Say When (A New Year's Brunch)

[eliotwaugh]

Eliot had been warned by various people that New Year's often brings some kind of supernatural mischief to Darrow, and this news had only made him more determined to stick to his plan. No power of god or man or eldritch entity place-spirit or army of fish people will prevent him from throwing a damn party. 

It made sense, really, and part of him wishes he'd done something like this before now. He needn't frame it as a sort of surrender to this imprisonment, but rather just indulging in something frivolous because, as far as his understanding of the metaphysics goes, none of this really counts. So why shouldn't he enjoy it? He's been here long enough to decorate the apartment some, and it really is a marvel the amount of things available through Nile. There's more comfortable furniture, potted plants, and a series of apothecary cabinets and display cases for magical components that give the whole place the air of some eccentric explorer's gallery of curiosities. 

He's even managed to get enough appliances that the little kitchen is decently functional, and has spent a few days stocking up and preparing for what he hopes will a successful brunch. He has enough eggs to feed an army. There will be copious crepes. There will be mimosas for days. 

Eliot's used to working through a wicked hangover this time of year, so he built that into consideration in his prep time. Thanks to the night's adventure, though, he spends his downtime sober and scrubbing mer-blood off of himself, and still feels a bit frazzled by the time the first guests arrive.

[It's time for brunch! Brunch is a state of mind, not an actual timeframe, so please feel free to have your pups show up whenever in the day, honestly. Tag in, tag around, chase the memory of merman horror away with a mimosa, air your grievances and dirty laundry in the neutral ground of Eliot's apartment. This is a safe space. For Drama.]

Comments

[loficharm]

Martin's expression hardens back into an unimpressed frown over Sweeney's display, which he might find distantly amusing had their first encounter gone any different.

"Don't—" He huffs impatiently, deciding to ignore the pet name despite his own mild discomfort; he's getting the impression this is just how the man is with everyone.

"What are you doing here," he asks, assuming he just showed up before he realizes Eliot likely wouldn't just let strangers in. "Do you... know Eliot?"

Christ, he doesn't entirely like the idea that he's being rude to one of Eliot's friends, but... well, he was rude first, as far as Martin's concerned. And he's also not totally sure he can trust Eliot's taste.

[onlythebranch]

"The fuck do you think I'm doin' here? Just wandered in off the street and decided a mimosa sounded like a good time?" he asks, then realizes that is something he would absolutely do and so he shrugs, as if acknowledging that Martin might be right in that assessment.

"Nah, me and Eliot are friends," he says. "Said he's got an affinity for tall, drunk and handsome."

He'd said no such thing, but Mad Sweeney can't help himself, and it isn't as if he and Eliot haven't casually flirted enough for there to be something close to the truth in the assumption. Mostly he just wants to see if Martin will squirm at the implication that they might actually share a friend.

[loficharm]

"Of course he does," says Martin dryly, and he takes a sip of his mimosa, scanning the room for a more familiar face. He doesn't think anything would surprise him about Eliot's taste in men—and it's not as though Sweeney is unpleasant to look at, if one sets aside the bit where he's a bit of a bastard.

To his mingled relief and trepidation, the first person he makes eye contact with is John, standing off on his own. Martin isn't exactly looking to reprise their original meeting with Sweeney, but John sees him looking and sees who he's with, so it's probably inevitable now. He also wouldn't entirely mind—he's not quite willing to just walk away from this interaction, but he'd feel better having a bit of backup, as it were.

[statement_ends]

John has been, predictably, at something of a loss since his arrival. He likes Eliot too much to sneak out at the first opportunity, but he isn't entirely sure what he's doing here, besides availing himself of free beverages and beating back the intruding conviction that Eliot's flat is an unintentional but inescapable insult to his own, which is far less... aesthetically deliberate? Nice? Homey? Something along those lines.

Catching Martin's eye provides him with about half a second of relief, before he realizes Martin's giving off 'help me' vibes and standing next to none other than the fucking leprechaun. Christ, did Eliot invite him? Does he know that they had a run-in when John was a bloody cat?

Regardless, he can't leave Martin to fend for himself. Allowing himself a quiet sigh, John makes his way over. "Martin," he greets, realizing only in the moment that he has no idea if Martin wants back-up or an outright extraction. Leaning towards the latter, he gives Sweeney a wary nod, then continues, "I think one of the items in that cabinet over there might actually be cursed."

[onlythebranch]

"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.

[loficharm]

Martin's not totally sure what John was hoping to accomplish with that—perhaps trying to steal him away to investigate whatever cursed items Eliot no doubt has, but he doesn't think that's likely to lose them Sweeney's interest, and he's right. Sweeney responds before he can, leaving Martin to frown up at him a bit primly. He's not thrilled to be caught up in conversation with him, but it's happening; he's glad John's with him now, but Eliot's flat is too small to make much of an escape in any direction.

So, conversation it is. "Is that really how it works," he says, a bit dubious. With John's capacity for communication so limited on their first meeting, all he really knows is that Sweeney is, despite his incredulity at the time, an honest-to-Christ leprechaun. As for the rest of it, well, he's learned not to expect living myths to match their stories.

[onlythebranch]

Sweeney grins and gives Martin a wink. "Sure is, lad. You stick around for long enough, you'll see it for yourself. I don't spill things, I don't trip, I'm more likely than most to find money lyin' on the ground. People spend a bit of time around me and it's the same, unless they piss me off. Leave me a gift, you'll find yourself with a bit of extra luck following you around for awhile. But I've warned others and I'll warn you, don't start somethin' if you can't follow through."

His grin grows and he says, "You'll not like the way luck can turn bad."

He could just give the two of them a bit of bad luck for the hell of it. It wouldn't amount to much, certainly wouldn't see them on a ship, condemned the transportation the way it had with Essie, but if John trips down the stairs on his way out, Sweeney doesn't think it'd be such a terrible thing. Be better still if Martin tripped right after him.

[statement_ends]

John manages not to roll his eyes when Sweeney winks at Martin, but it's a near miss. He does frown up at the leprechaun, though, not disapproving so much as pensive as he considers that brief explanation of how his luck works. It's... well, it's all bit small, isn't it? Granted, good or bad fortune tends to slip beyond the purview of mere luck rather quickly, as it grows increasingly dramatic. Maybe he shouldn't expect a leprechaun's luck to pertain to anything grander than finding an inordinate amount of spare change.

Which makes the veiled threat just sound a bit ridiculous. John doesn't mean to goad him as much as he's seeking clarification, but he does sound a bit dubious as he remarks, "Sounds a bit dramatic for someone whose good luck is comprised of not being overtly clumsy and finding an above-average number of quarters on the pavement."

[loficharm]

Martin wrinkles his nose in displeasure at that wink, leaning back a bit. He doesn't like the way that sounds, just shy of a threat, really—and he especially doesn't like the way Sweeney is grinning at him. If his idea of a leprechaun is so at odds with the man before him, there's no reason his idea of 'luck' would be either. This might be an ideal time to change the subject, but before he can think of anything, John's already launched into a counterpoint.

Martin doesn't quite turn to stare at John, though his eyes go wide and a bit unfocused as he takes in what sounds like a bloody challenge. Christ, really? Even if the good luck really is limited to those examples, it doesn't necessarily follow that the bad won't be worse. Even if it is as unimpressive as John believes, Martin sees no reason to poke that particular bear.

But for all that John is brilliant, he hasn't always been smart, self-preservation never particularly high on his priority list. Martin shuts his eyes and heaves a quiet, put-upon sigh.

[onlythebranch]

Sweeney gives a laugh, then finishes the rest of his mimosa. The examples he'd given are small, the day to day things most people don't notice until they begin to add up. For someone like Greta, the only person who still leaves him offerings in this city, it may have simply become something she's used to, something she doesn't even notice, but still things that make every day just a little bit easier all the same.

And then there are the bigger things, too. Greta would know about them just as well as the rest.

"You'd be surprised how quickly a bit of change on the sidewalk can turn into a lottery win," he answers with a shrug and another grin as he goes for a second -- fifth? -- drink. "Or how swiftly a trip on the edge of a stair turns into a broken neck. But nothin' you've got t'worry about, right? Can't imagine you care much for leaving offerings to leprechauns or gods."