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Eithne Sullivan Click, click, click.

    There's a nice, snuggly rug on the floor in front of Inga's hearth and Eithne is spending all of her energy making sure that she enjoys it properly. The fire casts a golden glow over her freckles, and the white ruffly things she's wearing are no match for the warmth of the blaze contained in the hearth. (They are not actually /that/ scanty, but they are definitely more of a summer thing.)

    The empty bottle placed carefully at the corner of the hearth might have something to do with her determination to wear seasonally-inappropriate clothing.

    There's a small stack of three books arranged carefully near her head, and despite her best efforts Eithne has given up on the idea of reading and seems fairly engrossed in the act of 'being tipsy in front of the fire'.

    What, she's fairly sure Inga will be spending the night at Harry's place in Chicago. Surely nobody will catch her doing something so scandalous!!
Gawain Certainly, Inga won't be the one to catch Enya doing something so scandalous. That'd be ridiculous. And then there's a few brief, loud knocks at the door. Hmmm. Well, if it's only for a brief moment...

"Wisewoman, I've brought you some herbs!" That voice could only belong to one man, as he opens the door and cheerfully waltzes in, dressed in winter clothes. Sir Gawain has a basket over his arm as he walks into the cabin, moving to find somewhere to set it down. "Oh, I guess you're not her-"

And spots Enya, dressed very seasonally inapproriate. And in her underwear. And even despite Gawain's normal dorkiness, he understand that this is very awkward. But he's too honest and nice. So he can't not tell her. "Uh, Lady Enya? I'm sorry, I thought the Wisewoman was here! ...Please don't freeze to death like that!"
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga is not actually in Chicago tonight, but has been in the village most of the day tending to the daily wisewoman-type needs of villagers. Checking on babies, attending to wounds, pulling bad teeth, delivering a few charms...all the lovely, usually messy work of the resident witch when she's not doing really Witchy Things.

She's cold, soggy, tired, and maybe in need of a drink of whiskey. Little does she know, SOMEONE has already beaten her to it.

Not too long after Gawain goes inside the door opens again to admit Inga, swathed in her cloak, walking stick in her hand.

She spots a man, only seeing him from behind.

She sees Enya.

She sees Enya in nothing but frilly underware.



She leaps to the wrong conclusion...

WHACK! Inga comes up behind Gawain and cracks him hard across the back of the head!
Eithne Sullivan The clicking noise seems to be... Eithne drumming her fingertips slowly against the floor, blue eyes focused on the pa-ra-ra-ram, pa-ra-ra-ram rhythm of her fingernails against the stone. It's so nice to be so warm, and the firelight on her bare skin is just so great, and she's so comfortable~~~

    And then, a Gawain appears.

    She rolls over onto her side, the better to face the door and possibly beat the shit out of someone, but it's Gawain! She knows Gawain. "Oh! Hullo," Eithne beams, greeting the knight with a lazy wave and a doomed grab for the empty whiskey bottle. "Hullo! No, no, Inga's in Chicago tonight, I think~" She swipes a lock of hair out of her face, pink flushed across her cheeks. "I'll be fine! S'warm in front of the- oh my."

    Because Inga is here now, and she just clobbered the shit out've poor Gawain.

    "Inga!" Eithne waves gaily, stopping halfway through to stare at the scant few drops left in the bottom of the bottle. "Oh, Gawain brought yeh some herbs. I think yeh may have killed him though."

    SHE'S HELPING
Gawain Gawain waves back, but still is slightly flustered. But probably not for the normal reasons. "Well, that makes sense, but you should probably put on some warmer pajamas, like onesies! Those are pretty war-"

THUD

A roommate filled with Protection Power clobbers Gawain over the head with a stick, and he doesn't see it coming, even though he really should. He goes tumbling straight into the table he put the basket on, causing the basket to go flying into the air and onto his head as he collapses to the floor. He's dead.

Or at the very least, lying mostly still and not making much noise except some murmuring that is probably dampened by all the herbs he's covered in. Yeah, he's dead.
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga, still holding her walking stick/magic staff like a baseball bat, looks down at Gawain, her eyes round as the moon an adrenaline surges through her. He's lucky she didn't strike him with lightning--but she'd be concerned with property damage, so stick it was. She had a knife at her belt, too. But she's not super great at stabbing, anyway.

Inga looks to Enya, her words finding reason in Inga's mind. Gawain?

Inga looks down, Gawain now covered in herbs.

Oh, crap.

"Killed him!? I can fix it!" she says. Wait, what?

But then she hears him groaning. Alright, not dead. That's easier to fix. Cursing under her breath she kneels down and starts picking the herbs off of him and back into the basket. She feels the back of his head and winces at the lump growing. Uh, that would go away quickly, wouldn't it? Gawain wasn't just a normal mortal. Still, she can help.

NOW she draws the knife, drawing a bit of blood from her finger. She smears it on his head, whispering her spell.

That should help.

"Now then...ahem I didn't know you were having ah...company tonight Eithne...you should really warn me!" she says, just then noticing the empty bottle of whiskey. She looks back to Gawain, eyes widening further.... Naturally, she is wondering how she could have possibly missed them being 'involved'!
Eithne Sullivan Thankfully Eithne has not been ravaged by a faceless, nameless stranger. In fact, she hasn't even been ravaged by a familiar person!

    To be fair, there's a very good chance she might mistake any attempts at ravishment as fighting, and that rarely goes well for anybody. She does so love a good excuse to get covered in someone else's blood.

    "Oh, good~" she yawns, and rolls over one more time until she's back on her belly on the rug again. ~so warm~

    "I didn't know either," Eithne nods slowly, eyes closed in what she believes to be a very wise manner. "Mmhm! I was just gonna get pissed an' read my new books but company came over! An' me in my underthings," she sort-of complains, though there's no heat to it. She watches Inga use blood magic on the poor knight, blue eyes a bit hazy, and rests her chin on her crossed forearms. "Mm. I thought yeh were gonna be in Chicago tonight, Inga. Was I mistaken?"

    Who could possibly be the mistaken one here?!
Gawain Wait, no, he's not dead. If Gawain could die that easy, he'd be a terrible Servant. He's actually mostly fine, he has a small bruise, but it's already healing, and Inga's magic makes it heal twice as fast, to the point that it's gone in moments. Once the basket and herb are off him, he slowly begins to rise, moving to steady himself against a table.

Gawain nods towards Enya as she speaks, because she's correct about all of it, and then he speaks up in his own attempt to try and clarify to Inga what happened. "Oh, it was a really quick encounter! We were only alone for about a minute, until you arrived and knocked me out!"

And sadly, he is still not the best at word choice.
Inga Freyjasdottir Ings blinks at Eithne. Oh...OOOOOH. Eithne drank that whole bottle herself!

Inga finds herself torn. She's not sure now, if she's relieved that Enya isn't having wild times with a boyfriend or worried that she's drinking entire bottles of whiskey to read books alone in her underwear.

Then Gawain opens his mouth. Inga looks to him. She slowly raises one eyebrow at him. "A reall quick encounter, hmm?"

She reaches up and rubs her hands over her face. She can't. Just too easy.
Eithne Sullivan She's a Scion with Endurance: Yes.

    It takes her a whole bottle just to get pleasantly tipsy!!

    "Yeah, he'd barely come in the door," Eithne tries to help clarify, tugging a paperback close now that she's certain of the whiskey bottle's emptiness. Maybe this will have something nice in store for her!

    The title reads 'Birds of the Galapagos'.

    She smiles. Looks promising~!

    She may not understand the implication of 'a quick encounter'.
Gawain "Very quick! I was talking to Enya about her choice of clothing and how she's probably going to freeze!" Gawain does not understand innuendo, therefore, he is confused by Inga's reaction. "Enya, I didn't know you read! You seemed like the type to watch boxing matches. What have you been reading tonight?"
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga walks to the kitchen and starts looking for more booze, her back to them.

Her shoulders start shaking with barely repressed laughter.

"BAHAHAHAHA!" she burst out, leaning over the sink. She just can't hold it in any longer.

She turns back toward them, wiping tears from her eyes. "So you got drunk to read books, and Gawain came to bring herbs and--" she just laughs. "I'm a bit concerned about you both," she says, still unable to stop laughing.
Eithne Sullivan "It's fine, it's fiiiiiiiiine!" Eithne waves a hand disamissively. "I'm right next to the fire, see?" She's even at a responsible distance that isn't likely to catch herself on fire! It it's good enough for the rug, it's good enough for her!

    "Oh, do yeh not read much yerself, Gawain?" she asks, caught a bit by surprise. Who doesn't read?! Though he's a knight, so he must be awfully busy. Plus that giant boar isn't going to feed itself. "I've got... let's see, a book about birds, and one about Inuit legends, and another one about the history of metalworking. This one covers the Iron Age!" she beams, waving the book in question about. "The last one was the Stone Age through the Bronze Age. Not my favorites," the Scion shrugs, and sets it back down. "Truthfully, if there's going to be boxin' I'd rather be in the ring than watchin' it..."

    Eithne draws herself up onto her elbows and peers over at Inga, kicking her feet back and forth. "Hmm? How come? I'm not irresponsible, right?" She feels a bit comcerned suddenly. Having a nice evening of booze and books now and then isn't shirking her duties, is it?!
Gawain "But- well, I can't stop you, so if you think you're fine, Enya!" Gawain just sighs, and then smiles brightly. And then actually shakes his head at Enya. "I read quite a bit! I've been making a habit of reading stories about Camelot whenever I can find one, to see what people thought of it. I actually enjoy quite a bunch of classical fiction; Dickens, Dumas, Platt & Munk..." He doesn't explain who Platt & Munk are, thinking it's obvious.

And then he stares at Inga, even more confused when she bursts out laughing. "Wisewoman?! Are you okay?" But her next lines confuse him the most. "What? Is there something wrong? Am I wounded but didn't notice it? I've done that before!"
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga laughs, shaking her head. She doesn't have any more whiskey, but there is beer. So, she gets one of those and passes it to Gawain. "Kindly open that for me? And would you like one?" she asks. Inga lets the men feel manly by letting them open bottles and jars. She could easily ask Eithne to do it, but...

"I am more concerned that you're not...well, socializing in a way young women usually socialize. But I never much did either," she offers with a shrug.

As for who doesn't read? Well, Inga for one.

Because Inga is illiterate. :|

Inga looks to Gawain. She's not as familiar with his stories. What she'd heard of Arthur and Merlin and what not was filtered through a different lense than many. Different versions of earth. "How old are you Gawain?" she asks suddenly. He often seems so child-like, but he can't be that young.
Eithne Sullivan See? Everybody's having a wonderful time and nobody will probably burn to death!

    What a lovely evening! C:

    "What'm I gonna do with socializing like that?" Eithne frowns. "What, like with boys and such? I'd rather fight than kiss 'em." As Arthur learned too late.

    She's read a bit of Dumas, a about as much Arthurian legend as a normal United Kingdom girl her age has (probably a bit more, actually), and of /course/ she's got some Dickens in her collection. But Platt & Munk...?

    "Not /that/ Platt and Munk?" Eithne asks slowly, gearbox churning stubbornly inside her head. A look comes across her face as if she's been struck by something. Suddenly she's in motion, kicking up off of the rug and scrambling for the guest bedroom, bare feet skidding on the wood floor as she turns a corner too sharply.

    There may be a few quiet thumps. Give her a second.

    She returns with a carefully-held book, bound in cloth over paperboard, and (thank goodness) a long shirt over her scanties. "This Platt and Munk?" Almost shyly, she offers up a worn children's book to them. The faded title reads 'A Child's Garden of Verses'.
Gawain When Inga reveals she's fine and Gawain's also fine, he sighs in relief. When she passes a bottle over, he gladly cracks it open with a slight pull of the top, passing the bottle back over to Inga. And then Gawain nods in favor of Enya. "I agree! Sparring is excellent socialization, and also a good way to train for combat!" He doesn't understand the situation, because girls can totally be badasses, look at his king!

Speaking of which, Gawain replies to Inga's question. "When I died, I was...32! A few years younger than my king and Sir Bedivere, though." Despite his firm statement on it, Gawain does not look that old. He looks to be in his early-mid 20s at his /latest/. "I hope I'm not showing gray hairs!" (He's not, they're perfectly blonde.)

And then Enya gets a realization, and walks off to rummage for something. Gawain quirks an eyebrow and waits, but when Enya returns and presents a book, his eyes widen and his smile beams like the sun. "Yes! I read their works often! I haven't finished the collection, but one of my favorite's is The Little Engine Who Could. It's a very inspirational story!"
Inga Freyjasdottir Ugh, they're talking about books. Inga down her beer, then sighs. She should have practiced more, perhaps have Eithne help her learn to read. There just always seemed to be more important things to do.

"Tch...I always associated reading with Christians. My slave offered to teach me to read but..." Inga waves a hand dismissively. "Taught me Latin, though."

Then Gawain reveals his age. Or, well, his age at death. Which is by itself a very bizarre statement, or it would be in another time. Inga coughs. "Truly? I did not think you were so old. Indeed, you are older than I!"
Eithne Sullivan     Sometimes it's worrisome - that people can just... not notice injuries long after they've happened. Surely they'd notice if Gawain was tracking blood all over the place, right?! And girls absolutely can be badasses. Gawain is silently right, just look at the king.

    "Huh, a little under twice my age, then," the dark-haired girl nods thoughtfully. She may be a little - what's that funny word, snookered? - but she can still do math! "O-oh, that one, eh? I loved it!"

    She sure did. When she was five. But hell if she's going to tell Gawain that! He looks so /happy/. Why spoil it?

    And just like that, she finds out that Inga had a slave. Had, right? Eithne would've noticed a slave wandering around the cottage, wouldn't she? Though if s/he had offered to teach Inga to read... well that would have to mean they weren't treated badly, right? Not that she could ever see Inga doing that.

    Eithne realizes she's been stock-still for two whole seconds and ... smiles down at her book. It was the first her father ever bought for her. It's what he used to teach her to read.

    In a way, Eithne supposes she can trace her whole self back to this collection of words.

    "Aaaah, life's funny, isn't it?" she murmurs, holding it a little tighter and making her way to the sofa. Settling down criss-cross-applesauce just like back then, Eithne places the book in her lap and opens it to the first page. Just like old times. She waves over her shoulder at the other two. "Don't mind me fer a bit, I'm feelin' a little nostalgic..."
Inga Freyjasdottir Yes, past tense. Had. Inga is from a very different time and place when that was completely acceptable and expected. Inga has done a great deal of things her friends would not approve of. Harry knows. He accepts it. She knows times have changed.

Life is, and always was, complicated.

Inga takes her beer and moved over to sit beside Eithne. "Very well, read it to us," she smiles. She's not opposed to being read to.
Gawain Gawain glances at Inga when she mentions slave, but doesn't say anything about it. Worlds are different, and he hasn't seen or heard any slaves around, so obviously its past tense! "Most people don't read these stories anymore, for some reason! But they're quite enjoyable, and have great values in them!" Sir Gawain is really happy, even if he's also revealing that he tends to read children's books along with his actual classical literature. And when Inga proposes an excellent idea, he moves to take a seat too, nodding. "Good idea. I don't have any more duties for a while, so this will be fun!" But then he turns his head towards Inga.

"But do make sure to pay attention. These stories can be /really complex/!"
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga gives Gawain /quite/ a look. Back in her day, she had to memorize stories not just write them down! She can handle complex.