"There aren't. But there are some." She's fucked several of them. She grins, nudges his foot with hers. "You're the best lay I've had since I got here but c'mon that's not all you are."
"I can't wait for port. Just to stretch my legs and breathe air that isn't full of everyone else's scent. I'm going to try to hunt for everyone..." A faint grimace. "Or do something useful."
Sweeney understands that she's had a rough time with all of this, feels the guilt of not pulling her weight. Maybe it'll change how she approaches life going forward. He kinda doubts it, at least in the long-term. Which is fine, it's in her nature. Wolves aren't exactly known for squirreling things away.
"Four. I can't do much on two legs but I'm a beast on four." There's a touch of confidence as she says it that she simply doesn't have otherwise. "I'll at least make sure none of us starve."
'Us' meaning pack. She cares about the Barge, but pack are a tier of their own.
It's a trivial question; meat is meat when it comes down to it, but there's no reason not to inquire. He's going to have to find room to store it, if nothing else.
Sweeney shrugs, but continues to consider her question.
"Not sure it matters all that much." When one's starving out in the woods, anything that isn't ants is a fucking blessing.
"Stag is pretty much a delicacy," he concedes. "Though I'm sure elk would run 'long those lines." He sighs as his focus drifts up to the glass above them.
"Spent most'a the lives I remember lucky fer small game." Surely there was a time before, but it's so hard to find in his mind.
"Yeah." She exhales a long stream of smoke. "You and everyone else."
She wonders if that will be true in port. Probably; the first friendly port they find she thinks she'll just run into and not come back from, so it makes sense the Admiral will never put them down somewhere safe.
If she stays she's just going to keep circling those thoughts so she stands, salutes him with the whiskey. "I'm gonna go get my buddy drunk. Thanks."
He'd surely hunted them back when he was protecting his people, but not to the point of extinction. When that occurred, he'd been a Leprechaun for hundreds of years, so it just wasn't an issue.
But she doesn't seem to desire further discourse, so he lets the issue lie that she can leave as she pleases.
His tips his cigarette to her in answer, though the befuddlement lingers in his face a moment longer.
She gives him a smile, albeit with a touch of effort. "Tell me how you like the pot, huh? I haven't tried it yet. But it's supposed to be pretty fresh. Probably." She turns, striding away with a small backward wave over her shoulder.
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"Where else ya gonna get yer cigs an' whiskey?" He takes her meaning, if not the compliment. Not directly anyways.
He doesn't want to dwell too much on what else he is to her. That's how poetry ends up in the mix and he wakes up to dirt under his nails.
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"I can't wait for port. Just to stretch my legs and breathe air that isn't full of everyone else's scent. I'm going to try to hunt for everyone..." A faint grimace. "Or do something useful."
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"On four legs or two?" he inquires casually.
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'Us' meaning pack. She cares about the Barge, but pack are a tier of their own.
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It's a trivial question; meat is meat when it comes down to it, but there's no reason not to inquire. He's going to have to find room to store it, if nothing else.
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"Not sure it matters all that much." When one's starving out in the woods, anything that isn't ants is a fucking blessing.
"Stag is pretty much a delicacy," he concedes. "Though I'm sure elk would run 'long those lines." He sighs as his focus drifts up to the glass above them.
"Spent most'a the lives I remember lucky fer small game." Surely there was a time before, but it's so hard to find in his mind.
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"Wolves got ta be hard ta come by," Sweeney counters gently. "Hunted them all out 'round the time I can ta America."
There's a moment of reflection as he pulls a drag. He can't even remember what they really looked like.
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She wonders if that will be true in port. Probably; the first friendly port they find she thinks she'll just run into and not come back from, so it makes sense the Admiral will never put them down somewhere safe.
If she stays she's just going to keep circling those thoughts so she stands, salutes him with the whiskey. "I'm gonna go get my buddy drunk. Thanks."
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He'd surely hunted them back when he was protecting his people, but not to the point of extinction. When that occurred, he'd been a Leprechaun for hundreds of years, so it just wasn't an issue.
But she doesn't seem to desire further discourse, so he lets the issue lie that she can leave as she pleases.
His tips his cigarette to her in answer, though the befuddlement lingers in his face a moment longer.
"I hope it helps, as you wish."
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