Shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Bah. That was the sort of advice he'd give someone while sitting on a bar stool nursing a good Jack and Coke. Mostly Jack Daniels. Little Coke. Very little coke. He could use a Jack and coke right now, actually. Again, mostly Jack Daniels.
Sweeney sighed and looked from the magic woman with the crazy house to the little leprechauns and back and forth a few times. They were still all looking at him expectantly. What did they expect? For him to do a dance or something? He sure as fuck wasn't doing anything dressed as he was, with those stupid green trousers or the shirt he had on. No fucken way.
Barefoot and pissed off, Sweeney stalked away. The woman was free to follow him if she chose, but he needed to be far away from the little leprechauns before he seriously hurt one of them and risked feeling some ill-placed sympathy for them.
They weren't kin, they were a figment of the City's rampant imagination.