“These are beautiful scones dear. Did you use lemonade and cream in them instead of the CWA cook book recipe?” Famine.
“Hell’s teeth , but yes! How did you figure that out so quickly, you’ve hardly had more than a mouthful?” War.
“Well, the scrap of paper on the fridge with ‘To Grandma, this is my best scones recipe. Love, Emma xxx’ was a bit of a giveaway. That, and Death told me.” Famine.
“Ha ha……..old cow! That woman will be the death of me. No pun, intended.” War.
“Good scones though.” Famine.
In the lounge Death and Pestilence sit, glued to ‘Antiques Roadshow’, these are day time television repeats; to talk would have consequences neither wished to contemplate.
During a lengthy ad. break, War takes the opportunity to bring the tea things into the lounge. Her ‘lesser’ tray holds a gargantuan teapot, milk jug, sugar bowl, tea spoons, side plates, a large pot of strawberry jam, an even larger bowl of cream, a selection of butter knives, tea strainer, absurdly delicate and ornate tea cups and saucers, serviettes, and a deck of cards. As she gently places the tray down on the table everything on the tray explodes as a result of an unseen force. The mess covers the room and all four ladies, who are instantly moving from the position they had just been in. Death had secured her newspaper, ‘Bonus crossword fun today!’ running along the very front page at the bottom in smallish size print. A tea leaf covered the ‘B’.
“This won’t take long.” apologises Death as she walks from the house yelling. “Maude, get the car running, we’ve got an errand that needs doing. Does my hair look alright?”
Mr. Darcy had failed, the power of his failure causing a catastrophic upset in the ether. The tea tray explosion the result.
Black Annis slaughtered a family.
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