bombing incident and lost his sight.

He came back to Ipswich to stay with his mother.

She died some years after of pneumony.

Patrick then was planning a suicide when he heard a beautiful song that made him change his plans.

He decided to move to Redwater, Roger’s hometown, and try a new life.

WANTED CONNECTIONS/PLOTS

Hunting Past: Patrick’s late lover, Roger, was from Redriver, and although he didn’t keep much in touch with his family, there might have been someone who misses him. Someone from his family, friends, ex-boyfriends, this is totally up to you. Their relationship can be either a supportive one (sharing good memoried and going together through their grief) or a destructive one (maybe this relative/friend even blames Patrick’s for Roger’s death).

Camarades: People who Patrick had fought alongside during the war. People who have to know his worse side, and might be surprised to learn that he his actually someone sweet.

A new love interesses: Patrick is still very wounded by the things that happened to him lately. But slowly he is learning how to move forward, and it’s time for him to meet someone to love. However, this won’t be an easy task, since Patrick might be still hunted by some ghosts. (Note: this connection must be a male).

Friends: People who are kind enough to keep Patrick company. He is rather a lonely man.

A volunteer reader: someone who could stop by his place every now and then to read him the newspaper, or even a book. They would be paid on tea and biscuits, and maybe some nice conversations.

Students: Patrick knows a lot about music, and would be willing to teach people how to play the piano, the bass, accordion, and even the guitar (his personal favourite).