Nirvana's Noteworthy: Patricio Flores

'A gentleman is one who never hurts anyone's feelings unintentionally'

~Oscar Wilde~

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“The lack of plant life in Gehenna disturbs me”

Erin groans for the thirteenth mission in a row. She leaps off of the motorcycle and throws down her helmet onto the seat in a huff.

“You say that every single time we come here. We’re not even in the city yet!” she whines in high tone. I could swear I can hear a dog barking somewhere in the distance. This is just another one of her mini tantrums though, nothing to be worried about. I flash her the trademark grin.

“Oh Erin, Cariña, if you understood the majesty of nature like I do then you’d, how you say, sympathise with me” I respond as I remove my own helmet, hanging it gentle from the bike handle. 

My companion looks up at me, visibly still irritated. She points a finger at me accusingly.

“I grew in Ireland. The whole fecking place is green. Don’t tell me about not appreciating nature ye eejit” Erin mouths off at me. I swear her accent is stronger when she’s mad. It’s super funny to watch her spout insults at the enemy.

She becomes like a tiny incomprehensible foul-mouthed fairy.

…

Mierda, did I say that via telepathy?

I narrowly avoid the arrow slicing its way past my cheek. Instinctively I launch into a battle stance. Hopping to my feet atop to bike, drawing my ice picks, I scout the surroundings. Of course, its still only Erin. That and a whole lot of empty roads paving the highway to hell from purgatory. Red, dusty and raw…

Something unexpectedly catches my eye.

With a hop and a skip, my boots hit the ground running and I’m off another direction. Erin somewhere behind me is screeching.

“PAT NOT AGAIN WE HAVE A FECKING MISSION TO DO!”

The scraping patter of her footsteps rev up. I however am too focused on my target. Digging in my heels to the dirt, I’m able to bring myself to a sliding halt inches from the object that caught my eye.

A gentle chamomile flower, poking its petals out from a crack in the ground, just a short distance from the border of where the grassy fields end. The delicate white and soft yellow contrast the rough ochre of the soil surrounding it.

I’m completely stunned. My body stays fixated on that stop, just…staring. The sound of rapid breathing echoes into my range of hearing. Something round and smooth plops onto the middle of my back.

“Stop…doing…that…eejit” Erin gasps between breaths. She shakes her head against my back. Two long pigtails whip lightly at my sides. I just scoff.

“Get off me and come have a look at this, little robin hood” I gesture, wagging my finger and pointing at the ground. She groans again but lazily drags herself from around me to have a look. The small smile that breaks out on her face is good to see.

“So what does this one mean?” She asks, cocking her head towards me.

“Well, I heard one meaning from the nineteenth century in England was something along the lines of energy in adversity“ I explain, fumbling my words a little in my attempt to sound smart. I’ve been told I sound more intelligent in Spanish.

“Huh”

“Is that all I get?”

Erin ignores me. She sidles round to my back again, humming an old tune. Her face is close to my jacket I can feel her nose rubbing and down against it. Eventually she pulls away to look at me again.

“I’m surprised you don’t have a patch of that one on your jacket. It sounds a lot like you, that one” the Irish girl comments with sincerity. I feel strangely flattered.

“Gracias. Tell you what, remind me to find one when we get back to Nirvana”

My knee scrapes the dirt as I kneel down beside the flower, close enough for a quick sniff. The scent is gentle, comforting. Erin chuckles lightly, though abruptly stops. A rumble in the distance rapidly increases in volume. I can feel the edge of the vibrations through my hands on the floor. Immediately I jump to feet, readying my ice picks for combat. Likewise, Erin has her bow pointed towards the horizon. A little further from the point of the arrow she has loaded I spot a band of five or six bikers coming our way at an alarming speed. There’s a sense of familiarity about the situation but I shrug it off. I relay a telepathic message to Erin.

This is the gang that’s been causing trouble in Purgatory?

Looks like it. I spot six on motorcycles. Only drivers, no passengers.

Bueno. So, I take three, you take three?

Sounds good to me. On my command we move.

I flash her a thumbs up. The rumble is becoming loudly audible.

Oh Pat, I have an idea.

What is it?

This’ll probably be a breeze, so let’s make this more fun.

How so?

The rumble is almost within reach.

Tell me more about the flowers on your jacket. A different one for each thug we take out.

I throw out a hearty laugh.

Sure, why not.

The bikers are upon us.

Move!

We leap into action in unison, one to the left and the other to the right. The first knockout is swift. Pulling myself up onto front of the vehicle via the handles, I thump the thug in the face with my boot. They fly backwards, losing control of the vehicle. I tuck and roll away as it skids in a curve off in a random direction, eventually toppling, trapping the rider beneath it. Though still conscious and mouthing obscenities my way, I gather they won’t be posing a threat anytime soon. I grin.

That’s one. Let’s call that one Foxglove. Associated with insecurity but can be a powerful cure. I don’t know, I just see wasted potential in that one.

Interesting.

Erin’s one-word response is promptly followed by her first shot. The arrow spirals point blank into the cyber eye of the mercenary looking man driving the bike she’s currently stood upon. He swerves out of the control, swiping with one hand at her legs, to which she elegantly dances over it. She swipes back with the bow, knocking him clean off of the bike. With some graceful manoeuvring she manages to slide off before the bike topples.

Alright that’s two. Give me another one.

The four remaining appear to be moving into a circular track around us. We instinctively line up back to back.

A pink rose, for one so graceful.

Oh, how flattering.

There’s a hint of playful sarcasm to her last comment. I tap my elbow to hers, a signal for one of our combo-moves. We ready our weapons, her bow to shoot and one of my ice picks to throw. Two of the bikers draw fairly simple pistols to shoot. They don’t hesitate. The second we hear triggers clicking, the two of us link an arm and duck, letting the bullets fly past. One hits the opposite biker square in the should. The other is barely grazed. Nonetheless, in their confusion we rise back and a launch weapons their way. An ice pick hooked around the injured arm of one pulls them right off. The arrow pierces the synthetic vocal chords of the grazed one. There’s no blood but a brief short-circuit causes them to collapse. Erin utters a little cheer, then regains her professional composure.

Okay, you owe me two more. The two by your wrist there, what are those?

She points at the purple and red bushy flowers entwined at the hem. Some unfavourable memories spring to mind, but again I shrug them off. Can’t afford to think about that right now.

Dahlias. Beautiful specimens, One is for dignity, one is for…betrayal.

Erin’s response is silence. A sign of seriousness and understanding on her part. She knows about my past in its entirety, as I know hers. I shake my head.

Come on, let’s just finish this up so I can tell you the last two. Esto es divertido!

She sighs, but smiling as she does so, running off in a direction beyond my vision. One of the bikes screeches to a halt in front of me. The woman riding it dismounts. She seems burlier, more scarred than the others. Slivers of metal and wires are exposed from under her heavily tattooed skin. I can tell from the difference in the style of her jacket the others that she must be the leader. She taps a long, heavy looking pipe against her leg. The metal clinking sound they make together is disconcerting.

Mierda. I’d rather not have to deal with this again. I don’t suppose I have a choice though; I accepted this job after.

I take a deep breath and grin. The cyborg style woman scoffs.

“Bring it, kid” she mocks. The use of kid strikes a nerve I didn’t realise was still active.

I lunge forward with a sloppy swing to her stomach. All it does it tear through the shirt. She laughs heartily. A burning hand grips the back of my head, tossing me to the side. Crawling on the floor, I flash back to different surroundings. Brick walls, gritty floor, blood on the pavement, dirt in my mouth. Jeering and cheery and a tall figure looming over me. I’m desperate, looking for a weak spot. 

The figure lifts their leg to stomp me out…

That’s it!

The gang leader follows a similar pattern, lifting her muscular head ready to crush my skull. The moment she motions to lower it, I frantically reach for her ankle with my remaining ice pick, hooking it into the mesh of exposed wires. Her legs twitches, not responding to her furious verbal commands. Pulling all weight, I drag the pick still hooked into the leg sharply to one side, causing her to collapse. The force of the fall renders her unconscious. Exhaling a ragged sigh, I raise myself to stand on my exhausted legs. As I survey the situation I relay Erin another message.

That’s five. I’ll keep it short. Dandelions. Overcoming hardship. Don’t make me explain.

Patricio get the feck over here!

Immediately my eyes scan the area. Thankfully the barren lands makes it easy to spot Erin collapsed beside the whimpering, skinny body of what I assume is a teenage gang newbie. She doesn’t seem intent on knocking the boy out, despite her clear irritation as she grips at the fresh wound on her forearm. I frown, even though she’s not looking my eye.

“Little fecker was a tough one…but he’s young…I’ll give a pass” she manages to wheeze out. A cold breeze flies past us. Erin shivers, seething in pain.

“We’re done here. Let’s just go, we can call someone to clean up” she groans, struggling to stand up. 

I can’t take it anymore. I take off my jacket and pass it to her. She looks at me questioningly. I realise though this is not at my face, but at the tattoo on my arm.

“Haven’t seen that one before” she says softly, taking the jacket from me and putting it on.

“Number six. Red carnation. Love and passion. This is…a very old one”