THE SWEENEY - Log 3
Apr. 18th, 2026 08:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xp_changeling posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsAmanda visits an unwelcome memory from her past.
WARNING: Explicit content and language.
In the years Amanda had known it, it had been a tiny shonky shop for decades, maybe longer. It was rumoured to have been founded by gypsies in the sixteenth century, when that was still the word you used for them. It had survived plague, wars, bombing, and the more modern dangers of gentrification and redevelopment. Some liked to say the owner hadn't changed in hundreds of years, but what everyone in the magical community knew was that if you had any kind of magical artifact that wasn't worthy of the time of the high end agents, but you had no use for, you found your way to Shoreditch.
Memories assaulted Amanda as she pushed the grimy, slightly warped door open. It still needed the same shove she'd had to give it as a young teen, doing errands for Rack or - and this was one of Adam's memories, the Adam from this world - trying to raise a secret stash of cash that would get them clear of their "mentor". For a moment she thought she'd literally stepped back in time, until a glance down at herself confirmed she wasn't a starveling fourteen-year-old witch dressed in hand-me-downs. Setting her teeth, she pushed the door open wide enough to admit herself and Marie-Ange.
"We're closed at the moment. Piss off." The figure behind the counter said. His greasy thinning hair was now a murky grey as opposed to black, and there their flecks of white in his five days growth, but otherwise, the Turk hadn't changed. Even his clothes were the same; the cheap out off date suit, the grimy paisley bandana knotted around his throat, and his stained flat cap on the counter. His perpetual stack of racing forms for upcoming events was taking up all his attention.
"Are you really? The door was unlocked." Marie-Ange rolled her eyes. "We are not the tv license people or the police looking for bribes. We do not want to sell anything either." She had dressed well on purpose. If they were going to have to bribe this man she wanted to look like she could. Well, middle-class well, nice boots and a department store blouse and jacket well. Absolutely the femme half of a two-women-no-men relationship well. "Are you sure you are closed?"
His eyes flicked up, assessing her down to the last quid. "Can't see you here for the front room trade." He said, a nod to the racks of old clothes around him. "That means you're here for the backroom. And you look awfully swank for that."
"She's with me." Amanda stepped out from behind Marie-Ange, hands thrust into the pockets of her coat. She'd gone full chav - tight-fitting threadbare jeans and a black midriff-baring shirt, chunky boots and a oversized black bomber jacket. Her face was heavily made up, with emphasis on her eyes and lips, and several heavy gold bracelets rattled on her wrists, matching the chain around her neck and the large hoop earrings. A closer look, however, revealed the pendant on the necklace was actually a low-level protection charm, and embroidered into her jacket were several runes, repeated in the bracelets. She was, in essence, the model of a chav hedge witch looking to escape magical notice. "'She's the money, I'm the knowledge, right?" she continued, giving her girlfriend a nudge with her elbow. Her accent was full East London again, as it had been when they'd first met.
"Mandy? Oh Mandy, I haven't seen you since you were a midge and with your mouth full." He said, his smile showing several blackened teeth.
"And here you are alive and all," she replied in the same vein, even while she shuddered inside. "I'd have thought you'd have popped your clogs by now. Not exactly a picture of healthy living, are you? Can we do business?"
"Many a man thought to dance on my grave and yet, like misery, I remain a constant." He said. "But for old friends, or at least, old customers, I might do some commerce. It's my special larceny after all."
"I could have been here for the thrift clothes." Marie-Ange peered into the doorway. "That shearling coat is actually vintage. That will be a separate transaction." She kissed Amanda on the cheek. "I told you I would find -something- here, even if your little goose chase did not pan out." She wrinkled her nose a little. "Silly thing, she is trying to find an old teacher. I keep telling her if the man quit, it is probably because he was that sort, but she has so much faith in old men."
"Dangerous waters you're fishing, Mandy. More than old Rack would risk. What's this new outfit for you then, to be so bold?"
"Ask no questions and I'll tell no lies," Amanda replied almost tartly as she leaned on the counter with an elbow, giving the Turk a view of her cleavage. The old distractions were the best. "Tho' it seems like someone's been flapping their gob. Might as well come out with it - we're looking for Alasdair Stuart. I don't want to set up shop on Rack's old patch only for him to come down on me, so I was thinking to clear up all these rumours and figure out where the man himself is."
"The Sweeney? Oh, you might not have to worry about him." The Turk said, his thick eyebrows climbing on his forehead. "I hear Gentleman Jian and his... associates have removed him from the board. Chinese checkers instead of chess." He said, and tapped the counter; a gesture for payment that immediately took Amanda back to fifteen.
At least she wouldn't have to pay the same way she had back then, when all she had was herself to sell. Amanda cocked her eyebrow at Marie-Ange. "You've got this, don't yer, luv?"
"If my grandpere knew what my trust fund was doing, his spinning in his grace would be providing power for all of Europe." Marie-Ange fished money from the inside of her jacket. "I am serious about the coat too. It is vintage. I will give you twice it's tag price for the information and the coat, and no more because it is going to need to be very carefully dry cleaned." She set a few wrapped rolls of euros on the counter.
The money disappeared into his black nailed hand like a magic trick. "Ta. Maybe wear just it the next time you pull this one for a tuppenny upright." He said, his leer oily. "Pleasure Mandy. Nice to get a little... taste of the past."
WARNING: Explicit content and language.
In the years Amanda had known it, it had been a tiny shonky shop for decades, maybe longer. It was rumoured to have been founded by gypsies in the sixteenth century, when that was still the word you used for them. It had survived plague, wars, bombing, and the more modern dangers of gentrification and redevelopment. Some liked to say the owner hadn't changed in hundreds of years, but what everyone in the magical community knew was that if you had any kind of magical artifact that wasn't worthy of the time of the high end agents, but you had no use for, you found your way to Shoreditch.
Memories assaulted Amanda as she pushed the grimy, slightly warped door open. It still needed the same shove she'd had to give it as a young teen, doing errands for Rack or - and this was one of Adam's memories, the Adam from this world - trying to raise a secret stash of cash that would get them clear of their "mentor". For a moment she thought she'd literally stepped back in time, until a glance down at herself confirmed she wasn't a starveling fourteen-year-old witch dressed in hand-me-downs. Setting her teeth, she pushed the door open wide enough to admit herself and Marie-Ange.
"We're closed at the moment. Piss off." The figure behind the counter said. His greasy thinning hair was now a murky grey as opposed to black, and there their flecks of white in his five days growth, but otherwise, the Turk hadn't changed. Even his clothes were the same; the cheap out off date suit, the grimy paisley bandana knotted around his throat, and his stained flat cap on the counter. His perpetual stack of racing forms for upcoming events was taking up all his attention.
"Are you really? The door was unlocked." Marie-Ange rolled her eyes. "We are not the tv license people or the police looking for bribes. We do not want to sell anything either." She had dressed well on purpose. If they were going to have to bribe this man she wanted to look like she could. Well, middle-class well, nice boots and a department store blouse and jacket well. Absolutely the femme half of a two-women-no-men relationship well. "Are you sure you are closed?"
His eyes flicked up, assessing her down to the last quid. "Can't see you here for the front room trade." He said, a nod to the racks of old clothes around him. "That means you're here for the backroom. And you look awfully swank for that."
"She's with me." Amanda stepped out from behind Marie-Ange, hands thrust into the pockets of her coat. She'd gone full chav - tight-fitting threadbare jeans and a black midriff-baring shirt, chunky boots and a oversized black bomber jacket. Her face was heavily made up, with emphasis on her eyes and lips, and several heavy gold bracelets rattled on her wrists, matching the chain around her neck and the large hoop earrings. A closer look, however, revealed the pendant on the necklace was actually a low-level protection charm, and embroidered into her jacket were several runes, repeated in the bracelets. She was, in essence, the model of a chav hedge witch looking to escape magical notice. "'She's the money, I'm the knowledge, right?" she continued, giving her girlfriend a nudge with her elbow. Her accent was full East London again, as it had been when they'd first met.
"Mandy? Oh Mandy, I haven't seen you since you were a midge and with your mouth full." He said, his smile showing several blackened teeth.
"And here you are alive and all," she replied in the same vein, even while she shuddered inside. "I'd have thought you'd have popped your clogs by now. Not exactly a picture of healthy living, are you? Can we do business?"
"Many a man thought to dance on my grave and yet, like misery, I remain a constant." He said. "But for old friends, or at least, old customers, I might do some commerce. It's my special larceny after all."
"I could have been here for the thrift clothes." Marie-Ange peered into the doorway. "That shearling coat is actually vintage. That will be a separate transaction." She kissed Amanda on the cheek. "I told you I would find -something- here, even if your little goose chase did not pan out." She wrinkled her nose a little. "Silly thing, she is trying to find an old teacher. I keep telling her if the man quit, it is probably because he was that sort, but she has so much faith in old men."
"Dangerous waters you're fishing, Mandy. More than old Rack would risk. What's this new outfit for you then, to be so bold?"
"Ask no questions and I'll tell no lies," Amanda replied almost tartly as she leaned on the counter with an elbow, giving the Turk a view of her cleavage. The old distractions were the best. "Tho' it seems like someone's been flapping their gob. Might as well come out with it - we're looking for Alasdair Stuart. I don't want to set up shop on Rack's old patch only for him to come down on me, so I was thinking to clear up all these rumours and figure out where the man himself is."
"The Sweeney? Oh, you might not have to worry about him." The Turk said, his thick eyebrows climbing on his forehead. "I hear Gentleman Jian and his... associates have removed him from the board. Chinese checkers instead of chess." He said, and tapped the counter; a gesture for payment that immediately took Amanda back to fifteen.
At least she wouldn't have to pay the same way she had back then, when all she had was herself to sell. Amanda cocked her eyebrow at Marie-Ange. "You've got this, don't yer, luv?"
"If my grandpere knew what my trust fund was doing, his spinning in his grace would be providing power for all of Europe." Marie-Ange fished money from the inside of her jacket. "I am serious about the coat too. It is vintage. I will give you twice it's tag price for the information and the coat, and no more because it is going to need to be very carefully dry cleaned." She set a few wrapped rolls of euros on the counter.
The money disappeared into his black nailed hand like a magic trick. "Ta. Maybe wear just it the next time you pull this one for a tuppenny upright." He said, his leer oily. "Pleasure Mandy. Nice to get a little... taste of the past."
