Ekaterina’s A harty meal at McShiel’s Irish pub
Date: 2025-09-21 08:37
(Ekaterina’s A harty meal at McShiel’s Irish pub)
[Sun Sep 21 2025]
McShiel’s Irish Pub
The pub holds a classic, old-world charm to it. Dominated by dark wood and ornate craftsmanship, the space features a long, polished bar lined with high-backed wooden stools. The bar itself is detailed with carved woodwork and brass footrails, and a variety of beer taps gleam from its center.
Above the bar, a decorative wooden overhang adds a bit of flair, with vertical slats and crown molding that give the area a cozy, enclosed feeling. The ceiling is open and industrial, exposing wooden beams and ductwork, while soft, warm lighting spills from elegant chandeliers, casting a golden glow over the space.
To the left, round high-top tables with matching wooden stools offer casual seating. The floor is tiled with an intricate mosaic pattern, adding texture and historic moxie. Walls are adorned with framed art and flat-screen TVs, that almost exclusively seem to be playing football, or as Americans call it, “Soccer”.
It is about 55F(12C) degrees. The mist is heaviest At Birch and Lake/span>Tamar starts to stretch out for a familiar bowl of porridge, but upon spotting that Tenzin has a bowl, the girl diverts and goes for one of the small loaves of bread. She is also mostly avoiding looking at Tenzin as she tears off a piece of the bread and starts to chew on it. “Did you buy this place?” she asks Ekaterina.
“It’s a nice change to see you in a dress.” Ekaterina notes to Tamar.
“I am unsure of the answer to that,” Tenzin blankly tells his next spoonful of oatmeal with berries. He is probably talking to Tamar. “But then, we’re unsure of the answers to anything, are we not?” The non-answer is washed down with plain tap water.
A brief look at Ekaterina brings out a faint smile. “Mhm,” he makes the sound to vaguely agree. And nothing else.
“Thank you. I got it for going to the Temple yesterday,” Tamar replies to Ekaterina, “It has turned cold outside though, so I needed a coat today.” Beneath said coat, the girl’s shoulders tightens subtly at what Tenzin says and before she stuffs another torn-off piece of bread in her mouth she asks him, “Why are you so obsessed with answers? I thought you were all about letting go and not getting attached?”
“I got it some weeks back, da.” Ekaterina agrees with Tamar. “I have not as of yet done much to it, though I have let the cook get away with what was already on the back list and not put out.”
Another bite of her sandwich and she sets the plate down. “I added a basket ball hoop outside, along with a kiddy area by the beer garden.”
Tenzin’s second-hand curiosity is sated by Ekaterina soon. The man nods thoughtfully, mentioning, “Basketball? Will we look forward to organizing a game sometime?”
He pointedly holds himself facing Ekaterina while Tamar speaks. Her questions cut a broken sneer he aims for the wall. “That’s a good question, Tamar,” he chuckles, forced. What’s a breakfast party without some seasoning? “Perhaps then, I should completely stop and look another way. Since you seem loathe to give me any manner of answer.”
Turning her attention to her beverage and ignoring the strain between her table-mates, Ekaterina shrugs. “Likely not. I do not play. I just put it there because someone asked.”
Spicy even. Tamar seems a little taken aback at Tenzin’s tone and sneer, actually lifting her face to look at him when he looks at Ekaterina and searching his face in silence for several heartbeats. “I see,” she murmurs after tonguing the inside of her cheek. “You do not yell, but you certainly know how to cut.” Another piece of bread is roughly torn from the loaf in her hands, plopped into her mouth and thoughtfully chewed on as she looks towards the door outside towards the garden.
“That is a pity, Eck. Is it only a hoop or half a court? Perhaps I can arrange something,” Tenzin entertains the idea, toys with it while he studies Ekaterina with all the quiet intensity meant for the other person at the table.
His glass comes down with a heavy clink, and the man bites his thumb. “You are saying that I am the one to blame for the dark cuts leaking from your aura now?” he asks, with the quiet of a moving chess piece.
A brow raising, Ekaterina sits back, perfectly content to observe as Tenzin and Tamar converse, gaze flitting over to the locals as they enter and exit, with or without partaking of the breakfast put out.
“I think that it is clear to the people of All Saints that coming together keeps the Legion away.” she comments, “Though more will need to be done in Killgrove.”
A nod is afforded Tenzin, and she answers, “An area to play plus the hoop only, but feel free to use it as and when you choose. It is mostly there to create a space for people to come together, da.”
Then she addresses the elephant in the room. Another sip of coffee as she turns to Tamar and Tenzin. “Darkness within the aura is caused by temptation, interactions with creatures further in to the dark and those beings still letting themselves slip. I think neither of you can make claims that hint that one is corrupting the other without defined evidence. Neither of you have the red aura yet, and unless I miss soething, both of you are trying to be better people.”
Tamar blinks at Tenzin’s move, clearly not a chess-player herself. “You know why my aura is like this. It is from being with Lykaia still.” Her face turns to Ekaterina now, as if seeking support from her.
Tenzin presses his eyelids closed for the deepest breath. It helps him but only a little. “We will want to coordinate with the Iron Moon, but I cannot tell if the ones they call decorative wolves would be liable to participate. I have yet to prove that there is intelligent thought within their shifted skulls,” the monk exhales, glancing at Ekaterina more lazily.
He listens to the nuggets of wisdom to follow after that, dousing his embers with a swig of water like it were cold ale. Tamar’s later statement proves received with a brief tightness of jaw, but he relents easily. “The wings make it hard to see sometimes,” he lamely blames it on the gemstone instead.
“It is hard to pull yourself back from the darkness, especially when having been around the Fallen.” Ekaterina points out. “Still, Tamar hasn’t darkened further since cutting off ties with Lykaia, who is very much fallen, and somehow looks as though she has not invited evil. Which is not true as she has a red aura…”
To Tenzin’s point, Ekaterina supposes, “There must be some thought, but I find many of them to have less brain power than a dog unshifted, let alone when.”
Tamar nods her head in agreement with Ekaterina. “I have been trying. Spending time with humans. Praying. Nothing seems to be working.” She plants an elbow on the table, pressing her cheek against her hand and looking rather forlorn at being reminded of her tainted aura and Lykaia both.
Tenzin broodingly digests Ekaterina’s further explanation while his spoon swirls in his porridge. “Who knows why she has not been purified despite having left the clutches of one darkness,” he mutters, loud enough for Ekaterina and Tamar to hear because perhaps they need more salt in their food. “Perhaps because she remains within the grasp of a lesser evil, but evil nonetheless.”
He makes no comment on the latter’s lamentations for now.
“It takes time.” Ekaterina repeats. “Prayer will work, though over time, and not all at once.”
“What lesser evil?” Tamar asks Tenzin, the loaf of bread in her hand getting distinctly squished between her slender, fingers. “Speak plainly, you know that I do not like these riddles and I do not know what barbs I am supposed to be pained by.”
“Prayer, meditation, fasting if you wish to lighten the spirit,” Tenzin sighs some agreeing suggestions out after Ekaterina shares. “Other than that, you have both been coming to my sessions. Though Eck did sit through the purely meditative one, when Tamar was not able.” Quietly, he grunts, “I will see to hosting something more like that again, then. We will see.”
The monk attempts to steer himself back to more professional demeanor. He pushes his empty bowl forward and presses his palms together, murmuring his thanks to Ekaterina and all the beings that played their part in the production of porridge.
“It is not something to speak of here,” he merely tells Tamar, sounding more detached. “I will leave it up to you now. Seek me out or don’t.”