"Hold my towel?" She grins when he actually looks at her again. He's doing better than she thinks she would have, if she'd come from some older era and been suddenly exposed to half-naked men.
She throws a smile at him and then runs with her board into the surf. This is an art form to her, and like all good arts it's best seen and not explained. Besides, surfing always clears her head and she badly needs that right now.
She treats him to a range of her tricks: flipping, turning, skimming. When she falls into the water she's quickly back up again, and when she walks back up onto the beach she's soaked head to toe and peaceful.
He walks towards the edge of the sand where the soft slide of it isn't yet threatened by the water. Allowing himself to sit (not knowing how long she'll be), he watches her, fascinated by the whole thing.
It's such a pleasant moment, the warm sand, the crash of the waves. Familiar, yet difficult to place. He struggles to catch it. The reflected light of the sand forces color behind his closed eyelids, and he strains against it, wincing.
When she returns from the water, he stands and starts towards her. Once she's in range, he tosses the towel to her. With the briefest dusting of sand from his trousers, he reaches up to take the cigarette from behind his ear. Placing it between his lips, he makes short order of producing his lighter.
"Just showin' him the ropes then?" One brow arches, and he takes a slow drag before snapping the lighter shut. He's not thrilled at the prospect.
"He said he's never seen surfing," she towels off her hair and spares a wicked grin for him. "And when's the last time you saw me all out of breath and wet?"
"I wouldn't say no to more," she smirks, and wraps the towel around her waist. While he's here: "Can I trade for some whiskey? Maybe part of a bottle?"
"A book. I haven't even finished it yet, it'll drive me nuts not being able to, and I really like it." But she needs alcohol for Crozier so he doesn't get sick and die.
"Yeah. It's in my cabin, Godric's cabin. I can go change and bring it to you." She's watching him smoke, her palm all but itching for want of a cigarette of her own. Top that with the usual ways she wants him and she almost needs to walk out.
Sweeney has no desire to stay here, somewhere that strangers randomly show up unannounced. At least in the Greenhouse, he has a better chase of seeing them coming and has a bit of a home field advantage.
He taps his ash and tips his head before he starts to the door, ready to make a straight shot to the knoll. He didn't realize how much he's craving the touch of the grass and the smell of the earth until just now.
When she finds him again her hair is still damp--it often is around him, she's realizing--and she's in a more fall-appropriate skirt and top. She has the book tucked under her arm and she's finding it harder to give up than she'd thought it would be.
"This is it," she says, kneeling in the grass and offering it to him. It's an older text, all about dragons and centaurs.
In the grass beside him are a couple of flowers with long slender stems and small blossoms. They've been partially twisted around each other.
He takes the book when offered and starts to casually peruse it while tapping his ash, making sure to avoid the pages. Sweeney's not that much of a dick. And it would be good to have more books on hand, now that there's a market for lending.
Without looking up, he speaks casually. "How much do ya want fer it?" After all, there had been a few initial offers.
"A full bottle if you've got it," making herself look up from the book. Silly thing to be attached to, but it's the first book she's ever picked out just for herself, the first one she's spent time learning new words for so she can fully enjoy it. "I'm sharing with a guy now but this whole fucking month would be better if I could just be drunk till it's over."
He chuckles, pausing his page turning without looking back to her.
"Ya best be a light-weight 'bout it then. 'less he is." Going that long on a bottle is a tough task.
Sweeney's glad that she has a new man in her life. Hopefully he's not fucking gay and can actually fuck her whenever she likes. One less thing for him to stress about.
Unfortunately for her, Crozier is--was--her father figure. But she plans to set a little aside for Steve as well, who she hopes will be a lighter weight than she is on account of having never once been drunk. Not that she'd fuck him drunk, but a little liquid courage might help loosen things up a bit.
"Yeah I wish I had more things I actually cared about," she grimaces. "A bottle's not going to last long."
"Really?" He turn his glance her way with lifted brows.
"Nothin' else ya care 'bout?" The question is honest, not suggestive. Seems a bit strange given how...intense she is about everything. But Sweeney acknowledges it doesn't always translate.
She shrugs a shoulder. "I don't own anything back home but clothes. Doesn't seem any point in keeping a lot of stuff here."
There are a small handful of things: a rose Connor gave her, for example. And she has a flower from each of Gerard's bouquets drying between the pages of heavier books. But she can't imagine sacrificing those for alcohol.
"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.
Her smile is warm. "I can do that. A whole loaf, for you." With a little 'S' carved on it, too, she thinks.
"It's just...you know how we all get accused of being alcoholics? This guy actually is. I can go without booze if I have to but he'll literally die. And," a small, shaky breath. "I can't let him die. So. You're gonna get the best fucking sweetbread you've ever had."
"Thanks." She holds it to her chest and watches him a moment. "Have you had more blackouts? Besides," a wave, indicating the one where she took Gerard to see her surfing all of a half hour ago.
His hand is already back in his jacket, but he slows and stares down at her.
Are you fucking kidding me? Hell of a way to ask for a favor.
Sweeney knows damn well that being around her is a risk for inviting that fucking Frenchie, and he doubts talking about him is going to do any favors in that department.
"Fuck if I know." He pulls out a small tin. Inside is a package of tobacco and some papers. Sweeney starts to roll the first cigarette.
"Ya lookin' ta fuck me in the grass or somethin'?"
"Yes," she says, a little smirk at the corner of her mouth, but oh she does mean she would do it. "My last bruise went away two days ago. I came here to smoke and just ended up smelling the trees, the air...imagined the smell of your sweat with the cleanness of the grass grinding into my back..."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"Hold my towel?" She grins when he actually looks at her again. He's doing better than she thinks she would have, if she'd come from some older era and been suddenly exposed to half-naked men.
no subject
"Of course," he manages and takes the towel.
no subject
She treats him to a range of her tricks: flipping, turning, skimming. When she falls into the water she's quickly back up again, and when she walks back up onto the beach she's soaked head to toe and peaceful.
no subject
It's such a pleasant moment, the warm sand, the crash of the waves. Familiar, yet difficult to place. He struggles to catch it. The reflected light of the sand forces color behind his closed eyelids, and he strains against it, wincing.
When she returns from the water, he stands and starts towards her. Once she's in range, he tosses the towel to her. With the briefest dusting of sand from his trousers, he reaches up to take the cigarette from behind his ear. Placing it between his lips, he makes short order of producing his lighter.
"Just showin' him the ropes then?" One brow arches, and he takes a slow drag before snapping the lighter shut. He's not thrilled at the prospect.
no subject
no subject
"Ya forgot those bruises already? Or ya just lookin' fer some more?" Patience doesn't seem to be one of her virtues.
no subject
no subject
"Whad'ya have in mind?" It's more curious than suggestive.
no subject
no subject
Sweeney mulls on it, even though there's little need to. He takes a slow drag.
"May I see it first?"
no subject
no subject
Sweeney has no desire to stay here, somewhere that strangers randomly show up unannounced. At least in the Greenhouse, he has a better chase of seeing them coming and has a bit of a home field advantage.
He taps his ash and tips his head before he starts to the door, ready to make a straight shot to the knoll. He didn't realize how much he's craving the touch of the grass and the smell of the earth until just now.
no subject
"This is it," she says, kneeling in the grass and offering it to him. It's an older text, all about dragons and centaurs.
no subject
He takes the book when offered and starts to casually peruse it while tapping his ash, making sure to avoid the pages. Sweeney's not that much of a dick. And it would be good to have more books on hand, now that there's a market for lending.
Without looking up, he speaks casually. "How much do ya want fer it?" After all, there had been a few initial offers.
no subject
no subject
"Ya best be a light-weight 'bout it then. 'less he is." Going that long on a bottle is a tough task.
Sweeney's glad that she has a new man in her life. Hopefully he's not fucking gay and can actually fuck her whenever she likes. One less thing for him to stress about.
no subject
"Yeah I wish I had more things I actually cared about," she grimaces. "A bottle's not going to last long."
no subject
"Nothin' else ya care 'bout?" The question is honest, not suggestive. Seems a bit strange given how...intense she is about everything. But Sweeney acknowledges it doesn't always translate.
no subject
There are a small handful of things: a rose Connor gave her, for example. And she has a flower from each of Gerard's bouquets drying between the pages of heavier books. But she can't imagine sacrificing those for alcohol.
no subject
"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.
no subject
"It's just...you know how we all get accused of being alcoholics? This guy actually is. I can go without booze if I have to but he'll literally die. And," a small, shaky breath. "I can't let him die. So. You're gonna get the best fucking sweetbread you've ever had."
no subject
But he's working on not being a complete prick, and doing Annie some favors seems a reasonable place to start.
Sweeney reaches in his jacket and produces the bottle, offering the base to her.
no subject
no subject
Are you fucking kidding me? Hell of a way to ask for a favor.
Sweeney knows damn well that being around her is a risk for inviting that fucking Frenchie, and he doubts talking about him is going to do any favors in that department.
"Fuck if I know." He pulls out a small tin. Inside is a package of tobacco and some papers. Sweeney starts to roll the first cigarette.
"Ya lookin' ta fuck me in the grass or somethin'?"
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)