Mad Sweeney (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
onlythebranch) wrote2018-07-14 01:43 pm
onlythebranch) wrote2018-07-14 01:43 pm
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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.
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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As much as she loves Barry and Derek, happy for them as she is, sometimes they just remind her how alone she is. She hasn’t even had sex since she came to Darrow, or even for awhile before that. Maybe thar is what’s bothering her. Maybe that’s why she’s found herself in this dive bar in a red sundress, hair down but glasses on. She picks up a dart and tosses it at the dart board in frustration, huffing slightly when it hits dead center with enough force to nearly knock the board from the wall. And then, even though it’s useless, she goes over to the bar and leans against it, tossing her hair over one shoulder.
“I would like you to make me the strongest drink you have,” she says to the bartender, slapping down her bank card as her eyes narrow in challenge. “And then triple it. Please.”
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Mad Sweeney catches sight of the dart thrown at the board, the way it hits hard enough that the board shakes on the wall, and he turns a little on his seat to get a look at the woman who threw it. She's gorgeous in the way so many people here are, all blonde hair and a short red dress he's sure has got half the men in this place trying to imagine what's underneath, but that's not what gets him. It's how fucking strong she so clearly is.
He's always liked a woman who can kick the shit out of him.
There must be a reason behind it. Especially if she's asking the bartender to give her a triple. Something about her that means she's more than average.
"You sure 'bout that?" he asks anyway, looking over at her. "This ain't the place you wanna end up face down on the bathroom floor."
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When Kara hears the question, she has to resist the urge to roll her eyes as she turns to face the man. Her ire at having her choices questioned dims a little at the sight of him, handsome and exceedingly tall. She slides onto a stool and even with him sitting down, she has to tip her head up a little to really look at him.
"I'll be just fine," Kara tells him, letting her gaze linger for a moment. The bartender sets a glass of brown liquid down in front of her and holds his hands up as he backs away as if it absolve himself of any consequences. And then, maybe to prove a point, she picks it up and downs the entire thing in two gulps. It burns going down her throat and she winces a little as she sets the glass down and licks her lips.
"Another one," she says to the bartender, who looks a little alarmed. Kara smiles sweetly at him. "Trust me. I can handle whatever you throw at me."
She looks over at the tall man and quirks a brow at him. "And that goes double for you."
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"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?"
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"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."
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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."
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“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.”
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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."
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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.”
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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.