He likes this girl. Mad Sweeney tends to make snap judgments about people, deciding whether or not he likes them in a split fucking second and he's done so now, without even knowing her name.

She could be Irish with all that red hair, but then, he knows damn well plenty of folks here come from worlds without all that shit.

"No, I sure as shit ain't small," he agrees. "But the bit about luck, that bit's true. If I take somethin' from you, it's like you've made an offering, and you'll get some luck in return. Small bits. Things'll just go your way here and there."