onlythebranch | (no subject)

Bit by bit, his luck drips away.

These days, Mad Sweeney is spending most of his time either in a bar or in his apartment, doing his best to avoid any of the people he's actually come to care about. In his current state, he's bound to just hurt them somehow, inadvertently, but possibly with brutal fucking consequences and so he ignores his phone whenever it rings and drinks until he passes right the fuck out.

If he can spend a day or two lying on his living room floor in black out, utterly dreamless unconsciousness, then he'll consider it a bloody win.

When he goes to a bar, he changes the location every time so he doesn't end up bringing too much of his bad luck down on one place in particular. It means most people can't track his movements either, there's no routine, and so no one comes looking for him. Even if they do, no one finds him.

He's a few drinks in by this point, looking over at the dart board and considering giving it a go. Mostly to see just how many of the darts end up embedded in the back of someone's head due to his shitty luck. Draining the last of his Southern Comfort and coke, he sets the empty glass down on the bar top and raps his knuckles against the wood, indicating he'd like another.

Maybe he's an asshole, but he tips well, and it's not long before the bartender has refilled his drink.

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"Do it now, lass?" he asks with a rough laugh, looking back at her with a tired sort of grin. He hadn't planned on throwing anything at her, he'd just thought it best to warn her the floor of this place wasn't quite what one would call clean and therefore an especially shitty place to pass out, but he can't pretend like he doesn't enjoy her response.

"You heard her," he says to the bartender. "Another for the both of us and if you're quick about it, you know what's in it for you." Those gold coins entice just about anyone working in a job where they rely on tips.

"Now then." He turns to look at the woman more completely, sitting sideways on his stool. She's beautiful, but she looks normal. Of course, so do the gods most of the time. "What's got your panties in a twist?"

"It does," she replies, but there's an edge of a smile on her face to show that she isn't really as snappish as she initially came off. She even laughs a little at his words to the bartender, and then wrinkles her nose slightly at the inquiry about her panties.

"Absolutely nothing," she tells him in a tone implying that might be exactly the problem. There has been no excitement in or around her panties in quite some time now. The man has turned fully to look at her, so she does the same, flipping her wavy hair over one shoulder and crossing her legs. "What brings you to a rundown joint like this?"

The bartender sets down their drinks with a little force and shoots her a look, at which she smiles impishly. "No offense."

"C'mon now, lad, don't be a prick to the lady," Mad Sweeney says and he's suddenly passing a gold coin between his fingers. The implication in the appearance of the coin is clear. If the bartender is an asshole, he won't get the tips, and it's not as if she's wrong, after all.

Rundown joint is a hell of a lot more polite than what Sweeney would call this place anyway. It's a fucking dump and the bartender knows it.

He flicks the coin toward the tip jar and it hangs in the air for just one impossible second too long before it lands in the jar, clinking against the other coins. Before it lands, he's already turned back to the woman, big shoulders lifting in a shrug.

"They serve alcohol," he answers. "I'm a simple man, love."

“Yeah, did you hear him? I’m a lady,” Kara says with an amused smile, though the gold coin suddenly appearing in his hand catches her attention. It hadn’t been there before, she’s sure, and her eyes follow the coin as it arches perfectly into the tip jar. A little too perfectly, perhaps. So maybe he’s something other than an oversized human.

“That’s a neat trick.” She finishes her drink and asks for another, before waving her hand in the air. “No, you know what? Just bring me a bottle of whiskey. I’m determined.”

The bartender brings it over and opens it for her, and Kara bites her lip to hide an amused smile as she fills her glass, eyes bright as she looks over at him. “Play your magic coins right and I might serve you alcohol too, love.”

Said magic coins don't seem to surprise her all that much and Sweeney arches an eyebrow and asks, "You're lookin' for a tip?"

She's flirting with him. He's not sure if she knows she's doing it and he knows he ought to put a stop to it right off the bat, if only to keep her safe, but he can't bring himself to do it. She's beautiful and sweet looking, but he doesn't think that's all there is to her, and he's not had a woman like her look at him in a long damn time. Sweet doesn't usually describe the sorts of people who are attracted to him.

"I'd give you a coin or two for free," he says. "Wouldn't even have to pour me a drink."

“Are you looking to give me a tip?” Kara replies, and she isn’t even sure what she means by it. She isn’t the greatest at flirting, never has been, but she thinks that’s what they’re doing. And he’s handsome and tall and he looks like he wouldn’t break and— whoa, if she’s having thoughts like that, it’s been far too long.

She just always has to be so careful with humans.

“But I want to pour you a drink,” she insists, pouring a generous helping of whiskey into his glass before filling her own. Leaning over, she takes one of the gold coins from him and hides it between her fingers before moving in closer and putting her hand on the side of his face, biting her lip and then putting on a playfully shocked expression when she pretends to pull one from behind his ear.

“Would you look at that,” she teases, winking at him before looking down to inspect the golden coin. She doesn’t recognize it, and she gives him a curious look. “These seem special.”

"Impressive," Mad Sweeney says in amusement when she pretends to take the coin out from behind his ear. Usually, when he's messing with people, he's the one taking the coins out from behind his own ear, doing it to others only when he wants to annoy them, like he had with Shadow. He's not sure whether or not he wants to annoy her yet, but the answer is probably no, not when she's pouring him a glass of whiskey, so he doesn't act like a complete prick.

Instead he reaches for the glass with a smile, downs it in a single go, then sets the empty glass down in front of him on the bar. He makes a show of rolling up both sleeves of his denim jacket, making it clear there's nothing up either one, then he holds one hand over the glass and rubs his thumb against his forefinger, producing a rain of coins that rain into the glass.

"Pretty special," he agrees as the coins clink into the glass.