Greta spends most of the morning in the kitchen.
Sort of absurd, really, given the preparations being made across the city. But they've been working on the cottage for weeks, now — fortifying both magical and physical deterrents, getting Aggie's animals settled and comfortable, stocking up on whatever they might need based on every miserable eventuality she could envision — and it's belatedly occurred to her that if all goes according to plan, what she'll mostly be doing is just... hosting. She's told everyone she can think of that the cottage should be a safe harbor, and while she doesn't expect all of them to come by, or to stay for the whole evening, she imagines the ones that do might be wanting more than just a brief rest and some first aid.
So she bakes, wanting to get it done early enough that the wind will have time to dispel any tempting scents well before the siren sounds. Wanting to give herself something to do besides wringing her hands, or checking and re-checking everything like a madwoman, or lecturing Saoirse about the importance of not doing anything foolish.
Later, as people begin to arrive, she focuses on making sure they're comfortable (or as comfortable as circumstances allow). There's a large pot of soup on the stove and fresh-baked goods for anyone who's managed to keep their appetite, and plenty of tea in the cupboard. By the time 6PM rolls around, she's half-tempted to bring out something stronger, for all that this seems like a terrible time to impair her own judgment. The heavier stuff can wait, she decides, until they've all made it through this, ideally unscathed.
When the siren sounds, she's standing on her front stoop, brow furrowed at the city skyline, windows tightly shuttered behind her and arms folded tightly across her chest. What a stupid bloody excuse for a holiday.
[ A gathering post for anyone who might be riding out the Purge at the cottage, either temporarily or for the whole evening. If Greta knows your pup, it's a safe bet you've been invited or otherwise made aware, but anyone without evil intentions should be able to safely bypass Magnus' wards and make it onto the property for a respite. Open forever! ]
Sort of absurd, really, given the preparations being made across the city. But they've been working on the cottage for weeks, now — fortifying both magical and physical deterrents, getting Aggie's animals settled and comfortable, stocking up on whatever they might need based on every miserable eventuality she could envision — and it's belatedly occurred to her that if all goes according to plan, what she'll mostly be doing is just... hosting. She's told everyone she can think of that the cottage should be a safe harbor, and while she doesn't expect all of them to come by, or to stay for the whole evening, she imagines the ones that do might be wanting more than just a brief rest and some first aid.
So she bakes, wanting to get it done early enough that the wind will have time to dispel any tempting scents well before the siren sounds. Wanting to give herself something to do besides wringing her hands, or checking and re-checking everything like a madwoman, or lecturing Saoirse about the importance of not doing anything foolish.
Later, as people begin to arrive, she focuses on making sure they're comfortable (or as comfortable as circumstances allow). There's a large pot of soup on the stove and fresh-baked goods for anyone who's managed to keep their appetite, and plenty of tea in the cupboard. By the time 6PM rolls around, she's half-tempted to bring out something stronger, for all that this seems like a terrible time to impair her own judgment. The heavier stuff can wait, she decides, until they've all made it through this, ideally unscathed.
When the siren sounds, she's standing on her front stoop, brow furrowed at the city skyline, windows tightly shuttered behind her and arms folded tightly across her chest. What a stupid bloody excuse for a holiday.
[ A gathering post for anyone who might be riding out the Purge at the cottage, either temporarily or for the whole evening. If Greta knows your pup, it's a safe bet you've been invited or otherwise made aware, but anyone without evil intentions should be able to safely bypass Magnus' wards and make it onto the property for a respite. Open forever! ]
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Date: 2024-11-01 07:50 am (UTC)From:"You should come inside now," Aggie says, even though she's only a few feet away, dithering right at the threshold. Greta's nervous energy probably found no calm harbors with Aggie, who spent all of the daylight hours pacing the property line and going over every bit of magic with a fine-toothed comb. It's as safe as she can make it and Aggie knows there's very little else she can realistically do, but she's still fighting with the pent up energy that she's been unable to siphon off.
And now, here she is, standing at Greta's door and telling someone to get inside as if Aggie's the grown up. It's not as if the front door will change everything else, nor are people practically at their doors with pitchforks by any means. It just feels especially vulnerable out here, somehow.
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Date: 2024-11-15 11:04 pm (UTC)From:Either of those things might take a while to reach them here. She wants to imagine that it will begin in the city proper. That everyone will be drawn to where there are more windows to smash and shopfronts to loot and people to torment, and only when those easier options have been exhausted will people venture into the countryside to seek further sport.
But there's no reason to presume that. Aggie's right to remind her, and Greta moves back into the doorway with one last disapproving huff over the whole bloody business.
"What about you?" she asks, keeping her voice low. Regan has set up enough cameras they no one strictly needs to keep watch the old-fashioned way (not yet, at any rate). But should trouble arrive, it might be just as well to have Aggie able to act quickly.
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Date: 2024-11-27 07:31 am (UTC)From:She doesn't dare hope that it'll be boring, because to verbalize the thought is to tempt fate.
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Date: 2024-12-13 12:08 am (UTC)From:She'd also like to think that no one's been lying in wait to target the cottage, specifically. And that, at least, seems to be bearing out as the seconds tick by; no one has come charging forward to take advantage of the fact that two harmless-looking women haven't locked themselves indoors, yet. But that doesn't mean they should linger.
"Come on, then," she says, taking Aggie's hand to draw her back inside as well. "The wards should hold." 'Should' because she doesn't want to tempt fate, not because she's faithless. If Magnus' wards saw the cottage unharmed through the last Purge, they should be able to repeat the performance.
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Date: 2024-12-16 06:25 am (UTC)From:Aggie takes Greta's hand and lets them both retreat further into the safety of the house. "The wards should hold." She wants to say that they will hold, but tonight doesn't feel like the night for stubborn, blind optimism. Not when, only a few miles away, she has every reason not to feel optimistic about people at all.
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Date: 2024-12-22 01:37 am (UTC)From:"Let's make some tea," she says, releasing Aggie's hand as she heads into the kitchen. "It'll be a long night, and I don't expect I'd get much sleep even if I wanted to." She might regret it when the next siren sounds, but she can sleep once things have calmed down. As long as they're able to make it through the night unscathed, and she's satisfied that everyone she knows and cares for is safe, she doesn't mind the idea of putting off the post-disaster gawking.
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Date: 2024-12-31 04:31 pm (UTC)From:"Tea would be great."
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Date: 2025-01-06 12:26 am (UTC)From:Even though Greta didn't really expect Aggie to announce, at any point, that she intended to take a quick nap, it's still a relief to hear that she's planning to keep watch through the night. Which means the least Greta can do is ply her with socially acceptable stimulants and keep her company.
Fortunately, brewing them tea is something she's done often enough now that she can manage it even while driven to distraction by the city's machinations. She slides Aggie her mug, then lifts her own and leans back against the counter with a sigh. "Well..." she starts, struggling to come up with something encouraging to say, and eventually settling on, "at least it's not raining." She hopes that jinxes it, honestly. It would be fine with her if all the merrymakers out there got soaked to the bone.
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Date: 2025-01-16 04:54 am (UTC)From:"At least it's not raining," she agrees soberly before looking skyward, like some higher power will take a hint and start up on the thunder.
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Date: 2025-01-17 01:08 am (UTC)From:And if some of the nastier pieces of work were struck by lightning — or struck down by pneumonia after the fact — so much the better.
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Date: 2025-01-19 05:30 am (UTC)From:"I did make it storm once. Here and, well, before. But I wasn't really...in control of myself." Tonight is not the night to recreate such events.