Mad Sweeney (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
onlythebranch) wrote2021-05-17 03:03 pm
onlythebranch) wrote2021-05-17 03:03 pm
(no subject)
It takes a lot to surprise a man like Mad Sweeney.
Three thousand years of life means he's seen a lot of crazy shit, even if he doesn't remember a good chunk of it these days, but between gods and myths and legends, not much can throw him off his game. Especially now. He's -- and he fucking hates this won't, but it's the only one for it -- settled.
So it takes a lot to surprise him, but that doesn't mean it can't happen. Case in point, this moment right here.
Sweeney had woken up that morning mildly hungover and in need of a bucket of coffee. He had rolled out of bed, kissed Spike goodbye, promised to bring something home to him, and then wandered out of their flat, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Now he's standing outside the coffee shop he'd stopped at, holding a huge cup of coffee in one hand and a business card in the other, staring down at it as if it's written in a language he can't read. He can read a lot of languages -- and this one's in English, besides -- but he still isn't really sure what the fuck he's looking at.
"Just think about it, okay?" the woman who's given him the card asks. "You've got a great look, the camera would love you. Even if it's only extra work."
"Uh... yeah," Sweeney answers, though he has no fucking intention of being an extra in movies. "Yeah, sure. Sure."
"Great," the woman says, flashing a smile. "Make sure you do. It's a great opportunity. Call my office."
Then she's gone, boots thumping on the sidewalk as she walks away, leaving Sweeney standing there alone with his coffee and her card.
Three thousand years of life means he's seen a lot of crazy shit, even if he doesn't remember a good chunk of it these days, but between gods and myths and legends, not much can throw him off his game. Especially now. He's -- and he fucking hates this won't, but it's the only one for it -- settled.
So it takes a lot to surprise him, but that doesn't mean it can't happen. Case in point, this moment right here.
Sweeney had woken up that morning mildly hungover and in need of a bucket of coffee. He had rolled out of bed, kissed Spike goodbye, promised to bring something home to him, and then wandered out of their flat, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Now he's standing outside the coffee shop he'd stopped at, holding a huge cup of coffee in one hand and a business card in the other, staring down at it as if it's written in a language he can't read. He can read a lot of languages -- and this one's in English, besides -- but he still isn't really sure what the fuck he's looking at.
"Just think about it, okay?" the woman who's given him the card asks. "You've got a great look, the camera would love you. Even if it's only extra work."
"Uh... yeah," Sweeney answers, though he has no fucking intention of being an extra in movies. "Yeah, sure. Sure."
"Great," the woman says, flashing a smile. "Make sure you do. It's a great opportunity. Call my office."
Then she's gone, boots thumping on the sidewalk as she walks away, leaving Sweeney standing there alone with his coffee and her card.