With things well in hand at the chateau, Isis decided it might be time to check in on how things were going at her villa. Besides, part of her could use a break, if only from the smell, in all honesty. Between smoke, scorched remains, and dead bodies, it had been quite overwhelming. As time went on, her nose adjusted, and she really wasn't noticing it...as much. But if Sigyn could handle, with the emotional attachment she had to the situation, so could Isis. She intended to support her friend as long as it was necessary.
It was almost amazing how close the two friends had become in such a short time frame, and Isis was truly honored that Sigyn had called on her in her desperate hour. That kind of faith and trust was not to be taken lightly, even in the best of circumstances. When she had time to think on it, as her mind wandered during her macabre duties, she reflected on how odd it actually was that the Nord didn't call on someone from her own pantheon, someone she would have known much better than the Egyptian, someone more suited to this type of situation. Was that a reflection on their friendship, or on the rather brash deities from Asgard?
Isis realized that wasn't exactly fair. She really didn't know much about the pantheon beyond her own research, and her encounters with Frigg and Sigyn. And that Frigg...Isis still wasn't sure what she thought of her forceful mannerisms.
Leaving a portion of herself behind to continue the massive task at the chateau, Isis popped into the controlled chaos in her Paris home. A quick glance assured her that while much still needed to be done, the servants all seemed to have things well in hand. Then she saw a sight she wasn't expecting. Fatima was bustling around, issuing instructions, obviously well in control. Behind her followed Bast, looking like a lost puppy in her head of household's wake. A very angry, confused puppy.
Patting the shoulder of one of the wayward servants from Hedylogos' chateau, she walked in usual regal poise toward her daughter. She raised a questioning eyebrow at Fatima, receiving a look of combined consternation and control, letting Isis know immediately that she was in no need of assistance. Not that Fatima would hear of it or admit to it if she was.
She turned to face Bast, then, noting her frustrated expression. "Hello, dear," she placed a quick kiss on her cheek and waited for the explosion that was sure to come from her anything but patient daughter.