|Mad Sweeney (i_haveahoard) wrote in we_coexist,|
@ 2009-12-08 08:25:00
|Entry tags:||jeannie, mad sweeney|
What the Hell [tag: Jeannie]
Sweeney woke up initially with a pounding headache. He wasn't quite sure what had happened at all. There was something oddly familiar about the stench of his locale. Given that in his time in the City he'd taken care to clean himself up a bit, this was not comforting. It helped that everything he wanted was at his fingertips. Thankfully the City provided where necessity was.
He'd gone and gotten himself a flat. The only trouble being that from day to day it became difficult to find it. That was given the City's propensity for moving things around at whim. Normally he found it after a few hours. That was unless he was so blue-blind paralytic drunk that he couldn't make his way around decently.
Where Sweeney found himself, though, was not in his flat. Whatever he was laying on was hard, rocky, and wholly uncomfortable. It smelled of water and fish and fishy water.
He hadn't a clue how he ended up back at the docks. There was, of course, the pang of familiarity for the place where he'd initially found himself in the City. Thankfully alive and mostly well. Scared, certainly, but physically well.
There was no fear now, just an odd sense of displacement. How did he get there? When did he get there? Had he been there long? Sweeney pried his eyes open and looked down. When did he change his clothes? Just how drunk had he been? The t-shirt on his back was not one he remembered owning at that. How... disconcerting.
Something was off.
He struggled to his feet, muscles sore from having slept for Bran only knew how long on the ground at the base of the dock. Stretching, he looked around and took stock of the situation. His head hurt, so he was obviously hung over. At his feet was a half-empty bottle of Jameson. The sun was low in the sky, it was late afternoon or early evening.
Sweeney started by brushing himself off and reaching for the bottle of Jameson. He looked at it, shrugged and said, "Hair of the dog that bit you." Then he brought the bottle to his lips and drained half of what remained in one fell swoop.