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Owner Pose
Eithne Sullivan     Eithne feels great! She got to beat the tar out of a doll made of flesh and helped save her friend. Best. Day. Ever.

    Alas, Harry and Inga themselves probably don't feel so hot. They both got worked over pretty good, Harry the most. So Eithne has done all the chores necessary around the small homestead: feeding the animals, cleaning the floors, watering (and blessing) the garden. They said they might spend the night in Chicago, and if Eithne's going to be home alone she'd like to have everything nice and neat for when they get home later.

    She's the sort that just seems to be invigorated by a good brawl. It's so unfair!

    The place smells delicious, anyway - meat and potatoes and vegetables from the garden and storerooms, all bubbling together in a pot on the wood stove, a pot of tea on the table, and Eithne leaning back in one of the chairs, nose buried in a thick book about rose hybrids. Ah, the luxury of a night off!
Harry Dresden     Let it never be said that Mr. Dresden can't slow down for once. That it takes nearly being killed is besides the point.
    There's a grumble huff from the bedroom, and a thump of feet against carpet and concrete. "...iiinnngaaaaa are you making breakfast?" The words are muffled through the door to the bedroom.
Eithne Sullivan     "I'm not Inga, and it's supper," she calls back to him, settling all four chair legs down on the kitchen floor. "C'mon out if yer decent, it's mutton stew."

    Not that it would bother her very much if he weren't decent - Eithne would just leave! She just lives here, she doesn't get to make the rules about who can be naked and when. She likes knowing her place in the grand scheme of things, simply because it's easier to know what she ought to be doing.

    After checking the level of tea in the teapot, she gets up to ladle stew out into a bowl and pour herself another cuppa.
Harry Dresden     The door opens up to show... Harry, in a Cubs sweatshirt with a few holes in it, and a pair of Star Wars pyjama pants. And a very bleary look on his face. "Oh hey. Mutton." A warm sigh at th lovely smell of meat, and the wizard yawwwwwwwwwwns again, wandering out.
    It was a strange change, really, having an actual person hanging out in the apartment other than Inga, but h was slowly getting used to it. The old hermit wizard was finally letting people into his life all proper like. "Sorry, I.. uh. Still a little groggy."
Eithne Sullivan     "No worries," the dark-haired girl tells him easily, setting the bowl of stew down on the table with the quiet thunk of pottery on wood. Her clothes are the same as always - t-shirt, pleated skirt. "Yeh had a great adventure an' saved yer lady-love, a man can be forgiven fer sleepin' a bit late in such circumstances~" Eithne says it with absolute certainty too, despite her cheerful tone. Apparently she believes it!

    The stew is pretty good, all things considered - not anywhere near haute cuisine, but it's the sort of thing that's perfect in cool weather: lots of chunky vegetables and the meat's been cooked until it's falling apart. Worse things have happened in this kitchen.

    Eithne pours a little milk into her teacup, leaves a spoon and a stack of napkins by Harry's place setting, and settles back down into her kitchen chair. "Feelin' better? I hear Inga used up all her laudanum on yeh."
Harry Dresden     Harry slumps into one of the mismatched dining room chairs, and sighs. "Yeah, well. Burns are no joke, even for a wizard. Without her... well. That stuff could have been long term debilitating." H sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose, looking down at the meaty stew.
    He starts picking out potatoes with his fork, chewing on them thoughtfully. "Hmmmrrffmg. Oh that's good. And here I was 'specting to call for Chinese or something."
Eithne Sullivan     "I won't lie - I didn't see too much of what yeh were doin' but I heard about it from Sheela later. Set yerself on fire to take out that goopy hoor, very nice!" she grins. Sheela, hearing his name, peeks his head out of the potato sack and 'KRAAA's before flapping over to sit on the table. The young crow looks at Harry. Then it looks at his bowl of stew.

    Somewhere faraway, the crow version of the Jeopardy theme plays.

    

    Eithne siiiiiiips her cup of tea and ignores her pet. "Glad yeh like it! Inga taught me the trick to stop the meat bein' tough. I'd never have thought of it on my own." Though she wouldn't have been averse to Chinese takeout, either. "Tell yeh what, next time I get my arse kicked yeh can call out fer somethin', all right?" she grins.

    Eithne takes another sip, expression soon becoming less jovial. "One thing I don't get though - why Ophelia took Inga in the first place. Inga said somethin' about Ophelia thought she was a slave? But I don't understand..." She looks over at Harry, blue eyes troubled. (And makes a 'don't you dare' face at Sheela, who in turn ignores her.)
Harry Dresden     Harry doesn't mind the familiar too much, but does poke his fork at the crow. "Careful you don't end up in the next batch, scamp. Also watch out for Mister." Said cat was probably... lurking somewhere. Who knows with him.

    Though... he thoughtfully chews at his piece of mutton as Eith starts talking about being a slave. "Hnnn. Ophelia seems ot have a... grand aversion to prophecy and Fate. OrWyrd in Inga's case. Maybe the Bees too, who knows. Creepy Bees." He huffs and grumps and mumbles. "She's clearly got no problem with the Filth though, or else she wouldn't try to put Inga in a bath of the shit."
Eithne Sullivan     'KRAAA', pouts Sheela, who flaps his wings childishly at Harry and hops up onto the back of a different mismatched chair. If he's been pursued by Mister, he's so far gotten away with all of his feathers intact... "He'll do it, too," Eithne chides her misbehaving pet.

    "Can't say I understand much of that, either... but that's more Ma's department than mine." She thinks back to the humming of the bees in that Agarth or Agrath or Argath or whatever place and squirms a bit. "...That was fuckin' creepy," she decides. "If the Filth is anything like the Black Tears, I'm havin' no part of it. It's unnatural. I don't like it."
Harry Dresden     Harry.... sucks in a breath. He pokes his fork around in the soup of the stew, letting out a slow breath. "It's..." He looks contemplative for a moment. "You know how honey is? It's sweet, it's sticky, it's good for you... and bees make it."

    "The Filth. It's not... it..." A faraway look. "It's sweet. It's delicious. It offers you so much if only you'd take it, embrace it. But... it's not really sweet. It's saccarine. It's... it's juuuust a bit off. And there's something worse underneath. It's not free, like the Honey."
Eithne Sullivan     "Ah, I know honey," she nods, because it's /honey/. Who doesn't? It's all of the things he says. But maybe she doesn't understand, not really. Because she's never seen the Filth, and she doesn't know the Honey-with-a-capital-H... only seen a little of a world tree and heard the far-off buzzing of bees.

    But the Filth is sweet too? The very idea of it makes her wrinkle her nose in distaste. Maybe it's sweet like aspartame, or corn syrup. Eithne stares at Harry, tilting her head just a bit to one side when he gets that faraway look. She doesn't like it... "But if it's this bad already on the surface, what else could be underneath?" She still doesn't trust the Bees, or the Buzzing, even if Inga does. "What the hell kind of price would a thing like that want?"
Harry Dresden     "There's darkness. Corruption. It's not called the Filth for nothing. You get all the power, all the glory, everything you want... but you belong to the Filth. nad the Filth wants to ruin the world. Reality. It's... the antithssis of life." A vague, dull memory of a faceless man demanding his fealty.
Eithne Sullivan     She squints a bit, and sets her half-empty teacup down with a quiet clink. "The antithesis of life... We call it Crom Cruach where I'm from. Or it's somethin' /like/ the Filth, anyway. It's rot that takes things while they're still breathing. Cancer, wasting disease, fields that won't produce crops, stillborn creatures. It can't make Titanspawn like the others, so it corrupts." Just thinking about the Titan makes her hackles rise...

    "I suppose it /must/ offer somethin' sweet if it wants a person to accept somethin' like that."