The Triumph of Tea & Scones

 Sweeps of rain drenched the earth while two women sat without speaking, equally, if perhaps more, soaked than the ground. All of this was done on purpose. They were to sit, slowly freezing, until they could take it no more, and then they would give up the ghost and speak with one another. Like the rational witches they were. Until such differences, as had brought about a verbal discussion set at a pitch that made others uncomfortable, were resolved.

    This was, of course, the decision of a magic council. It need not be said that men were involved.

    The chill of the rain set well into their bones. Silence, however, remained the preferred option.

    There was little to say when the other was so very, very wrong.

    Heavy silences fester in the same way as jock itch, however. And these witches were too good at their jobs to allow anything to fester — potions must be made.

    'Tea?' asked one.

    'Scones?' asked the other.

    'God, yes,' they said in tandem relief, as they monsooned to their feet and squelched off.

    Thus did tea and scones play their trump card. Yet again.

     

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