onlythebranch | (no subject)

Someone's been leaving him offerings.

At first he'd thought it to be the boy, Gabriel, the one he'd met during his first week and when he'd felt the call of it, when he'd walked the path that pulled him on and on, he'd been surprised to find the flat of an unfamiliar woman at the other end. But the bread had been for him sure enough and he'd taken it, turning it over in his hands with a bit of wonder before leaving once again, trying to work out who the woman is and why she's leaving him anything at all. It's been a great many years since anyone has left him an offering and though she's not asked for anything in particular, though he's without his own luck at the moment and thus can only give little bits here and there, he does what he can to return the offering back to her.

One evening at the market, several women ahead of her come up empty handed when looking for a few perfect apples, but she has no trouble at all finding what she wants in the bin. A few days later there's a bicycle and it's not nearly enough to have hurt her badly, but had she stepped out of the apartment building only a moment earlier, she'd have surely been hit. Though she's pretty enough and she's sure to have plenty of attention, there are a few more kind and genuine compliments from men and women alike that week.

It isn't much, it isn't like the turns of good luck he was able to give Essie, but if he can only get his coin back, he knows he'll be able to do more.

For now, he takes the offering with only a small amount of guilt and he mostly ignores the part of him asking why.

His luck, though, no matter what he manages to give to her, is utter shit. In any other situation, he'd be able to avoid her, to continue to just allow himself to take what she gives and to give something in return. He'd not be discovered, he'd never be seen, but he's heading in the direction of her flat one afternoon, smoking as he walks, and suddenly there she is, right in his path, walking a great, fluffy dog that looks as if it belongs in a sheep pen instead of on the end of a leash.

And the damn thing makes a beeline straight for him.

"Fuck," he breathes, taking another drag from his cigarette. Of course.

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Greta winces. Maybe she shouldn't have suggested that the city might return his coin to him. Not because it isn't technically possible, but because it's too big a hope to just be throwing around. Darrow might bring her family, too, but she can't let herself dwell on the idea, let alone bank on it. Hard as it's been to cope with their loss, waiting would have been worse. Waiting was worse.

She considers taking a healthy step back, as well. That might be the wisest move. But she's still reeling a little from the accident, and indignant on his behalf. Nor has she ever been in the habit of abandoning people just because they're saddled with something unpleasant that might land on her by association (though she'll admit that car accidents are more horrifying than being barren).

"It's all a bit much," she says, frowning up at him. "What, is it making up for lost time?" Will it all even out, someday? That's what she would ask, if she couldn't already guess at the answer.

It's no less than what he deserves, given what he's done in his life, the things he's run from, but he'd barely been able to get into that with Laura and while he thinks Greta would likely be a bit more than that cunt, it's still not something he wants to discuss. In fact, he'd like to forget everything he's done to get here completely, but that's not possible.

Everything has a price, after all. Right now he's paying what he owes.

"If I knew how it worked, love, I'd tell you straight off," he says, wincing a little. "But alls I know is what I feel t'be true and this is my truth. My luck is shit and the chances of my dying before I get back that bloody coin are pretty high, I'd say."

"Wh-- dying?" she repeats. Maybe she shouldn't sound so skeptical all of three seconds after seeing him get hit by a bloody car, but he's still a leprechaun. All the stories she heard of the fair folk taught her that you might anger them, or best them, or find a way to live with them. But death is reserved for mortal creatures. "I... I didn't think you could."

Which must sound foolish, and unhelpful, and she winces again and flaps her hands at the car. "At least not in such a... a straightforward, human sort of way." Maybe there were rituals involving full moons and iron or somesuch; she wouldn't know, but she might be willing to buy it. 'Leprechaun Dies After Falling Into Traffic' seems too absurd to be possible.

"Everything dies eventually," he says, which is true, although he knows what she's getting at and what he's saying isn't exactly fair. If he had his coin, it wouldn't be possible, not in the same way it is now. With his coin, he'd have to do something bloody stupid, like sacrifice himself on Wednesday's battlefield or Christ only knows what else.

Like this, though, he's vulnerable. No coin means the rules change and he's still working out how. With his fucking luck, he'll probably just end up drinking himself to death.

"It shouldn't happen this way," he says. "But who the fuck knows how things work now. Everything's fuckin' changed and maybe it's just this city. Maybe this place just kills magical things."

She wants to argue against that. It's a knee-jerk response, because as miserable as his luck might be, there's more than a touch of melodrama in the idea that Darrow kills magical things. Magic isn't as overt, here; that much is true. People might take it in stride, but they don't take it for granted. If every hint of magic in the city disappeared tomorrow, a good chunk of the populace would probably breathe a quiet sigh of relief and continue on as if nothing had changed.

But there is magic. She arrived in a magical Wood; the first person she met was a werewolf; her employers are both magicians. She's friends with a unicorn, a fact that still astonishes her (though the way Darrow's forced Amalthea into a human shape speaks more to Sweeney's conclusion than Greta wants to admit).

"You're hardly the only magical thing here," she points out, anyway. "There's an entire magical Wood out there, and it seems to be doing all right for itself." Not that she spends much time in Cabeswater these days, but she thinks she would have heard if anything bad had happened to it.

But whatever Cabeswater might do for Amalthea, she's not sure it can give Sweeney what he's missing. Greta sighs, wrapping her arms around herself. "Is there anything I can do to help?" she asks him.

He hadn't thought he was, but it feels different here. There are no gods, he's sure of that, but the magic here doesn't feel like any he's ever known before. It feels muted somehow, from everything except the city itself, and he wonders what that means or if it means anything at all. Maybe he's just crazy. It sure as hell wouldn't be the first time, after all, and it'd feel like a nice return to the norm.

"And how many of 'em are at full power?" he asks, not knowing if she'll have an answer for that. It doesn't really matter if she does, because he can feel it. Things don't exist here in Darrow like they did wherever they've come from. He's proof enough of that.

At her question, he shakes his head, testing his hip again before he decides it's probably fine. Well enough, anyway, that he'll be able to get by and get himself drunk enough to forget the pain. "No, love, there's nothing," he says, then smiles faintly. "Unless you know of a place to find a lucky charm."