THE JARS THAT BLEED BEFORE THEY BREAK.

[glassjar]

Congrats! You've somehow stumbled upon the pocket dimension where five people with questionable morals (some more questionable than others) live and operate. Are you here on business? Do you have an appointment? Or are you here to see a friend? (Come on, don't make us laugh.)

Maybe you're here on accident due to some multiversal, magical, or otherwise supernatural nonsense? It's happened before, it was bound to happen again.

You can wander towards the house, see if anyone's home. Or you can explore the lush grounds, and maybe run across the wolfman groundskeeper who might try to usher you out towards the nearest portal, anyway. The world is your oyster, just try to be a good guest.

Comments

[glassjar]

You haven’t met the other two.

[If he wants more details than that, Morgan doesn’t seem inclined to give them without being prompted. He takes the remaining bags with a slightly quirking brow.]

Of course. Gifts for everyone. How neighborly.

[He rustles them.]

Do I get to peek now?

[oren]

Go ahead.

[In one gift bag, the contents consist of several tins of high-grade ceremonial matcha powder, high-quality sweets, both western and eastern style stored in beautiful boxes, and a unique wine bottle full of a dark red. Its label is in a total non-Earth language and despite how tightly it is corked, a floral aroma emits from it.

In the other bag is... An urn. It's a very fancy urn! Oren explains before any questions can be asked.]

Since we broke the last one. No ashes inside. Type of incense instead.

Will help calm nerves.

[Well... It's thoughtful but it could be some weird roundabout joke from Oren of all people...]

[glassjar]

[Morgan quietly crosses over to… the bar counter, where he carefully takes out each item and places them in a line, one by one. The quiet consideration and delicate touch of a collector.

They’re nice items, each and every one. A few don’t even look as though they’re from this world, which is interesting in its own way — he appreciates that for what it is.

But then he unearths the urn, and… Ah. Morgan quirks a brow at Oren from where he stands.]

Heavens know we need that here.

[Calmed nerves. Jacob could use it. Amusement doesn’t quite strike at his core as hard as it should—nothing does, anymore—but he feels a shade of it.

He places it down, too, then goes around on the other side and leans his palms into the counter, looking over Oren.]

Of course, the last one you broke was a little more valuable than this, I assume. Because of the ashes. What a day that was — such a disappointment for my poor brother.

[oren]

[Oren remains silent, hands hanging by his sides, as Morgan examines the gifts only speaking at the last remark.]

It was also dangerous. Though probably more so because it broke.

[And well, they totally handled it and the day was saved! If Iona hadn't broken it, the outcome would probably be very different but that's neither here nor there.]

Brother would have a bigger headache handling that.

[Oren does a slow blink and finally seats himself at the counter.]

Anyway. Not much of an apology but decided to bring these. So there you go.

... Also have questions.

1/2

[glassjar]

It wouldn't have broken if a few certain someones didn't think it was a wise idea to steal it from us in the first place.

[You know, just casually throwing that out there.]

[glassjar]

But that's water under the bridge. And this is a nice gesture, so apology accepted.

[Though one might wonder if it was Morgan's job, and not his brother's, if he would be so forgiving.

Still, gathers up a glass and a bottle of something strong and amber. Pours in two fingers and offers it to Oren. Does the golem fancy himself a drinker? He wonders.]

Questions? What kind?

[oren]

[Before replying, the golem accepts the drink and takes a long unaffected sip. It's hard to tell if he even enjoys it or tastes it at all.]

Questions about your services. What you offer. How often. How far.

[glassjar]

[Well, he drinks. That's something. Morgan grabs himself a glass and does the same, looking up at Oren quizzically, though mildly, as he pours.]

Oh, you want to know about the business.

[Nosy, nosy.]

Looking to hire?

[oren]

[Let it be said that Oren and Berna haven't kept their hands clean over the years. It's hard to do when you're both centuries old and find yourselves making decisions either on the fly or with cold calculation.

In short, outside of being uncompromising over the well-being of his witches (or because of it), Oren is pragmatic.]

Possibly. In the future. Far or near, depends.

[glassjar]

[His brows raise as he takes a long pull from his glass. He poured himself a generous amount, of course.]

"Possibly". Hm.

[The liquid swirls in its glass as he idly swishes it about with gentle movements of the wrist.]

When you possibly have a job for us, then we can really talk details. But for now? I can give you the gist.

[The elevator pitch, in case Oren is only fishing, not actually shopping.]

We take jobs for those who prefer discretion. For those who don't want their predilections or motivations brought to light. You can imagine the type of work that entails -- it's messy and usually violent. Not always, of course. But why hire us, if you could do it, well, legitimately?

If you pay us enough, we consider it. It doesn't always have to be money, of course. Favors, connections, strange artifacts. [People.] We're flexible. And as for how often? As often as possible is the preference. Poor Thomas gets... fidgety, otherwise.

[oren]

Thomas.

[It's a questioning tone, but it sounds dull with his odd speech pattern. Otherwise, duly noted on everything else. Discretion is always appreciated, and always useful.]

I get the picture. For the most part.

[Oren drains the rest of his liquor and sets the glass on the counter decisively.]

Nothing on the table yet. [He has no job. Maybe... Maybe in the future? But Oren isn't sure about the lifespan of these individuals. They're very human to him, but so are witches who were essentially human-shaped.]

But I found my way here. Wanted to know a bit more. Think I got what I needed.

[The golem had sensed it a long time ago, but the reason why he and Iona— who for all intents and purposes was friendly to everyone— felt unease with Morgan was greed. Considering the work he and his group does it shouldn't have come as a surprise. And it isn't for him but there's greed for material goods and then...

He got what he came for. That should be enough.]

[glassjar]

Thomas. One of the two you didn’t meet. He’s a real firecracker.

[Morgan smiles, but offers nothing more. If Oren wonders, and wants answers, he has to ask — for instance, they age so, so slowly these days, but far be it from him to explain how or why. He’s not a mind-reader, after all.]

That’s it, then? If you ever have something on the table, I suppose you know where to find us.

[Because, yes, greed does drive them, to a certain degree. Greed for different things among each person, or a means to an end to fill some kind of void all the others but himself seem to feel. But that, of course, is definitely not offered freely.]

But you don’t have to leave so soon. Make yourself at home. Today’s a day off for everybody, and they’re sure to be taking advantage of it.

[oren]

[Oren shakes his head.]

No, thank you. Drink is enough.

I have work.

[Not cafe-related actually... He needs to clean the apartment, Iona made a mess in the kitchen again :(]

[glassjar]

[Morgan shrugs, and downs the rest of his glass in one go.]

I see. Next time then.

[He places his glass on the counter with clack! that resounds a little too loudly.]

Speaking of. Before you go running off, I have a question of my own.

[oren]

Yes? Ask.

[Oren stands up in the meanwhile. It's as slow and methodical as ever. He looks at Morgan expectantly.]

May not have satisfactory answers.

[glassjar]

Just answer what you can. I don't think my curiosity is unfounded.

[But he nearly shrugs his shoulders.]

Why would someone like you need someone like us? "Just" workers at a cafe.

[Morgan has a good memory, you know. He remembers what Iona said about her grandmother; and though one could have taken it for a joke back then, he knows better.]

[oren]

[His answer is almost immediate.]

Collecting resources.

[Partially true. He is kind of fishing. There's also that saying about keeping your enemies close.]

Never know when needed.

[glassjar]

[Fair enough. Though a part of Morgan remains skeptical that he'll see him here again any time soon. Not to say he wouldn't be pleasantly surprised if that weren't the case.]

Of course. But why do I get the feeling that we'd be a last-ditch choice only, if things really got bad?

[It wouldn't be the first they'd have entertained particularly desperate clients, though.]

[oren]

By design. Probably.

No practical use yet.

[Oren turns to face towards where he entered with Morgan.]

Better to establish business ties now than later.

[glassjar]

[He laughs, dry and without any real life to it.]

For practical use later. You're pragmatic, I'll give you that.

[Well, he won't stop him from leaving.]

In that case, thanks for the gifts. And tell the others "hello" for me.