Fruity Drinks and Honest Chatter
Yukari wasn't one to drink alcohol. Her beverage of choice was tea, a witch's brew. She had curated a variety of teas, importing expensive ones from across the world with the modest wealth she accumulated from her literature.
But in a cheap convenience store, she paused in the alcohol aisle. Bottles of all shapes and sizes lined the shelves behind the glass. Her gaze focused on a tall, green bottle; the color was bright like grass illuminated by a sunny day.
When she spotted the name, she called over an employee. She pointed at the bottle, and when he unlocked the door for her, Yukari thanked him as she grabbed the bottle. She slid it into her cart, already filled with simple luxuries like cookies and brand-name cake batter, the kind that would make any noble witch blanch.
Yukari paid for her goodies and met Amakusa in his car. He smirked at her and eyed a bag of cookies, and she provided it after a bit of goading. They had been for the orphans for an upcoming birthday party, but she supposed paying Amakusa in treats worked, too. (Although, she was used to carelessly throwing wads of money at him to have a moment of privacy when he lingered for too long.)
They arrived home without incident. Amakusa stored the food in their pantry, already on the phone with the Fukuin House staff to organize a child's birthday. Yukari took the wine to her bedroom, wishing him a good night and thanking him for assisting with the preparations. Amakusa just smiled, cheeks filled with oatmeal raisin cookies.
She retired for the evening. Her room was modest. Silky linens and sheets fit the bed, and a clean, shag carpet stretched across the floor. Setting the bottle on her mahogany table, she freshened up with a quick shower, filling the room with light steam. Dressing in her nightgown, the cotton fabric soft on her skin, she threw her hair up in a loose bun, stray strands of gray and scarlet hair falling limply on her neck.
From the top of her miniature refrigerator nested underneath the window, Yukari picked up two ceramic cups. She smiled at the golden roses painted on them, their rims a silver color that pleased her eyes. Setting them on the saucers, she pulled out two chairs and sat in one.
Her attention fell on the bottle. She peeled the wrapping off the cap and opened it with a harsh tug. Slowly, she poured the wine out, marveling over the color that reminded her of liquid gold. It bubbled and settled quickly, and Yukari wondered if she had purchased a flat drink.
Setting the bottle between them, she slipped her finger through the handle. She brought the cup to her lips and closed her eyes, her mind blanking. As she sipped, the fruity taste lit up her taste buds, and she imagined the vineyard where the peaches had been cultivated to create such a light, sweet flavor.
When she opened her eyes, her guest had arrived. Bernkastel sat opposite of her, already drinking. She finished in one long gulp, her half-lidded gaze leering at prey.
The witches set their cups on the saucers. ANGE-Beatrice smoothed out her sleek, white dress. She quietly snapped her fingers, and an array of sweets appeared on a colorful platter. Sugar cookies and grape jelly tarts, Ange's favorites, would have made MARIA smile, but this was a tea party reserved for a witch and her former piece.
"This set-up is like a child attempting to emulate adult tastes," Bernkastel remarked, the corner of her lip rising.
Ange chuckled. "Well, you still answered my call. I suppose your tastes are like mine."
Bernkastel did not expose her displeasure. Her porcelain mask of neutrality refused to betray her. But Ange saw it slip, the tiniest hint of a frown twisting the right corner of her mouth.
"I have to wonder," Bernkastel wondered, changing the subject, "why you've requested to meet me out of the blue? It's been quite some time since we last spoke."
Ange agreed. She was a child of only eighteen when she ascended to the rank of a witch after defeating Bernkastel. After humiliating her, Bernkastel tended to appear only when Ange was not present, as noted by her brother and Beatrice. Ange supposed the raw sting of losing for the first time in hundreds of years must have been fresh, a wound a couple of decades could not mend.
Ange gestured at the wine. "Well, to be frank, I saw this and thought of you."
Bernkastel's eyes widened. Her hand hovered over a sugar cookie, her fingers twitching. "That's it?" she asked, pinching the crispy treat. She popped it into her mouth, her munching louder than necessary.
"If you were hoping for a better reason, I'm afraid I can't give you one." As she spoke, Ange poured Bernkastel another cup. "I thought it'd be prudent to talk with you. I know you've been avoiding me."
Bernkastel did not thank her. She gingerly drank her wine and popped in a jam tart, commenting the flavors were too sweet together. "You need something spicy to counteract all of the sugar."
A wry grin split on Ange's face. "And is that why you and Lambdadelta work so well together?"
Bernkastel swallowed. She twisted a long, straight lock of her around her finger. She pulled her finger away, letting the strand curl and fall limply by her chest. "Ah, I suppose Lambda and I fit the bill. She's so sweet she'll rot my teeth. A natural cavity that I can't get enough of," she sneered, swinging her cup into the air. A golden rivulet dribbled down her chin as she drank. She sighed and roughly placed her cup on the saucer, wiping her mouth. "Excuse me. Mentioning Lambda always riles me up."
Bernkastel didn't mean her apology. Vulgarity was her bread and butter. She would have gladly gotten drunk and jeered about her antics with Lambdadelta until the liquor made her vomit.
Ange knew that well and nodded, finishing the rest of her wine. "Well, I suppose I did want to extend an olive branch."
Bernkastel's humor fell. Neutral returned with a vengeance. "With the wine?"
"With the wine." Ange nudged the bottle toward her. "I won't say to let bygones be bygones, but I'd like to be cordial with you. I'm older now, and I'd rather not let this grudge go on for another decade."
Bernkastel did not immediately respond. For Ange, it was easier to forgive and move on with her life. Lingering with resentment only stunted her growth for too many years. She had despised people with every fiber of her being, unable to see their good sides until it was too late for Eva.
Now in her forties as a human, neither ANGE-Beatrice nor Yukari saw any good reason to detest Bernkastel. She had been a pawn of a more distinguished being. She might have trounced Beatrice's heart and ripped out the pages of Battler's sincere tale written for Ange - in addition to the general lack of care she displayed for everyone - but hating her would not resolve anything.
Ange saw no reason to despise Bernkastel. And if she strove to teach her readers about seeing people with love, it started with forgiving her most hated witch.
Bernkastel remained quiet. She stared at her reflection in the bottle. It seemed like she was weighing her options, her eyes deep pools of violet, murky and endless.
And then, the Witch of Miracles took a breath.
"I think I'd rather have my entrails torn out of my body and bleed to death," Bernkastel snarled, and she snatched the bottle, vanishing in a fit of smoke.
Yukari blinked, her concentration shattered. She was alone in her bedroom, and the other cup was empty. Taking another sip, she drummed her fingers on her thigh, whistling long and slow.
"Well, this encounter has provided good story material," she mumbled, and she rose to her feet, itching to write.
