Who: Mad Sweeney and OPEN (Multiples welcome) What: Drinking after his arrival When: Saturday evening (backdated because I suck) Where: Homebrew Rating: Usual language. Spoilers from season 2. Will update as needed
This was the greatest fucking town in the whole history of the word, definitely on a scale of one to Dante, Madison Valley was an entirely special circle of hell. What had been eluding him for years, death had clarified and Sweeney remembered... He remembered how he had died at poisoned funeral home and who had held the spear and not gotten out of the fucking way as promised, and who had sat smugly at the dinner table and said nothing. Now, he was in Indiana of all places, and a place as jacked up as this meant one very important thing: his luck hadn't come back upon his death. Granted, it couldn't get much worse than this huge bag of lit dog shit on the doorstep of eternity, and on the plus bit of it, he hadn't felt this good mentally in days, things seemed clearer, no wailing banshees, and the voices weren't making a terrible fuss anymore. So seemed the shitty bag had a silver lining.
Naturally, his first instinct of the evening had been to use his new plastic card and head to the nearest establishment. Sobering up at this juncture in time wasn't the best idea, and it was hair of the dog that was ultimately going to be his savior in this new endeavor of his. Plunking down on an empty barstool, he glanced at the new phone as it buzzed and chirped at him, displaying messages from something called "the network". A derisive snort later, swiping through some and writing out haphazard leers at others, one particular notification set his blood to ice. Why was he here? Didn't have enough sense to stay away, to not get in the way even now? But there they were, those two words on Sweeney's phone screen burning into his brain: 'Well, shit'. From the lack of 'Sorry I was a jackhole and didn't get out of the way and ended up killing you' from one and the usual unimpressed words of his former employer, Sweeney threw together the ideal that obviously what had transpired between the three of them in the greenhouse hadn't happened at this time for the other two. Just as well, he didn't care to deal with that nonsense while simultaneously spending an eternity in Indiana.
Noting the bartender giving him an odd look, Sweeney scowled and shoved his phone into a jacket pocket before slapping the little plastic card down onto the bar top, voice a bark. "Jameson Topcutter, leave the bottle."