Call Sweeney a sucker for punishment. Maybe even a little bit of a masochist (a big one). Whether it was his horrible rotten luck, a bloody brawl (Mistlefoe - heh) or going into Homebrew on his own freewill.. Like a moth to the flame, he was.
Truth was that Anna had done a lot for him without him asking or even without the promise of payment rendered. He hadn't known that sort of kindness for a millennium and maybe longer. Kindness usually involved people wanting something in return.
Helping himself to a seat at the bar, he lined up another cigarette, the one perched in his lips almost complete ash. Lighting the new with the coals of the old, he snuffed out the latter and took a drag from the new, the smoke circling his head lazily. He was a predictable man when it came to what he drank.. There was a lot of modern swill that didn't touch his fancy, lots of watered down and fruity nonsense, but you couldn't go wrong with one of two things: SoCo and coke or a simple nice tumbler of top shelf Jameson. In a pinch, however, a nice generic rotgut would get the job done properly.
Luckily, Homebrew had a decent run of Jameson, so he stuck to the tumbler of it whenever he stopped by.
"Shewolf," he said by way of greeting, giving her a nod. "Endowed with the holiday spirit yet?"