<br/><div class="floatleft">(http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/236x/88/2b/7a/882b7a8e5773e2ce3bc7f8b7dcefca89.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Eiryn Grim<br/><br/><strong>Location:</strong>at Isis'<br/><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Isis<br/><br/><strong>Content:</strong>Breakfast negotiations<br/><br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>skirt (http://hottopic.scene7.com/is/image/HotTopic/10019625_hi?wid=1360); tights (https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQvKIbV6Xeikf_mcu8KpvvRsB0mkYqTLezHPY4Rn7bkiuDQHBsk); turtleneck (http://cached.bensilver.com/RS/SR/Product/61/hlj-a_R.jpg); jacket (http://anf.scene7.com/is/image/anf/anf_71842_01_prod1?$productMain-anf$); boots (http://img.auctiva.com/imgdata/0/9/8/9/8/0/webimg/442425188_o.jpg); choker. (http://passionforprying.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/8ba786d6ddfd034b8f7583edcdd69c8d.jpg)<br/><br/><br/><hr/><br/><br/>"Some green pepper  if you got it," she said authoritatively, coarse-chopping the onion with some alacrity. "And pour me off somea that grease to do them in..."<br/><br/>Abruptly, Eiryn stopped, set down the knife, wiped her hands. Chuckling softly, she shook her head. "Fuck me. I'm turning into my Mom." Turning to look at Isis, she shrugged. "It was Grimaldi, before I changed it, you know? Never let a Chitown Italian girl into your kitchen unless you're real good at takin' orders." She snorted. "Of course, eggs an' sausage and peppers're about all I can cook worth crap. Screw it."  She finished the onions, and presented them on the plate. "Ta daa!  What's next, boss? Your kitchen.<br/><br/>"But I am gonna be pushy about something else.  When can you pose for me? Blossomed or not, I want some shots of you to work from." No shyness; more an assumption than a request. A demand. When it was about work, it was easy for her to be like that. It also made for a nice way to deflect from thinking about how...easy it was to be around Aria.