InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "sup foo!"

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.

The docks.

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.

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i_blink
2009-12-10 09:59 pm UTC (link)

“Oh this is really not at all fair, you know,” Jeannie said. While there was no one near her, she still spoke as though holding a conversation. In a way, she was, as she was chiding The City for her current predicament.

“I must get home. Sir Guy will be home soon and he will want his supper! You are just being difficult because he is my new master.” That might not be the best thing to bring up, actually, now that she thought about it. Because she had sort of bent the rules in order to make that happen, all but putting her bottle in Sir Guy’s hands. But it was not as though she had been doing anything for The City that it could not do for itself. Sir Guy needed her. And Jeannie needed to be needed.

Coming to yet another intersection that she did not recognize, Jeannie stomped her foot and fumed. It was petulance, pure and simple, and she was not at all pleased. She did not know where she was, but the last time she had been in a neighborhood like this, Dr. Simontam had been there to rescue her. Jeannie did not like this at all.

Hurrying down a street that seemed too dark even during the waning daylight hours, Jeannie was relieved to see open sky as she emerged from between two very large and imposing warehouses. Until she realized that she now knew where she was. She had not seen this exact spot since her arrival in The City, but this was where she had washed up in her bottle. She was at the docks. Was this The City’s way of reminding her that it had set her free? Was it trying to re-stake a claim?

“Well too bad,” she said aloud. “I am going home now.”

If only she could figure out which way home was. Going back through the warehouses was very unappealing, so instead, Jeannie began making her way along the docks themselves. Surely it had to lead to a less intimidating area eventually. Did it not?

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i_haveahoard
2009-12-15 02:52 am UTC (link)

Sweeney had sat back down for a time, trying to make heads or tails of his situation. He could have gotten up, wandered around a bit and tried to discern the way home. Because the way home always changed, no matter what he thought. Instead of getting up, though, he sat and polished off what remained of his Jameson, though it seemed to take considerably longer than it should have to finish a quarter bottle of whiskey.

When he finally did stand, the world around him seemed to remain in it's sitting position because he didn't seem to be moving upward. Instead of the ground moving farther away, it stayed right where it was. Weird.

Holding a hand out before his face to judge his wits, Sweeney was pleased to see that it still had four fingers and a thumb. All was well. He was simply a bit soused was all. Which was also odd. Maybe not, though. Half a bottle of whiskey would put most men on their ass.

Then he saw her, the familiar figure walking through the admittedly dodgy area of town. Unaccompanied. That was foolish for a gal of her size. Petite. He recognized her. He should do the gentlemanly thing and walk her home.

He forgot that he hated her. Forgot that she had once turned him into a dog. A small, pocket-sized kick-me dog. Forgot all the misery she had caused him. Hell, he momentarily forgot that their kind might as well of been mortal enemies.

Sweeney was going to walk her home, because it was the gentlemanly thing to do. And Sweeney considered himself a gentleman. "You shouldn't be walking out here alone, Jeannie," he said, not addressing her as 'Djinn' as he usually did. "It's dangerous." Then he moved closer to her, weaving a bit as he walked.