"Hmm." Sweeney mulls on the dilemma, his gaze focusing on the ceiling. He thinks for almost half a minute. Then his attention turns down to her.

"A'right, I'll make ya a Deal. The book," he starts, his fingertip tracing feather-light over the page it's open to. "For a bottle and five cigarettes."

Sweeney's attention shifts down the nearest path before returning to her. "After port, ya bring me a loaf of sweetbread ya make yerself fer 'nother bottle." His voice is firm in his clarification.

"A whole proper loaf. None of this mini ones or muffins or shit like that." His brows lift, putting the ball in her court. He almost never looks to set terms himself unless the deal is mutual.

Let it never be said he's not merciful.