"Wouldn't fuckin' surprise me," Sweeney answers, as if the comment had been for him. He knows damn well it hadn't been, but fuck it if he's not going to answer anyway. Martin might be dreadfully uncomfortable, but they were having a fucking conversation.

"Don't really need to worry about it right now," he adds, then gestures at himself with his champagne flute, the mimosa sloshing close to the edge and miraculously staying inside the glass. "Good luck and all that."

John looks... about the same, if he's honest, even when he's not a cat. Kind of haughty in a quiet way. It makes something inside of Sweeney itch in almost the same way Shadow Moon had, although he's pretty goddamn sure he'd beat John flat in a fight, so that's not what he's looking for here.