Scene #753:

Owner	Pose
Harry Dresden	It is a cloudy, dreary, drizzly Chicago Morning, and Mr. Harry Dresden is... definately not bright eyed and bushy tailed today. The Wizard has woken up and goten a cup of coffee, and has a cold slice of pizza, and is dressed, but that's about as far as he's gotten today. The fireplace is hot, though, and Harry's got himself curled up in front of it in his easy chair under a blanket. It's a morning.
Sona Buvelle	Sona's arrival is heralded by the lightest of touches to her Mysterious Magical Instrument (tm). It's a sad, somber tune befitting the weather. Almost unconsciously, anyone she passes by on the way to Harry's abode may well be touched by a feeling of sadness and loss as her magic plucks those invisible strings of emotion. There's a small smile on the woman's face as she notes the reactions of a few, clearly both wondering if they're really seeing a floating woman and why they're starting to feel depressed. Soon enough, Sona's found her way to the front door. She reaches out, about to touch the door when she pauses. There's magic here. She smartly plucks several strings, and light vibrations and accompanying magic make the sound of a drum beat and knock upon the door as one.
Harry Dresden	Knock knock knock... sort of. Harry grumbles and looks at the clock. Not time for an appointment. He snorts a bit, and murmurs. Means a Unionite or someone here to kill him. He unwillingly peels himself out of the blankets, picks up his coffee cup... and his staff, instead and head over to the door, cracking it open and peeking out. "Morning?"
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga has more or less been worried sick about Harry. She's sure now that he's been infected with the Filth. So she'd packed up various herbs, charms, ingredients and objects that she thinks she may need to try to rid him of it. She's afraid it might not be possible. Everything is stuffed into her leather belt pouches, making her look rather encumbered. She's dressed in her normal attire--which is to say quite odd looking for around here. A long dress and wool cloak, a fox fur around her neck to try to keep out some of the chill. By the time she arrives however, she's soaked through from walking through the city to his apartment. She seems to have made a friend though. A certain large cat walks beside her, nuzzling at her legs when she pauses. Cats love Inga--especially since she has been throwing Mister a few pieces of meat from one of her pouches. As to why she is carrying meat? Who knows. Inga stops when she comes in sight of the door, reaching toward her belt for her knife, not sure if the unfamiliar (blue haired, uneathly pretty) woman at his door is one of his many enemies. OR maybe one of the damsels in distress?!
Sona Buvelle	Sona shakes off her rather frilly looking umbrella before popping it closed. She hangs it on one end of the Etwahl, the instrument briefly floating away from her. With a deep bow, the musical mage offers Harry a smile as he peeks out. It might be a rather interesting view on this dreary morning. Notably, despite the small size of the umbrella, neither Sona's long hair nor her instrument seem to be wet. The instrument floats back over as Sona taps her throat meaningfully and shakes her head. Then, with a small chord played, magic forms fanciful blue letters above her head. 'Sona of House Buvelle'. She pauses, tilts her head, and then simply waves her hand in several signing motions and looks at Harry expectantly. Should he know sign language? "Mister Dresden, good morning. Do you know sign? And may I come in? I have a request, and am willing to pay." Inga gets noticed after a moment, and Sona's eyes dip to that reaching hand. Still, she gives a gentle smile to the other woman and offers a sedate bow. After a beat, it's followed by a slightly awkward wave. Still quiet, this one, except when she reaches over to play her instrument almost out of reflex...or just to keep her magical floating going.
Harry Dresden	Harry snorts at the words over Sona's head and spots Inga and Mister as well... and opens up the door for everyone involved. Mister is rude, takes Inga's meat, thumps into her shins to show appreciation, and then trots inside the house to flop over in front of the warms. Harry waves everyone inside before catching Sona's gesticulating... and blinking. Hells bells, it's been a while. okay, uh. he caught that. Most of it. "Willing to pay, that's reassuring. Sure, we can talk come on in. Sorry if the place is a mess." And it is a mess technically speaking. It's cleaner than usual though, thanks to the morning pass by Harry's cleaning crew.
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga would very much like to follow Mister to the warms and flop down herself. Instead, she holds herself as tall as possible (which at five feet is not very much at all). Despite the small height, Inga does have a presence. Her eyes are deep and knowing, a touch wary even as her hand leaves the knife at her belt. A client then. This she understands. Curious, the words that form above her head. Inga can't read--not can she sign. Well, this was going to be interesting. "Good morning Harry...should I come back later?" she asks. She's practically shivering, but doesn't want to be in the way.
Harry Dresden	Harry, for his part, reaches out and tugs Inga inside and grumps. "Get in here, you, you look miserable." He shuffles over to his percolator and gets a cup of coffee for Inga and also one for Sona. He also pulls out a legal pad and pen just in case. "Inga, meet Sona Buvelle, musician and bard for the League of Legends."
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga is just avoiding looking like she swam over. She flails slightly when she's tugged in, nearly falling on him. "Goodness, alright," she says, moving inside. She starts unpacking some of her things, untying pouches and laying them on the counter. She tosses Mister another piece of meat. Inga removes her sodden cloak and hangs it next to Harry's duster. Inga turns then to Sona, bowing her head in greeting. "Sona Buvelle," she greets. "A pleasure." She takes the coffee in hand and sits close to the fire, hoping she'll dry quickly.
Sona Buvelle	Instrument and owner float on in, and looks around the apartment. The noblewoman gives the briefest of frowns before she returns to that mask of serenity. Sending the Etwahl to float nearby Harry, she gives a shake of the head at the mention of the mess. When introductions come, Inga gets a warm smile. The cup of coffee is taken, and she signs towards Inga in a polite greeting. Siiip. Seems Sona at least likes the coffee. Pausing, she too takes out a pen and paper from her robes. More signing. Poor Inga will have to be translated at. "I shall be blunt, Mister Dresden. This instrument of mine..." She indicates the Etwahl. It's obviously magical to anyone with good mage senses. Even without, the fact its floating should be a clue. "I need to know more about it. I have it under control right now. But it has a dangerous side. It can kill, and has. I don't want that to happen again. So I need an expert on things like this." She looks at Harry. Poor Inga all but falling on Harry has her soundlessly giggling. The Etwahl briefly floats back over, and with a pluck of a string, words appear. "Pleasure is all mine." Form in multi-colored, bright letters. One might be able to feel magic pushing, as if trying to enforce a feeling of warmth and calm.
Harry Dresden	Mister takes the jerky without comment, gnawing on it, a tail swishing. What a jerk. Harry snorts a bit and sighs. "You know you're the second person from the League to come talk to me about stuff, right? Ahri was here a while back too." A yawwwwn, and he settles down at his kitchenette. "You don't need to float in here, the floor is comfy and warm." It should be with all the spare carpet and throw rugs around. He looks over at the instrument and then back to the bard, and pushes a chair out. "Alright. Let's talk. I know about you but I don't know enough."
Sona Buvelle	Sona visibly perks up. A smile comes to her face, and a few more strings are touched. Images form, a stylized Ahri and Sona making cute little magical spells at each other. Clearly she's met the woman in the League! With a pout, the woman stops floating, but in turn signs up a storm. There's a rant about showmanship in there and playing to expectations. But she calms after a moment and nods. "Then let me play the score of my life for you, Mister Dresden." She signs away, before reaches to her instrument. Images flash above the instrument as she plays a quiet song. A flash of an orphanage, and a young Sona clutching her instrument. The young Sona grows older, children beside her led off, until she's in her teens. A woman appears, and takes away Sona. The two play the Etwahl together, growing. Hearts flash above Sona. The images pause, and she frowns. Her playing falters. She takes a deep breath. The image returns, showing Sona banging on the Etwahl's strings. The Etwahl vibrates, and the other woman falls to the ground dead. Sona's playing stops, and she's shivering.
Inga Freyjasdottir	Inga looks at the words, but she cannot understand them. She glances toward Harry, raising a brow curiously, hoping perhaps for a translation. After warming up for a bit and drinking half her coffee, Inga gets up again and moves to the kitchen, starting to sort through some of her things. There is something important to be done once Harry is finished with current business, and she may as well get started with some preparations. Now, does he have a mortar and pestle she wonders? She has some herbs that need to be ground into a powder. The instrument and Sona are watched carefully, Inga unable to hide her amazement as the instrument begins to play, flashing images. "By Bragi..." she breathes. It is like something out of the stories. She wonders what it is made of. She's familiar with a harp that plays the story of someone murdered, was this made similarly? The story pulls her in, a frown forming. The woman is telling about her life. The other woman, mother? Mentor? ....Did she kill her?
Harry Dresden	Harry's eyes narrow a bit as he looks from Sona to the Instrument to Sona again, sipping at his coffee as he does so. A long moment of consideration, as he sucks a breath through his teeth. "And you say it's that which is doing it and not... yourself in a fugue state or something similar."