As a rule, Eames tends to stay away from the Daybreak witches. The ones who dabble in the darker stuff are often a nuisance, getting too big for their breeches and making demands they can't possibly expect to hold anyone to, but at least they don't carry the sanctimonious air of their 'better' halves.

He swallows his amusement at today's turn of events as he sidles up to Sylvia, looking up at the portrait with his own glass of wine in hand. He doesn't address her directly when he speaks, but there's no one else close enough for him to be talking to.

"My, you must be fuming," he says as casually as though it were a comment on the weather, rather than a dig at how someone as powerful as her hadn't nipped this in the bud.