"I... don't think you are sleeping, Miss." Mad Sweeney approached the obviously distressed woman with a bit of caution. Never could be quite sure what would happen when these distressed types were suddenly scared even more by his presence. Sometimes they went all crazy and started whacking you with their bag; and while Sweeney was not the type to take to beating on women - he would defend himself by securing her from doing any more damage.
Just wasn't manly to let some woman wail on you like a crazed beast.
He had been on his way to look for an apartment - or anything really that wasn't under a damn bridge. There was something so... well, troll-like about living under one. Besides, he had lived in trees, then in whatever shithole he could call home for a night for so long, that since he was likely to stick here for a while, he might as well make use of his forced permanence.
Because he had been on such a task, he was actually relatively clean. Relatively. Not up to the level as having had a really good, hot shower with a decent bar of soap and a rag; but clean where he didn't look as if he'd been rolling around in filth for a week. Small wonder, that. Jeans, offensive t-shirt, jean jacket with patches and his new favorite hat all were becoming standard again. Which was alright, he'd look a might strange to himself if he was in say - a suit.
Sweeney looked down at her, cigarette dangling from his lip and tried to smile without losing it. "Always think your dreaming, but really, it's not a dream at all."