Deitha found herself listening to her drinking companion with a little more ease than she had anticipated. The drink-and-a-bit in her system was helping smooth off the rough edges that had been the day, but she was just enjoying the company. They were, she had to admit, an unlikely pairing - and in spite of that, were getting along pleasantly, probably because they were so unalike and together primarily out of circumstance, and yet had a spark of connection. They seemed, perhaps unusually so, comfortable around each other - but their shared experiences made that easier.
Odhrán was right though, anyone can charm their way to a picture-perfect replica of a bowl of fruit, but to capture its essence freehand required considerably more talent. If he were making such claims, perhaps he had some artistic talent about him after all - then she remembered the sketchbook she'd seen while she was with Aoibheann that time, before going out on the search for Odhrán. Those were his sketches?
"What was it the muggles used to say about the camera, that it was stealing a piece of their soul to be captured in a picture?" She laughed, "The challenge is accepted, is it? Well, as long as you're not expecting a nude study like the art schools all seem to have, maybe I'll let you sometime."
The commentary about pets didn't surprise her. Not everyone was a pet person, and she knew full well if Odhrán had wanted a pet - even an arsehole cat strutting around the place - he'd have one. "You see, I can be wrong about things!" She lifted her glass as if raising a toast. She knew Odhrán's family must have had money - the suits weren't cheap, and nothing about his demeanour was ever less than suggestive of having a lavish lifestyle, though she had wondered how it was affordable on the money the clinic charged, as it wasn't that expensive. But if there were horses, there was probably family money, and suddenly a lot more made sense.
It was hard not to feel a twang of something as he spoke about his sister though. It was clear a lot of things had shifted when whatever had befallen Aoibheann had happened. And there, the rare admission of a personal detail, the lack of a rebellious phase.
"Is it really so rebellious though? We've seen these people, we know what they're like. Is it really so rebellious to do what is so clearly the right thing?"
She caught his look, looking across the room, and made a mention of someone behind her. She looked down at her drink, thought about where that would be in relation to her and realised that Odhrán might be referred to the 'gentleman' she'd observed on the way back with drinks. The pudgy hand with the expensive drinks. She'd definitely seen that hand before.
She shuddered, that hand had offered her an expensive whiskey. Careful not to draw attention, she reached into her purse and pulled out a small mirror, ostensibly to check something on her face, but she angled it to check if it was Slimy Spaulding watching her.
Having confirmed it, she tossed the mirror back in her purse and sipped at her drink. "Yes, I know him. Spaulding. I think he might be on your list. He was... connected to the poor sod I saw in Azkaban, too."
A slug of rum later, and she added, "If he so much as breathes in my direction I will break every bone in his pudgy hand. The pudding of a man is simply quite gross."