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Complete sweet child o' mine

Discussion in 'Pandopolis City' started by Toby Daye, Mar 7, 2019.

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  1. Toby Daye

    Toby Daye October Daye

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    April 12th, Year 108 || @Mad Sweeney
    Toby was currently hating her life. Why? Well... she had five thousand things to juggle, a bunch of sensitive cases, and someone had cursed her to say whatever the hell was on her mind at any given time. No filter. No second guessing. Instead everything popped out of her mouth in a long winded ramble and the truth was always woven in. The brunette had yet to figure out to overcome that little bit. Many people thought she didn't have a filter to begin with but that wasn't true. Toby just didn't filter her cursing or what was on her mind to a certain point. She was blunt and rude when she wanted to be. Not all the time. Now it was damn well all the time. And all her personal secrets were leaking out in droves.

    She. Hated. It.

    Still just because she was cursed didn't mean that Toby could take time off work. If anything there seemed to be a ramp up about a million degrees because everything was going crazy. She was getting rumors of more cults (ha) as well as murders and... well, there were only so many things that Toby could handle before she hit a level of fuck it anyway but she had certainly hit that level. Add on top of that her little girl's birthday party coming up? There was more than enough stress to go around. Never mind all the other personal bullshit she was going through with her relationship. It was more than enough to make a woman want to jump off a cliff dramatically.

    Toby had managed to hunt down a lead on one of her cases. A murder case. A murder case of a teenager that had gotten on the wrong side of some local punks with a few abilities that were a little extra than the average human. They had pushed the guy around for fun, had beaten him for fun, and then left the kid to die in alley all by himself. Toby had tasted the kid's blood in order to figure out what had happened and the wanna be gang bangers had left that poor kid terrified. In so much pain and his last moments had been... she was furious. Furious, powered, and already cranky for five thousand reasons in her own personal life. It was a bad combination and she knew that but it didn't matter. These fuckers didn't deserve any mercy. Not with what they had done.

    So Toby marched herself straight in the dive bar in Blackhaven. She only hesitated for a moment because she knew the owner. It was Mark's bar... there was a flicker of emotion in her chest at all the memories she had made in this damn place but it was neither here nor there. Instead the changeling quickly found her five targets and moved through the bar like a woman on a mission. Which she was really. "Hey Toby!" The owner of the bar happened to be behind the bar and Toby instantly cursed in response. "Shit. Hi Mark." Maybe she was starting to get the hang of this curse. Probably not though, because really she just... Mark gave her a weird look and Toby tried to ignore it.

    "Daye don't fuck up my bar." The warning was a normal one. One she heard more often than not. Many dive bar owners knew that she was trouble the second she walked in and if they didn't, they learned quick. "I'll pay for any damages, Mark!" Instead the brunette responded in a fake cheery manner because she couldn't promise the bar wouldn't get damaged. Not when one of these fucks could slightly hulk out. She moved towards the table in question and the gangsters were laughing about something or other. Toby didn't care. Instead she just acted because that was what her mood said she should do.

    First fuck was grabbed and slammed into the table twice, hard. Hard enough to crack the table and knock the guy out. He was tossed out of the booth and then she started for the next one. They were trapped. She was the one standing on the only real exit from the booth. The next guy growled and started to grab for something under his jacket. Toby wasn't having that either. "Fuck off, mother fucker!" Instead Toby grabbed him by his jacket and pulled him out of the booth too. He struggled, trying to hold onto everything in front of him he could, and then Toby chucked him over her shoulder forcefully with a kind of strength that she shouldn't have had.

    Of course, she wasn't looking where she was throwing and the man physically hit several people sitting at the bar. Not that Toby cared either. She was just at a stage where she was ready to do violence. Even if she was still holding back.
     
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  2. Mad Sweeney

    Mad Sweeney American Gods
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    Piecing memories together was a bitch. A rotting, dead, grave-dirt-beneath-the-fingernails kind of bitch. Especially so, when he didn't even know how many of them were actually memories in the first place. Sometimes it almost seemed like hunting a lucky coin stuck in a corpse had been easier - but that was bull, too, and he knew it.
    It was just that this - this ramble, this chaos of half-remembered things - perhaps hit a little close to home.

    This felt a little like madness. Like forests, like endless wanderings, like the cold winds high up in the trees when his cries had been bird more than man.
    Like times he didn't like thinking back to, because the memories were as fragmented as they were painful.

    Sweeney turned the glass of whiskey in his hand. There had been a few people he's met, some of which had seemed more familiar than others, in oddly mis-adjusted ways. And it was making him tired.
    Road-trippin' with dead wife had been a breeze against this.
    Or maybe he's simply been gettin' used to dead wife's bullshit. Familiar bullshit was always more pleasant than foreign bullshit.

    He was about to raise the glass to his lips to take his first sip or down the whole glass, he hadn't made up his mind yet, when something was harshly shoved against his back. He probably would have cracked his skull, or at the very least his face, on the very same glass in his hand if it hadn't been for that darn luck of his which made his arm slip, catching his forehead much softer than the whiskey would have - but the sound of shattering glass and the warm liquid spilling over his hand also meant that he would not be havin any of that whiskey any longer.
    "Ey Lady, I fuckin' paid for that whiskey."

    He hadn't meant to get involved, really. Pushing the possibly-lifeless body off the bar to his left and to the floor instead like an unwanted bag of trash.
    That woman had been out for trouble the moment she's walked in, he's known that. She's basically said so herself when the concerned bartender had made his aimless request. But Sweeney wasn't afraid of bar fights, he's been in enough of those. And even when he's seen that woman toss men around like they were lighter than her Friday grocery shoppings, he hadn't really cared - he knew dead wife, and he's seen what dead wife could do. This? This wasn't shocking.

    Alright, so maybe there had been a moment at which he's considered joining in, having some good time, shedding some blood. But he wasn't really feelin' it today. And he really, really was feelin' that whiskey. At least he had been before that one had smashed the glass before he's even had a chance to try any of the liquid in it.
    Don't take a fuckin' Irishman's whiskey when that fuckin' Irishman was fuckin' gloomy.

    "You owe me a whiskey, woman! Two, actually, seems fair - seeing as you nearly smashed that handsome face."
    He shouted the first words across his shoulder towards her, begrudgingly shaking glass splinters off his (luckily uninjured) hand while mumbling the rest of that sentence to himself like he didn't really care anymore whether she could hear him at all.

    Little did he know that this woman was seriously out for some trouble tonight.

     
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  3. Toby Daye

    Toby Daye October Daye

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    Toby was here to do some serious damage. Maybe she shouldn't have been. Maybe she should have been doing the right thing and calling the cops. The changeling would follow up with that right after she beat the living shit out of the assholes. A lesson needed to be learned and she was more than willing to deliver the message.

    Someone said something about their whiskey. "I ain't got time for that shit!" The brunette didn't even look over her shoulder as she flipped whoever it was off. It wasn't their fault. Had Toby been a little calmer she would have offered to pay for the drink but that the moment her hands were full. Full of rage and a near blind need to beat someone senseless. She slammed one into the table and then finally, finally the big boy hulked out.

    There was a flash of a reckless grin on Toby's face in response. Some primal, animalistic response to seeing a threat in front of her. Which wasn't normal for her in the least bit but with everything that had been piling onto her lately... Toby needed a legitimate outlet to let some steam loose. Mini-Hulk, for he was not as big nor as green as the comic book character, growled at her and smashed the table out of his way. DAYE!!!!! She heard Mark scream somewhere behind her. "NOT TOTALLY SORRY MARK! I WILL PAY FOR IT!" Which was still very true but probably hilarious that she was shouting back at the owner while big, beefy, and stupid was charging at her. But that was her curse and there was no getting around it.

    The whiskey guy was saying something about her buying him two whiskeys and said a few things he shouldn't have. First off, woman. Toby didn't stand for that shit in the least bit. Secondly, handsome. She might have looked over at him at that comment. Maybe but it was the wrong thing to do because more words came stringing out her mouth. "You're not that good looking, buddy! FUCK OFF!" Then Hulk's sad cousin took a swing at her.

    Toby braced, putting her aura on max as the meaty fist came in. The brunette slammed her own fist back at him in response, meeting the blow with one of her own. Something broke with a crack but it wasn't her hand. It was his. He yelled and Toby kicked him right in the groin, also not holding back. Which was when one of his buddies circled around to slam a chair in the back of her head. She staggered slightly just from shock and then whipped around to smack him across the bar. Pieces of chair went flying too. Which was satisfying... right up until wanna be Hulk smashed her with his other fist, sending her into the bar next to where Mr. Two Whiskeys was sitting. Which was when she smelled it. "Faerie." The word was out of her mouth as she looked up at the red head. "Oak and ash. What a fucking day."
     
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  4. Mad Sweeney

    Mad Sweeney American Gods
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    [​IMG]


    Somebody was feelin' particularly rude today. And surprisingly enough it wasn't him. Shocking.
    Usually he wouldn't have cared - or would have cared enough to join the fight. One of the two.
    Pieces of chairs went flying, somebody screamed out shortly after that lass cussed his way. Sweeney huffed with amusement, shaking his head.
    Fuckin' women.

    He just wanted to have some damned fucking whiskey!
    The issue was that if she kept on trashing the bar, he'd probably not be able to get any more whiskey for much longer. She's already broken one glass. Sweeney wasn't sure how many more glasses he could let her break before the bartender - who already appeared pretty distressed - refused to serve him. And that made him angry. Slowly but surely.

    A second later the lass crashed into the bar next to him - and then she basically spit out faerie. Like a damn bloody insult. And maybe it fuckin' was. Not like Sweeney was in any damn way responsible for having been reduced to a fairytale.
    But that was quite enough. He wouldn't let some ignorant bitch ruin his efforts at drinking himself into a stupor.
    "How 'bout you piss the fuck off and let us fellas have our drinks, eh?"

    It wasn't exactly a kind suggestion. Especially not with the way the tall leprechaun pushed himself out of his seat, stemming his hands into the bar with a certain glint in his eyes that revealed a man very much ready to take on a fight should it come to it. The way he rolled broad shoulders and never lifted his glance off the woman.
    At the moment he didn't care for who or what she was. He just wanted her the hell out of here so he could make use of his sidhe-given damn right to get wasted.

     
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  5. Toby Daye

    Toby Daye October Daye

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    Toby was feeling tense but she was also cursed to say whatever the hell was on her mind anyways. Which had degraded into a ton of other shit that she didn't want to think about but had trouble not thinking about. Which was why she was extra goddamn sassy when the big guy told her to fuck off. Something about fellas and... Toby really didn't give too much of a shit about any of that.

    "I've changed my mind. You got a face only a mother could think about loving." She pushed herself up and off the bar with one hand, shaking glass off her jacket before looking back at what she considered to be the main event. "You don't like the fight, either piss off yourself or make me stop, asshole." Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was fae. In her world that was something that was typically not good and there had certainly been an edge to her words in return. She was use to dealing with shit from faeries for her human blood. It made her defensive from the start.

    Was she really picking a fight with someone else while in the middle of another fight? Maybe? Maybe not. Instead she moved faster than she should have been able to and socked the chair man in the gut hard. He went flying back into another booth, upsetting more customers, and she could hear Mark whining behind the bar. "I said I'd pay for it, Mark!" The mini-hulk took another swing at her and this time Toby side stepped it. A little too quickly, slamming her own hand against the back of his fist to knock him off balance. She could hit like a freight train and she was faster than hell.

    One hit to the hand then another to his face. A little more aura, since he had decided to use his powers, "Only seems fair." There was a grunt to go with it but hulk went smashing down the hall. Toby was starting to feel better already. Once upon a time Toby hadn't had fun in fighting. Not really. Back when she had been one of the weaker things in the room. The gal who got hurt but didn't know how to give up. Now Toby had something to really back up her bark and it made her think of fighting in a whole different way.

    But there was a breath in this one and Toby scowled around the room as if she was trying to pick out any of their buddies in the crowd. A number of them had scattered and the changeling didn't want anyone to go missing. But the biggest of them? He had been the main player and Toby knew sending a message through him could be effective. "Turn yourself in or I'll find you again, and I won't be as nice." She'd drag them to the police station in pieces. "Part of me hopes you'll run." Curse. The goddamn curse. She sounded like such a bitch. "Just... fuck." Toby waved her hands as if that were to take away what she had said. As if she would be that lucky.
     
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  6. Mad Sweeney

    Mad Sweeney American Gods
    The Shining One

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    [​IMG]


    Ooohh alright, this one really wanted trouble. And he doubted she cared much for whom she'd have to drag into it. Sweeney could empathize with that.
    Nothin' like a good pub brawl to make yourself remember that you were still fuckin' alive, no matter how miserable.

    She threw another insult at him he didn't really care of, grin already tugging at the corner of his mouth.
    You don't like the fight, either piss off yourself or make me stop, asshole
    The grin finally slipped into a barked laugh. Whiskey and blood it'd be tonight, it seemed. His favorite.
    "Well, if you're askin' so kindly..."

    He didn't hurry moving away from the bar; downing the remaining few drops of whiskey he's had in his broken glass right out of that same broken glass. He cracked his knuckles and shrugged out of his jacket while the crazy cunt continued beating up her choice of bastards for tonight.
    She yelled something at the guy she's just send flying, but Sweeney didn't listen - he was into this, now.

    Grabbing her by the shoulder firmly, he pushed her back towards the doors of the bar; harshly, but not violently so. Not yet. He's learned from dead wife for sure - never underestimate tiny women, and this one sure seemed to know what she was doing - but it was only fair to give her a chance to back out, right?

    "I said bugger off, cunt."
    By far his favorite insult. Not even for any reason other than the fact that it tended to offend everyone, and that was exactly what he was aiming for.
    The grin was back when he placed himself in front of her, easily towering over her. If she'd leave he'd let her, if not - .... well, this would be one hell of a show.

     
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  7. Toby Daye

    Toby Daye October Daye

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    She asn't expecting the idiot to get up off the bar and come join the fight. Perhaps she should have figured it out. Maybe it had something to do with being a changeling and maybe it didn't. Toby's life suggested such a thing was true and that meant the guy suddenly shoving her was a "racist bastard." The words were growled out. Toby wasn't able to control it, but she wasn't able to control anything that came out of her mouth now.

    I said bugger off, cunt. "Really? What the fuck is it with these insults? Can't you get a little more creative than trying to suggest I'm an offensive vagina." Toby didn't like the grin on his face but that was because he was asking for trouble. Toby would give him trouble. She was more than able to rumble with people way stronger than the average faerie now. She could go hand to hand with trolls and still not break a sweat. Mostly. Maybe. Probably.

    She looked up at him with not an iota of fear in her eye. "If I can take Blind Michael, I can take your ass out." Why did she say that goddamn name? Blind Michael, one of the Firstborn, leader of the Hunt. Toby had taken him before her aura. This dude who smelled of... well, that didn't matter. None of it mattered. "Fucking faerie, picking a fight because I'm a fucking changeling." Human blood flowed through her, just as much as faerie blood, and that was more than enough to cause problems for every world faerie resided in.

    Toby didn't give him a chance to answer though. She brought up her hands nice and quick, the blink of an eye, and then shoved the asshole back. Just enough of her aura that a meat head due would be slammed backward, but not enough to break any bones. Not yet. "You touch me again, I'll break you." Alright, Toby was being really aggressive. Apparently it was going to be one of those nights.
     
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  8. Mad Sweeney

    Mad Sweeney American Gods
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    Racist bastard
    He had no darn idea what racism had to do with any of this, but he guessed people needed to justify their actions somehow. Perhaps this lass was 0,2% black and assumed he was attacking her for it. Since that was a thing now. People would always find something to get offended over.

    Her way of countering his insult only made his grin widen - oh he could get more creative, it's just that she didn't seem worth the effort. Not that he'd ever really get a chance to smugly state that.
    A moment later he was harshly shoved back with another remark. Changeling fell, and mch unlike Toby suspected, the term woke no hatred nor disgust. It woke a distant calling to times past, a thing long since dead. It sat in the marrow of his bones, like the call of his gold did, like the warmth of the sun. The fairy days were long since behind him. Not that Toby had any way of knowing this.

    Adrenaline burned the call of home out of his veins, the memory of ocean breeze and green fields embracing hills was replaced with the urge of something wilder, more primal, more mad.
    "Sounds fuckin' delightful!"
    He's stumbled against a chair when she's pushed him, supporting himself half-heartedly against the back of same chair for a moment - not that he really needed to.

    When he came for her again, his grin was somewhat less excited, and somewhat more fucking crazy, to draw comparison. It's been a while since he's tasted blood behind his teeth, and he was more than eager to delve right back into it.
    This time he wasn't giving warning, didn't give her a chance to back out. She's asked for this, and who would he be to refuse a lady?

    He'd ram her frontal if she didn't find a way to avoid it, shoulder to her upper chest, elbow into her guts, with more than decent force behind it. He may not have had superhuman strength, but he was a 6.5'' bastard with more muscle than flesh and more enthusiasm for a good fight than sense for the aftermath. This bar wasn't messed up enough yet. He was pretty sure this lass could use a taste of this wood against her spine once more. Trapping her back against the bar would make it more convenient to mess up her pretty enough face, draw some copper across that skin, give it some damn color.

    He was already enjoying this. Soon it'd hurt, he knew, and then he'd get a chance to really enjoy it.


     
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  9. Toby Daye

    Toby Daye October Daye

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    This was going to be interesting. Toby knew that this faerie man was bigger than she was but with her tricks up her sleeves, there was very little he could do to physically harm her without getting creative. Toby was glad she had that kind of confidence because otherwise this would have been a really bad situation to get into, even before Mr. Giant Dumbass had gotten up!

    Big and ugly came charging at her. Toby braced for impact and her smile almost matched his. There might have been a touch of smugness to it as well but Toby couldn't help that she was full of herself. Super powers could do that to a gal. "You're likely going to regret this." Toby couldn't stop talking even if she wanted to. There was nothing else to do except jerk her hands up and catch him running at her. He was a faerie but apparently he didn't have super human strength in his back pocket like Toby did.

    Her right hand caught his elbow and her left hand caught his shoulder. They slid back a few feet but otherwise Toby went no where. She could hit like a freight train, she was faster than a bullet, she-- he really didn't stand a chance without any tricks. Or weapons. Or something to help even this fight out a little bit more. "Really, buddy. You're asking for trouble." Toby stomped down and shoved back, putting more force into it than what was required. Shoving him off of her before easing into a fighting stance that made it clear she knew what s he was doing. She had been watching plenty of different fighting videos. Her semblance made that part easy. Hard part? Knowing when to use different moves.

    Still her hands came up and she kept on grinning back at him. "Last warning. Come at me again and I'll make your face a little uglier." Toby wasn't assuming tall and ugly was a bad dude. Maybe someone with a temper, but she fell into that category as well. Just then someone decided to step in and make a bigger issue of their fight. A bottle was chucked at Toby's head. Without glancing in that direction, her hand snapped up to catch it midair, stopping it without it ever landing on its intended target. So Toby decided she'd use this make shift weapon on her faerie foe if he charged her again. Chucking it at his face was bound to get some sort of reaction, right?

    OOC: I GIVE ALICE PERMISSION TO HAVE WHATEVER UNLUCKY THING(S) SHE WANTS TO HAPPEN TO TOBY (don't cut off a limb or something tho pls). Feel free to godmod my bby for this fight if need be m'dear. She heals pretty well 8))))
     
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  10. Mad Sweeney

    Mad Sweeney American Gods
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    You're likely going to regret this
    At the very least, this she was definitely wrong about. No, he wouldn't regret this. In fact, the more she'd beat him up, the less he was likely to be regrettin' anything anytime soon.
    That shove of his was caught easily, but it was evident that gal had some power behind her. Nothin' Sweeney couldn't handle. The more challenging this would be, the merrier!

    Last warning. Come at me again and I'll make your face a little uglier.
    His grin widened as he mirrored her fighting stance, though his was surely somewhat messier. Not because he didn't know how to fight, but because he was used to hardly ever needing to put much effort into it.
    "Oh, I'm countin' on it, darlin'."
    And he was.

    What followed was one big, satisfying mess. Punches were thrown, blood spilled like a sacrifice to a God who's long since stopped listening. There would be no foreseeable end to this, not with Sweeney's luck and the lass' magical super-backhand or whatever. They were evenly matched, if for heavily different reasons.

    Not all of Toby's hits found their target, but equally not all of Sweeney's did. One time she'd slip on a few peanuts when throwing a punch, another time she'd get a cramp in her hand. Next time some stranger'd randomly march between them and she'd strike him instead, and yet another time Sweeney would simply manage to duck away.

    At some point the lamp overhead of them came crushing down upon the Changeling as she's been about to possibly break the leprechaun's nose. It was quite an amusing sight, really. Especially when considering that not a single splinter of that lamp's shattered pieces ever found Sweeney.
    But the funniest strike of luck was perhaps still that time when one of the bar guests heavily miscalculated his dart-throwing angle, and buried the damn thing right in Toby's thigh before she had a chance to kick the Irishman.
    The usual - basically.

    By the time they tumbled through the doors in a mess of bruised and battered limbs like in some cheesy Western movie, Sweeney tasted blood on his tongue and ache in his knuckles. That didn't prevent him from laughing when they've collided with the pavement however.
    He stayed there, back against pavement, split lip, jaw bone growing bruises, cut along his hand, and surely some more colors to show for their little joyride - just laughin' past the crimson painting his teeth.

    The night air stung against broken skin, but it equally seemed to clear out his mind somewhat. The upset bar owner - Mark, was it? - tossed a broken chair after them, yelling something not-nice sounding, but Sweeney doubted either of them cared at this point.

    "Ye ain't bad at all, not bad at all..."
    The words were placed into the night after a few minutes of just breathing and laughing and taking in that sweet pavement cool. A cracking sound resonated once in his jaw when he spoke, but at least it didn't feel uncomfortably misplaced anymore.
    Turning his head, still led flat on the pavement, towards his fightin' company, Sweeney made sure she realized that he wasn't being sarcastic.

     
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  11. Toby Daye

    Toby Daye October Daye

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    If there was one thing that Toby understood above all else, it was magic. Considering her world and faerie varieties of magic there, Toby knew when something a little extra was happening around her. His magic scent had risen and whether or not it was on purpose didn't matter. Instinctual magic use, general magic use, charms, curses, everything in between, Toby could smell it. Well, she could technically taste it but no one understood how she could taste something like magic so Toby just always translated it to smell.

    Regardless, she knew Mr. Big-n-Ugly was using magic in their fight. There were too many things out of place with how her body moved. Toby's semblance was a straight forward sort of one. She saw someone do something in a physical manner and she could copy it perfectly on her first try. Monkey see, monkey do. Hand cramps, slips, and things like that didn't happen because her body always moved perfectly while she was repeating something. In between was a little different, Toby was still trying to figure out how to be graceful in between her swings, and none of this was adding up.

    So when they were finally out of Mark's bar, Toby was... not exactly worse for wear but she had seen better days. There was a decent amount of blood that had come from a split lip. Her nose had been hit once or twice. Her aura was already working to heal any damage but it wouldn't clean up any of that mess. She looked over at her sudden faerie companion started laughing. Laughing. Like they both weren't lying on a dirty sidewalk in Blackhaven after beating each other bloody. So she barked a laugh too, because it was ridiculous and... well, her anger had faded enough that she felt calmer. Calm enough to sit up and sigh heavily.

    "We're both weird." It was what rambled out of her mouth and Toby leaned over to spit blood. At this stage, she was just... "Look. Just had something to deal with. I'll buy you a replacement whiskey or two if you want." It was sort of an apology. As close to an apology as anyone in her kind of faerie could get to. Anything more would be admitting she was wrong or that she owed him a debt. Which just wasn't allowed. So, this was what he got. He had been rude, her curse had played a part, and Toby kept herself from saying anything else by moving parts of her that were sore. Pain always kept her mouth shut with this one.

    But Toby pulled herself slowly up on her feet, not letting any amount of pain, blood, or general fatigue stop her from doing so. Then she looked down at this other fae and held out a hand to help him up. "You smell like a First Born." Which did make her cagey, but what else was Toby supposed to do at this stage. At least this one wasn't kidnapping children out of their beds. Perhaps he was like a certain first born that Toby had played scrabble with on Tuesdays. Black Annie had always had a mean streak when it came to verbiage.
     
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  12. Mad Sweeney

    Mad Sweeney American Gods
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    We're both weird
    The conclusion was not really anywhere close to what he's assumed would come out of that one's mouth, and it lured another hoarse laugh from him. He didn't know why. But sometimes, in some moments, it was good to just roll with the adrenaline and laugh it away.

    Weird. Fuck that.
    Everyone and everything was weird. This whole fuckin' place was weird!
    And then she thought it was worth pointing out that they were weird, like they somehow stood out against the rest of this bullshit? Hell, if anything then she was definitely right about herself there.

    The somewhat apology that followed only really justified the self-definition from just a moment ago, and Sweeney waved it off with a vague motion of his bloodied hand. He wouldn't have joined in if he hadn't wanted to, regardless of whether she'd annoy him or not. Or so he thought. Not like it mattered now - they were already here, bruised and bloodied and livin' their best fuckin' lives if anyone were to ask him.
    "I take my whiskey free of reasons only. No replacements and nothin', just make it a whiskey or two, end of story."

    There was silence for a moment, shuffling sounds. And after a while a hand appeared across the clouds he's been watching drift by. He took it with a grunt, pain stretching across sore muscle, coloring the ache in warmth of a peculiar kind. The kind one had to know how to love.
    Pushing himself to his feet a little unsteadily, Sweeney wiped his bloodied right on his trousers before reaching into his pocket to pull out a pack of Lucky Strikes before continuing to search for a lighter.

    You smell like a first born
    Cigarette between teeth and flame flickering up against the lighter he's retrieved by now, Sweeney frowned against the flame, eyes skipping towards his smaller company.
    "Fuck does that mean?"
    There was no anger in the question though, despite the insult. Sweeney spat insults regardless of mood, anyway, and if nothing else, the lass was about to learn that about him.

    First born could mean a few things. But Sweeney's not been around the Celts in too long to connect the strings, his memories were blurry and faded, many missing entirely. There wasn't much good awaiting him in those few remaining memories, either. Most of it loss and war and guilt. He hadn't been a sidhe in a long time, even if he technically still was one. It was just that belonging had not been around for him in a while. And Toby's assumptions and judgements were as foreign to him by now as the fairytales of his kind were to most others these days.


     
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  13. Toby Daye

    Toby Daye October Daye

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    End of story? "Sure, I can play it that way." Her mouth was just running but there was really nothing to be done with that. Toby was trying to "embrace this shit" even if it was difficult. She twisted her neck slightly to pop it and then he asked about First Borns. Toby glanced at him with a little bit of shock, like she was wondering how he wouldn't know about that, but this was Pandora. "They're probably called other things where you're from." Which was true. She had met plenty of people who knew faerie in many different forms. It made life in Pandora fucking complicated.

    "Firstborn of Oberon. First of their lines. Each race of fae has one. Has to have one. They're gods." Ancient as hell and powerful. That was what they were. "Blind Michael. Black Annie. Ever Rose. Adamin--" Toby cut herself off by biting inside of her cheek. She didn't want to say her mother's name. Her real name. Her title. They were all titles. Toby had met more than she realized but she knew that there were plenty of legends around First Born.

    But Toby didn't quite fully understand how he wouldn't know... "Your magic smells old as fuck." Which could have been eons for all Toby knew. Not like it really mattered. She pulled at her jacket to shake out anything that might have caught on it and then pulled out a pack of smokes. It was only crushed a little bit and that meant she could still smoke something in there.

    She pulled out one and lit up quickly, holding her pack out to Sweeney as well. He probably smoked. It wasn't like faerie could get lung cancer. Or at least, that was how it worked back at Toby's home world. Faerie was legitmately immortal. Toby was... half. But big guy wasn't acting like a total jackass so Toby would be decently friendly in her own way. A smoke was a smoke. A drink was a drink. "Work like that in your world?" She didn't mean to ask but her curse... well, that was just...

    Even as they were speaking, Toby's wounds started to heal. Cuts closing. Bruises fading. Her aura working its way through her system, along with her Dochas Sidhe blood. Every bit of damage he gave her would be gone shortly after she got home. Two healing factors meant Toby could tank through far too many things. Including hard hitting lepurchauns.
     
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  14. Mad Sweeney

    Mad Sweeney American Gods
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    Firstborn Gods, huh? Sure, okay, he's heard weirder shit for sure.
    Celts and their stories have been around long ago. All kinds of variations come into play when religions age. People change things, retell details differently, forget, ignore, evolve. There'd always be those like him - relicts of those times, bitter about what had changed and bitter about what hadn't.

    Your magic smells old as fuck
    So smelling magic was a thing now. Okay. He wasn't gonna get stuck on that being weird or anything.
    With a faint huff of amusement, he accepted the offer of a cigarette and flame, taking a drag before merely remarking:
    "Way to call me out on my age."
    Not that he even remembered how old he was. Not that he ever even tried to linger on it these days.

    Memories were just blurry background noise, flickers of light that attempted to shape an identity that had gone through too many changes to still know how to recover its roots.
    Work like that in your world?
    And that was the thing, wasn't it? His world was no more. It was theirs now. The non-believers, the tech-folks, those who didn't wanna think for themselves. Those who were too busy with their own issues to smile about fairytales.

    Past the smoke he blew towards the dark skies, the hint of a frown tugged at a bruised eyebrow. He didn't know how to answer her question, and he didn't attempt to reach into those dark places to try and fish out some fragment of meaning from the past.
    Gods? Sure, they've had Gods. Many now forgotten and obscuse personalities, heroes from long lost battles and royals over difficult to pronounce races. But even their names slipped through his fingers like harvest dying in fall.

    There was silence, then a brief shrug.
    "Somethin' like that."
    The hint of something melancholic, something tense and unwilling to delve deeper, echoed in his voice distantly.

    After a few seconds, Sweeney returned his glance to his company, watching her wounds heal effortlessly - something he wouldn't be granted. His bruises would still ache like fuckers the week to come.
    With a vague hand gesture, he pointed towards her now healed up split lip.
    "Neat lil' trick you've got up your sleeve there. I'll need some liquid medicine for that crap."
    Grin returning easily, the Irishman then nodded down the street to the next bar - somehow he doubted anyone would still be serving either of them at this one anymore - and with cigarette in hand, he unhurriedly started on his way towards the doors with his company.

    "Two more whiskeys, then we're even."


    The End
     
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