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Apr. 23rd, 2019 09:00 pmMad Sweeney has been quiet lately.
Quiet for a man like him is different than it is for most people, something that amounts to fewer fights and more nights spent at home -- or Spike's flat, as it were -- and more drinking. He's still a loud mouthed pain in the ass to anyone who cares to speak with him, that'll never fucking change, but he's not been found out and about as often in the past few weeks as he usually is.
There are memories troubling him lately. Not memories. Places where there should be memories. It's this that keeps him quiet and indoors.
But something tells him to go out tonight. Never one to ignore the signs, or rather, never one to ignore the signs he prefers, he listens to whatever sense is telling him to go and he goes. His denim jacket is yanked on over his shirts and he presses a cigarette between his lips as he steps through the front door of the apartment. When it's lit, he sets out, not entirely sure where his feet will take him, but assuming he'll know it when he gets there.
With his cigarette glowing in the deepening dusk, he sees Lisbeth's small, familiar frame, and realizes he's changed direction without consciously doing so. He heads for her, finishing his cigarette, then tilts his head and gives her a small, twisted grin.
"Lookin' for some company, darlin'?" he asks, hoping the answer is yes. This is where he was meant to go tonight. He's not sure how he knows it, only that he does. The same way he knows other things. Something else he pulls from the hoard.
Quiet for a man like him is different than it is for most people, something that amounts to fewer fights and more nights spent at home -- or Spike's flat, as it were -- and more drinking. He's still a loud mouthed pain in the ass to anyone who cares to speak with him, that'll never fucking change, but he's not been found out and about as often in the past few weeks as he usually is.
There are memories troubling him lately. Not memories. Places where there should be memories. It's this that keeps him quiet and indoors.
But something tells him to go out tonight. Never one to ignore the signs, or rather, never one to ignore the signs he prefers, he listens to whatever sense is telling him to go and he goes. His denim jacket is yanked on over his shirts and he presses a cigarette between his lips as he steps through the front door of the apartment. When it's lit, he sets out, not entirely sure where his feet will take him, but assuming he'll know it when he gets there.
With his cigarette glowing in the deepening dusk, he sees Lisbeth's small, familiar frame, and realizes he's changed direction without consciously doing so. He heads for her, finishing his cigarette, then tilts his head and gives her a small, twisted grin.
"Lookin' for some company, darlin'?" he asks, hoping the answer is yes. This is where he was meant to go tonight. He's not sure how he knows it, only that he does. The same way he knows other things. Something else he pulls from the hoard.
