Earth and stars, this couldn’t be happening. Morgan had taken in too much weird in too short a span of time to process anymore. There was a knife in her water glass, a frat boy demon patron of sorts in her booth, and now there was real food coming over to her table that she may or may not be left paying for.
“They’re related plants!” Morgan protested. “And you still slice them up and fry them within an inch of their existence, and they’re yummy!” She took another handful and stuffed them into her mouth defiantly. There was, of course, no real reason to keep harping on her choice of fries. But it was the only part of this scenario she could wrap her mind around, until, that is..
“But, since I’m here… What’ll it be?” Tate asked, bridging his fingers together before an almost feral grin. “What kinda deal do you wanna make, Miss Sad-Sap?”
“First of all, don’t call me that. I’m Morgan. Second of all, you might be easier to summon than a kegger on game night, but I am not enough of an idiot to ask for what-the-hell-ever on a whim. If you need me to do this in order to move on with your party night, I’m going to need the full terms and conditions policy.”
Scoffing, Tate shook his head. Stupid mortal, stupid brainless mortals, assuming that popular vernacular had anything to do with botanical relation. “Dude, from like, a plant stand point, potatoes and sweet potatoes are completely unrelated. Potatoes are more closely related to the tomatoes that make the ketchup you’re dipping your nasty ass sweet potato fries into.” He said. Watching as she stuffed her mouth full, he shrugged. Whatever. He’d pivoted from potatoes, soy was king. Soy was gonna get him the reputation he deserved down under. In Hell-- not in Australia, no one cares about Australia.
“Okay, Morgan Sad-Sap.” He said with a shrug. The kegger comment was a new one, he could dig it, he could respect it. Maybe this weird witch hipster had some cards up her sleeves. “T’s and C’s talk, huh? Smart lady, I can get behind that. It’s easy, though. You, do something for me, I do something for you. Equivalent exchange and all that jazz, if you wanna put it in fun magic terms.” He said. As the waitress brought over his chicken fried steak, he smiled politely. “Thanks so much, appreciate it.”
Tucking into the food, he loaded up a grotesquely large bite of food and shove it into his mouth. Speaking through a mouthful of gravy, he gestured with his fork, “One deal I’ve made. Some old lady wanted to win her neighborhood rose garden competition for the next ten years. I cursed her neighbors yards with a massive hoard of bugs and she gave me this neat lil thing,” He said, fishing around in his pocket for his keys. Holding up one of the key chain decorations, he pointed to what looked like a cocker spaniel and a parakeet jammed together, with the bird’s head sticking out the dog’s skull. “I shoved her pets together and made them into a knickknack. She said I could have her pets, so that’s on her.”
Swallowing noisily, Tate wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m a flexible dude. I don’t ask for much and it’s really your call on this. What do you want and what will you give me?” He asked.
