(no subject)

[andhiswife]

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! ]

Comments

[onlythebranch]

Mad Sweeney is here more to patrol than to keep himself safe. The night doesn't frighten him much, most of the idiots taking part either wanting nothing more than some mischief, broken glass and stolen televisions, or are far too fucking pathetic for him to really be concerned with. His safety isn't at the forefront of his mind.

There aren't many willing to take on a seven foot mountain of a man who can pull a spear out of thin air.

There are those who'd be willing to attack this cottage, however, and he sure as fuck isn't going to let anyone lay a hand on Greta, Saoirse, or anyone either of them cares about. So he's pacing the property, keeping a keen eye out, attuned to the shadows of the night even with the nips of alcohol he's taking from his flask.

When he nears the front door, he calls out, "All's well so far." Greta and Saoirse will both recognize his voice, maybe one of them will come out to say hi and he can give them shit for opening the door.

[andhiswife]

Greta had expected Sweeney to stop by, at the very least — she'd put out an offering the same as any other night, old habits and a wealth of surplus baked goods ensuring that she didn't forget (though, all things considered, she imagines he would have forgiven her if she had) — but she hadn't wanted to presume anything about how long he might stay, and the patrolling he's doing is an added relief. Their luck has held so far, but she knows how fickle luck can be, and she's been wielding her worry like a talisman all night. Any additional defense is more than welcome, and with so many of said defenses being invisible, the kind of visual deterrent an enormous bloody leprechaun might provide is better still.

But part of her is still sitting on worst case scenarios like a broody hen... which is why, when she first spots him on one of Regan's cameras, she about jumps out of her skin. In her defense, the night vision setting and the high angle distort what would otherwise be familiar, his hair color impossible to discern and his height, while obviously considerable, hard to measure. But then she recognizes him, and lets out a breath in a great whoosh.

Her heart is still pounding a bit as she makes her way, ill-advisedly, to the front door. She's not entirely sure if she wants to thank him, scold him for startling her (ridiculous), or beg him for whatever scraps of miserable information he might have gathered from any wandering he's done already. Regardless, she brings another offering: a freshly-opened bottle of beer, which she reasons could be drafted into a more violent sort of service if needs must.

She slips out onto the darkened front porch, closing the door softly behind her. "I should hope so," she murmurs, setting the beer on the railing for him.

[onlythebranch]

"Oi, the fuck're you opening the door for on a night like this?" he asks, but he's grinning at her in the dark. It's as good to see her as it always is and the beer is welcome, as it always is.

He takes the bottle from the railing with a nod of thanks, then gestures toward the cottage with his chin. "Everyone doin' alright in there?"

If they weren't, he's sure she would have said as much by now. She knows what Saoirse means to him, the bond they share, both of them born, in one way or another, to the lineage of the Tuatha Dé Danann.

[andhiswife]

"Trusting to luck," she fires back with an arched eyebrow and the wry suggestion of a smile. Not to tempt fate, but between the wards and Sweeney's presence, she thinks the front porch is about as safe as it could be. Safe enough to risk a bit of fresh air and a bit of intelligence.

The smile manages to hold as she glances back towards the cottage, which currently guards everyone she cares for (or the ones who could be persuaded, at any rate). "They're as well as can be expected," she says, which is as optimistic as she dares to be. "We're all just... waiting for it to be over."

She turns back to Sweeney, her gaze sharpening in the dark. "What about out there?" she asks, waving a hand out at the city. "How bad is it?"

[onlythebranch]

He shrugs and looks toward the city. "The usual sort of shit you'd expect on a day like this. A lot of looting, smashed windows, that sorta thing. Spike and I have stopped a couple assaults."

So far, he hasn't seen anyone dead or dying. That counts for something, but then, he's probably just missed it. In a city the size of this, he figures it's got to have happened or will at some point.

[andhiswife]

Greta nods, oddly reassured by the report. Last time this happened, she was even farther removed from the city proper than she is now — and, perhaps, more solidly protected. All she could do was let her imagination run riot with what might be happening further afield. Now that it isn't so far afield as it could be, there's some comfort in hearing that most of the mayhem Sweeney's come across is... well, forgive her for thinking so, but a bit ordinary. The criminally inclined, it seems, have less vivid imaginations than she does.

Which won't save any shopkeeper's windows, of course. You don't need to be creative to do inexcusable things to people. The city will be a mess in the morning. But at least it feels a bit safer to believe that it'll still be standing.

This also means that having Sweeney here feels a bit less like an indulgence she shouldn't encourage, as if he ought to be out in the thick of things in case he needs to defuse a bloody bomb or something. "Are you hungry?" she asks. "I could bring something out, if you like. Or you could come sit for a moment."

[onlythebranch]

"Yeah, I'd come in for a touch," he says. "Spike's out prowlin' your property, so we've got that extra bit of protection for awhile 'til he gets bored and comes bangin' on the door, tellin' me to get my ass in gear."

He grins at Greta as he climbs the stairs, his beer still in hand.

"Kids're holdin' up okay? I know Saoirse was out there buildin' traps last time I ran into her."

[andhiswife]

"And if we hear a bunch of empty cans falling over, we'll know Spike's found one of them," Greta replies with a wry smile. She hadn't let the girl booby-trap too much of the yard, if only because so much of said yard is occupied by Aggie's animals, and the last thing she wants to deal with on top of everything else is a panicked horse. But she also hadn't wanted to forbid Saoirse from doing anything that might be helpful (or anything that might keep her busy while Greta herself was too distracted and worried to be as reassuring as she might have liked). The few things the lass has set up won't harm so much as startle and perhaps embarrass. Any friends, she imagines, will forgive the indignity; any enemies deserve no less.

"But they're all right," she says as she ushers him indoors. "Regan is keeping an eye on her camera array, and Saoirse's entertaining herself as best she can." Greta's ready to step in on that front if she needs to; there are worse ways to while away the hours than letting Saoirse attempt some very ambitious nail art on her.

[onlythebranch]

"Hate that this government pulls shit like this," he admits. Sweeney is a god of violence and war and blood and luck. But he's a god, eternal, immortal, and Regan and Saoirse are just kids. They shouldn't have to deal with it, they should be allowed to be just kids.
 
He doesn't say shit like that to anyone, really, outside of Spike and Greta. He's lost a lot of people over his years here in Darrow and he knows he'll keep losing them, until he's the one being lost. But Greta knows him better than most, better than almost anyone. She won't be surprised he cares that much about the kids.

[andhiswife]

Sweeney is, perhaps, uniquely well-suited to surviving a night like this one — between what he knows of battle and his uncanny luck, she has the luxury of not needing to worry about him. But surviving it and enjoying it are two very different things. Part of her wonders if the violence lands near enough to war to sustain him, but it feels in poor taste to ask. Better to simply appreciate his willingness to voice his disgust with it all to her in the first place, which she recognizes as an opinion he might not air to just anyone. She reaches over to give his hand a brief, appreciative squeeze before leading him into the kitchen.

"It does seem to go against the purpose of having a so-called democracy in the first place," she replies drily, fetching down one of her larger soup bowls for him. "Normally it takes a monarchy to subject so many people to such a stupid bloody idea."

Perhaps she's giving the general population too much credit. There was no vote on the Purge that she was aware of (and she is fairly diligent about these things), but even if there had been, the locals might have collectively and inexplicably gone for the daft option, anyway.

"Though even a King usually has the sense to set his people against a neighboring Kingdom, not their neighbors on the street," she adds, nodding him towards a seat at the table as she fetches a spoon.

[selkiesaoirse]

Saoirse hears the voice and, for the first time almost all day, she smiles. It's been hard not to feel a little angry that Darrow's ruined her birthday — well, her birthday was yesterday, and it's not like anyone forgot so much as it felt a little overshadowed by today — but hearing Sweeney's voice pushes that away, just a bit, just enough.

It's probably stupid, but she does open the door and slip out, closing it behind her again to keep up the semblance of secrecy and safety they've been trying to maintain all evening.

"Checking up on us?" she asks, pitching her voice low; with her dark clothes and dark hair, standing on the dark porch, the pale of her face is almost bright.

[onlythebranch]

"Yeah, Christ knows you and Greta can't be trusted," Sweeney answers with a grin in the dark. "Kinda surprise you two ain't out there, livin' it up, spray painting the whole city with your graffiti."

He knows they won't, they're not the sort, out here protecting their home instead, their people. That might not be Sweeney's preferred method of spending this night, but he's glad they're staying safe. He's out here doing the stuff they shouldn't, not that he's much on bothering with crime, but he's keeping people safe while getting to do what he likes. A bit of blood, a bit of a fight. All in the name of keeping people from harm.

[selkiesaoirse]

Saoirse rolls her eyes at him. "Yeah, well, only because I haven't really pinned down my tag of choice," she says, grinning. "D'you want to come inside? Mum's made... everything. Soup and scones and literally everything, I think." She giggles. "Poppy might bark at you, but Lari says she barks at everyone at least once, so don't take it personally."

[onlythebranch]

Sweeney glances back to look for Spike, but his husband is off somewhere else, keeping the grounds safe. They're here for a reason, the two of them, and yet he's also here for the scones and the baking and the beer.

Spike knows that. He'll know where to find Sweeney when he returns.

"Let's go in," he agrees. "Make sure not to put me into a food coma, I gotta head off in a little bit."

[selkiesaoirse]

Saoirse giggles. "No promises," she warns. "Mum really did make a lot." She waits for him to step closer before turning to open the door and let him in. Sure enough, Poppy, Larita's chihuahua, barks once, but then looks at Sweeney with a wide-eyed head-tilt. Cu surges to his feet to pad over and get loving from his second-favorite Irish person as Saoirse closes the door behind him and reapplies the locks.

[onlythebranch]

Sweeney rubs Cu's ears, looking back at the little dog with distrust. It's too small, it freaks him out a little, and he focuses his attention on Cu. Mab is safe, protected by magic, holed up in a mausoleum and fast asleep, the hound he never even realized he needed until she was by his side.

"You're all doin' okay in here?" he asks. "Has anyone come around causin' any trouble?"

He'll track them down if they have. He's not going to let anything at all happen to his girls.

[selkiesaoirse]

"Not yet," Saoirse assures. "I think we're gonna be okay. But I'm glad you're checking anyway. I bet nobody would even think about coming here if they knew you were about." She grins, leading Sweeney back into the kitchen. "Are you keeping safe?" she asks, grabbing a bowl so she can get him some soup.

[onlythebranch]

"We're keepin' somethin'," he answers, thinking she knows him better than to expect he keep out of trouble. Safe is a relative term for someone like Sweeney, who lives on blood and war and sacrifice and a little bit of luck. Knowing what he knows about himself now, it's easier for him to understand why he's lived so long. He lives better when people leave him offerings, but he's lived for longer on blood.
 
And someone is always spilling blood.
 
"Spike and I are havin' a grand ol' time, darlin'," he says and grins. "Don't you worry about us."

[selkiesaoirse]

"Well, I'll always worry," she insists, piling the soup high and then slicing him a thick slice of homemade bread to dip into it. "You're my friend." She brings the plate of bread and bowl of soup over to him, then curls up in one of the chairs at the table.

[onlythebranch]

"Yeah, yeah, no need to get all sappy," Sweeney teases as he settles in. When she sits, too, he reaches across the table and cuffs the side of her head gently, his big hand curling against the back of her skull for a moment. He's bad at this shit, bad at letting people know what they mean to him, but he tries when it matters.
 
With her and Greta, with Rapunzel, and with Spike.
 
He doesn't say he worries, because he's here. That he's come means he worries and wants to look out for them.