(Untitled)

[mad_leprechaun]

Sweeney's been drinking. It come as quite a shock to those who know him, but between the baby and the rehabilitating junkie, it's been a long time since he's has let himself go. Sure, he still pulls the flask out every now and then, but he hasn't been the perpetually slurring, gregarious, mad leprechaun that the world is used to

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[angie_chaser]

Shadow saw, or smelled, him first, barking at his mistress who's coming around the corner, fresh from flying around the property. Looking at Sweeney, the growing Newfoundland barks several times.

[mad_leprechaun]

Sweeney barked back at him, shaking a loose fist.

"Ah, fuck off ya furry... furball," he growled at the dog.

[angie_chaser]

"Oy! Shadow, sit!" orders Angelina, who moves quickly and stands between the obedient *gasp* pup and the drunkard.

Shadow growls at the stinky man, earning a sharp reprimand.

"Sorry," says the young witch, broom in hand.

[mad_leprechaun]

He growls at the dog one last time before turning to Angelina.

"That yer beastie?"

[notallworthy]

Tom wandered by accidentally (as he is wont to do) and stopped to stare at the very large, very drunk Irishman.

"I don't think I've heard that one."

[mad_leprechaun]

Sweeney peered down at him.

"That's because I made it up," he said proudly, though it wasn't true.

[notallworthy]

"Oh." Tom gave a sort of bemused blink. "Are you Irish, sir?" Tom is making a wild guess here. The only other Irish person he has met is Livia who sounds and looks a whole lot different than Sweeney.

[mad_leprechaun]

Sweeney's Irish accent only comes out when he's truly trashed (such as right now) though it's still a mish-mash of Irish, South-Bostonian, American Midwest and the odd shot of American Southern. He's a liguistic mess.

"'Course I'm fucken Irish. Not like leprechauns come from fucken Moscow, now is it?"

[mancalledspade]

Spade, clearly on his way someplace else, happens to pass. Almost smirking, he notes, "Starting without me, I see."

[mad_leprechaun]

"Heeeeey," he grinned hugely. "If it ain't our own walking, talking murder mystery. How ya been, man?"

[mancalledspade]

"Except the homicide, the missing persons, and getting turned into various things, can't complain." He comes over. "What's your poison?"

[mad_leprechaun]

"Jameson. Best Irish whiskey you can get, this side of the pond." He thrusts the bottle towards him. "Go on, then. You got a lot of catching up to do, man."

[cat_inthe_sun]

Jackrabbit was holding the baby. Fortunate or un, the baby recognized his daddy's voice first.

"Me Da!" he squealed.

Jackrabbit stood behind him, nudged him with a toe. "What are you singing?"

[mad_leprechaun]

Sweeney tilted his head back and grinned hugely.

"It's my boys! Don't worry Jack, the song ain't true, not a word of it."

Not these days, anyway."

[cat_inthe_sun]

"You're inebriated," Jackrabbit said, though he sounded amused. He sat next to Sweeney. Mo Chroi reached for the bottle with a wide grin.

"No, no, no silly. Not for babies."

[mad_leprechaun]

"Yeah, gotta get a bit older for that."

He held the bottle away, but planted a loud smacking kiss on the baby's head instead.

[parkinsonpink]

Raunchy lyrics, loud and drunken singing -- of course it would be the leprechaun.

*makes a wide berth as she leaves the Mansion with some of the yoga books*

[mad_leprechaun]

Not quite wide enough.

Sweeney broke off singing to wolf-whistle after her.

[parkinsonpink]

Pansy squares her shoulders, all cool and collective. Her high fashion pumps tap down the steps. It's only because of Jackrabbit and Mo Chroi that she doesn't hit with 'the hex'.

[mad_leprechaun]

"C'mon, ain't ya even gonna say 'hey' to your old pal, Sweeney?"