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'patration, n., ref. 1656. Perfection or completion of something.''

Y'know, there's a reason I quit. Pass me some o' that Green Lady, and I'll tell you 'bout it.

They say it's not easy. In fact, they say it's impossible. That's what they want you to believe.

Don't believe 'em. It's mo more difficult than dying. We've all done that. We just don't remember it.

Okay, I'm not perfect. Far from it. And I don't believe anyone really is. Some folks, they'll try to convince you of it. They're just selling snake oil. From rummies on the skids, to the Huubies?, to goddamned Trey Parker, to Angels in their Heaven, there's a crapload of folks try to make you think they're the pinnacle, the zenith, the epitome, perfection incarnate, the last stop on the line.

I know better. I've seen the seamy side. I've lived it. I've been it.

But, y'know -- y'gotta have ideals. No matter how fallen from grace, y'gotta believe that there is grace. That there is perfection. That there is something that comes at the end of the road, the final moment, the fat lady singing that ultimate, glass-shattering, soul-exulting note. 'Cause if you don't believe that, then what the hell you fighting for?

Which is why, when they let Patration "vanish softly and silently away" at the end of the Five Hundred, I said screw 'em, and walked. Guy gets cut down trying to take down Numbers? (and who'd'a thought the old geezer had it in him, or that a sword cane would make such a mess) and y'think first off they'd replace him. Nope. No longer needed, is the official word. His boss has a new hobby, I guess. I mean, sure, it's gotta been E that did it. And, sure, it makes sense that he'd be dead set against that Domain. But, hell, doesn't mean I have to like it. Or put up with it.

My boss, he took it okay, I guess. Threats at first. Then requests. Finally, grudging acceptance. I think he still thinks I'll get back in the game. I still get cards from him on my E-day. They burn pretty.

I dunno. Maybe it wasn't worth him coming after me. Maybe my own Estate's obsolete, too, just nobody's bothered to do away with it. Or me. Long as I keep finding the world entertaining, I can live with that.

Which reminds me of this story I heard about Queen Vic and the Bishop of -- hey, what the hell's that? You recording this? Godammit, Aggie, we had a deal. I told you, notes only, no -- gimme that!

SEE ALSO: Sanctity of Records?, Trey Parker

This is a P entry in the Lexicon of the Lost 500 Years.