Sapphire arrived home, slipping quietly through the side entrance, still looking slightly grim after her conversation with Sepphirothy in the garden of Cabernet's mansion. She entered through the kitchen, smelling a faint scent of fermented barley in the air.
Beer?
She turned her head slowly and incredulously toward the living room... and froze at the door.
There was Morrigan.
The Celtic goddess of chaos, death, war, and fertility—dressed in a baggy soccer jersey that wasn't even hers, her bare feet thrown over the back of the immaculate white leather sofa, opening another bottle with a snap of her magical fingers. Next to her was an empty crate. The television was showing a random European game with two teams Sapphire didn't even recognize — but Morrigan was cheering intensely as if she had bet the souls of three Celtic monks on the outcome.
"GOOOOOAL, YOU SON OF A BITCH! PLAY THAT BALL LIKE YOU HAVE AN AXE IN YOUR BACK!"
