C-TWT-002
Barista: Alex Gálvez
Date: Feb-2-2020
Receipt: C-TWT-002
Subject: Witches
█████████████.
█████████████████, ███████████, older than she let on and proud of every wrinkle and wart. She didn’t welcome us, not exactly. But she didn’t kill us either, which might count for hospitality in this place. What we learned? We're in “Tír Glas”, the greenest isle of the Isles █████████. Apparently ██████’s already sunk his greedy little fingers deep into other parts of the Isles here.
Damn!
I really thought we had beat him to the punch. Maybe we did… but he’s got the weight of the other Planes of the Otherworld behind him. Well, in any case, Jean-Marc wants us to head toward ███████████, the ██████████ at the heart of Tír Glas. That’s where Ériu is. She may know how to fight ██████’s spread. Maybe. If she’ll speak to us.
[The grove dimmed as the Cafe approached the ████████’s base. The trunk opened like a mouth yawning through bark, revealing a spiraling hollow lined with roots and wet, humming fungi. Light filtered in through impossible cracks in the ceiling above, falling in strips over a stone table ringed with mismatched chairs. The scent of mold, jasmine, and something utterly reptilian clung to the air. She was waiting.]
█████████████: About time. You brought me back my tooth, then?
Eoin: Of course, did. Here it is. Great, great… great, great… great aunt…?
█████████████: Hah! Twelve on the dot! What funny little trick those Aos Sí did to us Gross back then. Naturally I don’t worry about it, but it’s good you still do. Fleshy little human you are.
[█████████████ made a horribly contorted face half way between a smirk and grimace.]
Jean-Marc: We came to speak. Not to threaten, not to beg. We’re… your guests. If you’ll have us.
█████████████: Guest implies hospitality. I offer you parley and nothing more. Speak wisely.
Jericho: What’dya reckon we should ask the old hag?
Daichi: Well, I—
█████████████: Serpent. You stink of a memory. Yours or mine, I can’t say. But I… remember you.
Daichi: Is that so? I feel I would never forget a face like yours, my dear. You must be mistaken.
█████████████: Funny. I usually turn brats like you into snakes—I wonder what would you turn into if I tried to anyway.
[█████████████ raised her crooked claw-like hands and a swirl of green and silver █████ pulsed within it.]
Jennifer: What do you want from us? You could’ve killed us or turned us to snakes long ago. Clearly we have something you want.
█████████████: Straight to the bleeding heart of it. You must be the █████. Ha! I smelled it from the second you walked in. Four of you. One by birth. One by sleep. One by work. One by torment. A pity you ██████ types aren’t long for this world. I’d know—I see it too.
Jennifer: That’s… not comforting.
█████████████: Good. Comfort’s for the dead, deary.
Eoin: We’re here. We’re listening. What now?
Jean-Marc: I suspect you already know about ██████?
█████████████: I’ve seen the spoilt golden brat in vision, yes.
Jean-Marc: We intend to stop him. But first—where are we, exactly?
█████████████: You are in Tír Glas. The greenest scab on the silver seas. The first breath. The small part of the Isles that still dreams of when it was once awake. Alive.
Victoria: And the rest █████████?
█████████████: Broken. Sleeping. Corrupted. Pick one. ██████’s fingers are already deep in Tír Banbhui and Tír Corcairdhearg. Greedy thing. Thinks this place can be bought, sold, and owned.
Julia: ██████’s already here?
█████████████: You open a door, you can’t be surprised when a toad hops in.
Jericho: Lovely. So how do we keep Avalon out of ██████’s stock portfolio then?
█████████████: Can you? His greed already has seeped into the soil. Hard to pry gold from the hands of knights. Harder still to pry gold from the head of a king.
Jean-Marc: Now is not the time for riddles.
█████████████: Not a riddle. A fact. Money corrupts. And ██████ is the dark lord of all that is commerce. I couldn’t imagine how one puts that fairy back into a bottle, but—perhaps Ériu would.
Jackie: Ériu?
Jericho: Goddess of Ireland itself. She’s here then?
█████████████: Not here—no. She’d be at the center of Tír Glas.
Zach: Uisneach?
█████████████: ███████████. The sacred tree. Of course… you’re welcome to stay here among my many, many lovers.
[█████████████ grinned wider than should have been possible as her eyes danced around the various shriveled trees of men turned into snakes and bark.]
Eoin: We… should be off.
[Zach whispered to Mikey.]
Zach: Before we end up part of the grove.
Decaffeinate Receipt
“Gross Instruments.”
Research | 6 Words