12th Day of Ashan
718th Arc
718th Arc
People said many things about Kata. Most frequently, these things would be related to just how very unhinged she was. In such cases, they would not be wrong in their assessment. She was forgetful, impulsive, irritable and, even at times, aggressive. The aggression was rare, granted. In point of fact, there was only one time in recorded history that the Immortal had been actively aware and consciously making a decision to be aggressive. Remarkably, it had also been a time she had not been forgetful (who could forget such an important, core, way of life). Nor had she been impulsive (you could never take risks with such a serious venture). Kata hadn’t even been irritable (who could retain such negativity when faces with something so pure and untainted).
But this serenity was short lived when a cup of lukewarm, pale Originals only know what shite was placed in front of her by Mastes.
Yes. Her fury was brought about by a cup of tea.
Mastes, with wisdom beyond his normal sensibilities, had stood silently, shoulders hunched, as he listened to his incensed charge. She was not stable at the best of times, and when she had demanded a cuppa, Mastes had practically sighed in relief and scuttled off to create the brew. He had thought it was alright. Evidently not.
“You put the milk in first again didn’t you? I… but it’s what? Eight parts milk, two parts water? The tea bag needs time to infuse the water,” she ranted, her anger causing her voice to reach new decibels, “that means the water cannot be fecking tepid. How do you expect me to be okay with this? I cannot - you cannot - why would you do this to me? In what world - no wonder - no, stop laughing!”
“Look at it, you savage, Delana will return before we see any more change in colour to this piss. Do you hate me?” She stood up and, cup in hand, hurled it across the table aiming at the other Immortal’s head. Mastes ducked and the cup soared clear over his head, creamy liquid falling free. There was no sound of it clattering to the ground - instead it seemed to float endlessly until being enveloped by the white fog surrounding them. The droplets of tea disappearing first (that was how white the liquid was).
The pair of Immortals remained silent for a long moment, and all that could be heard was Kata’s harsh breathing as her stomach knotted with rage. “I just… I can’t… I can’t trust you anymore,” she finally whispered. “Please leave.”
While the two Immortals raged in a different domain, countless mortals would find themselves unwittingly invited into one of the many battles in this on-going war. Wherever they were, whatever they were doing, they would receive their invitations. These invitations were not words on paper, though. Perhaps unsurprisingly to the reader - if very surprisingly to the mortals themselves - the invitations would consist of all the implements needed to make the perfect cup of tea: a teabag, water, cream or milk; a kettle, a teapot, a cup and saucer, a spoon, and a choice of sweeteners. Even the kindling and fuel were supplied by the erratic Immortal.
It was a challenge as well as an invitation, should the mortals accept it. If they made the cup of tea - and made it well - when they drank it, they would be transported to join her. But it wasn’t as simple as merely dunking a teabag in water and drinking. This was sacred, and anyone flouting the cardinal rules of this venerated drink would not only be disinvited from her tea party… they would be at the mercy of her homicidal wrath.
But this serenity was short lived when a cup of lukewarm, pale Originals only know what shite was placed in front of her by Mastes.
Yes. Her fury was brought about by a cup of tea.
Mastes, with wisdom beyond his normal sensibilities, had stood silently, shoulders hunched, as he listened to his incensed charge. She was not stable at the best of times, and when she had demanded a cuppa, Mastes had practically sighed in relief and scuttled off to create the brew. He had thought it was alright. Evidently not.
“You put the milk in first again didn’t you? I… but it’s what? Eight parts milk, two parts water? The tea bag needs time to infuse the water,” she ranted, her anger causing her voice to reach new decibels, “that means the water cannot be fecking tepid. How do you expect me to be okay with this? I cannot - you cannot - why would you do this to me? In what world - no wonder - no, stop laughing!”
“Look at it, you savage, Delana will return before we see any more change in colour to this piss. Do you hate me?” She stood up and, cup in hand, hurled it across the table aiming at the other Immortal’s head. Mastes ducked and the cup soared clear over his head, creamy liquid falling free. There was no sound of it clattering to the ground - instead it seemed to float endlessly until being enveloped by the white fog surrounding them. The droplets of tea disappearing first (that was how white the liquid was).
The pair of Immortals remained silent for a long moment, and all that could be heard was Kata’s harsh breathing as her stomach knotted with rage. “I just… I can’t… I can’t trust you anymore,” she finally whispered. “Please leave.”
While the two Immortals raged in a different domain, countless mortals would find themselves unwittingly invited into one of the many battles in this on-going war. Wherever they were, whatever they were doing, they would receive their invitations. These invitations were not words on paper, though. Perhaps unsurprisingly to the reader - if very surprisingly to the mortals themselves - the invitations would consist of all the implements needed to make the perfect cup of tea: a teabag, water, cream or milk; a kettle, a teapot, a cup and saucer, a spoon, and a choice of sweeteners. Even the kindling and fuel were supplied by the erratic Immortal.
It was a challenge as well as an invitation, should the mortals accept it. If they made the cup of tea - and made it well - when they drank it, they would be transported to join her. But it wasn’t as simple as merely dunking a teabag in water and drinking. This was sacred, and anyone flouting the cardinal rules of this venerated drink would not only be disinvited from her tea party… they would be at the mercy of her homicidal wrath.