"Oh, fuck me," Sweeney cursed and took the green jacket off right away. He balled it up and tossed it aside with a distinct anger about it. It landed on top of a few of the smaller leprechauns, who clung to it with a strange fondness. He didn't know what was going on, but had a sinking feeling that if the Djinn wasn't involved that this may be a larger issue of the City making a direct interference with his life.
It hadn't done that before, outside of just bringing him there.
Sweeney kicked the buckled shoes off his feet as best he could, clocking a couple of the smaller leprechauns with the shoes as they flew off. He'd rather be barefoot in a pile of nails than wear those shoes.
Then he finally looked up at the woman who was speaking to him. He was frowning. "I swear to fucken Bran," he started to threaten, realizing that maybe it wasn't a good idea to threaten her. He didn't know much about her. Other than that house. Sweeney remembered that house. With the chicken feet. That ran through the park. There was no way he could forget that.
He tossed his hands up in the air. Could this get any worse?