"Sometimes I stay with an extremely generous friend," Mad Sweeney points out, almost protesting, but there's a laugh buried somewhere under his words (there is almost always a laugh in the leprechaun's voice, even when he's wielding an overaffected scowl and a grumble). "Some people just leave out bread and saucers of milk for my kind. Others offer up a place to settle my bones for a bit. Someone's sofa to sleep on. A pantry to pillage. And then, by extension, a garden to tend and then fuck up."
Most people regret inviting Sweeney into their homes soon enough. He is not the ideal houseguest.
And then, with that thought occurring to him, he squints off into the distance. They've been passing little farmhouses, cottages, this drab but cozy little Irish village. "Wait. Does that mean you live around people? Like, permanently?"
no worries, I kinda fell off the face of the earth myself
The question or his tone - or perhaps both - make her wonder if her choice to stay in one place for a prolonged period is a particularly strange one. It isn't to her of course, but her proclivity towards solitude means that it's never really been called into question before.
"Not around them, necessarily - I'm not exactly close neighbours with anyone, but yes, I do; it makes certain things easier, but I also enjoy it. Having a place where I'm settled."
For now, anyway. Logically speaking, she knows she can't stay in one place forever, but until she has to leave, she does like having a place to call her own.
"D'you find it easy enough to blend in, or do they ever seem to get suspicious at all? About that strange woman who lives on the edge of town and keeps to herself?" The words on their own might sound like he's mocking her, but this morning alone has probably taught her that the leprechaun is perennially tongue-in-cheek, incapable of taking things seriously.
And he is genuinely curious about this question. Mad Sweeney manages to blend in well enough himself; he looks like a messy drunkard whenever he's out and about with the mortals, shooting the shit. Nothing about him stands out much, besides his stature.
The sun is rising over the crest of the hills, burning away some of the last of that chilly fog, and they're coming up on some farmhouses. He's on his way back to the inn, he's not going to follow her home, but he does wind up asking:
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leprechauns) wrote2018-12-19 11:20 am
oop sorry i vanished this month
Most people regret inviting Sweeney into their homes soon enough. He is not the ideal houseguest.
And then, with that thought occurring to him, he squints off into the distance. They've been passing little farmhouses, cottages, this drab but cozy little Irish village. "Wait. Does that mean you live around people? Like, permanently?"
no worries, I kinda fell off the face of the earth myself
"Not around them, necessarily - I'm not exactly close neighbours with anyone, but yes, I do; it makes certain things easier, but I also enjoy it. Having a place where I'm settled."
For now, anyway. Logically speaking, she knows she can't stay in one place forever, but until she has to leave, she does like having a place to call her own.
no subject
And he is genuinely curious about this question. Mad Sweeney manages to blend in well enough himself; he looks like a messy drunkard whenever he's out and about with the mortals, shooting the shit. Nothing about him stands out much, besides his stature.
The sun is rising over the crest of the hills, burning away some of the last of that chilly fog, and they're coming up on some farmhouses. He's on his way back to the inn, he's not going to follow her home, but he does wind up asking:
"One of these yours?"