A Mug of Winter Cheer

Parish cradles his mug of cocoa in his liver-spotted hands. The cup is made from simple clay, battered and worn. It is befitting a simple carpenter, perhaps. None would guess it was a relic from Parish’s old adventuring days. Or at least, he claims it to be.

He takes a sip of the warm beverage as he looks at the lines on Yazeba’s face. The witch is his dearest and oldest friend, even if she would never admit the same. He knows something is going on with her, but she’s clammed up like an old steel trap. And so, Parish ponders the question:

"How can I help when I don’t know what’s wrong?"

Yazeba clasps her mug in her hands. It is a black mug with a blue and white owl that appears to be scowling painted on the side. The hot coca steams inside, warming her old and wrinkled, but still long and elegant fingers. She stares into the fire watching the flames dance and while she notices Parish, she makes no move to acknowledge him yet. She feels the icebergs inside her shifting and grinding, echoing the quiet noise of the snow blanketing the Bed and Breakfast. She doesn't know what is behind this feeling - perhaps that is the cost of losing your heart she thinks to herself. She is glad to have Parish here, even if that too is a feeling she is not ready to acknowledge.

Across the den from Parish and Yazeba, Mr. Boggs sits with his back upright in a tall chair. He is not wearing a fuzzy sweater like many of the others in the room. Such fuzz would get soggy and matted from the constant drizzle of the perpetual raincloud around his head. He is wearing his trademark suit and tie. The suit is practical. It is water repellent. It is the proper choice of outfit, even on a cold winter day.

Mr. Boggs holds a white porcelain mug in his hands. Written on the mug in black blocky letters is the phrase, "World's Best Employee." This is hyperbole, but it is a fun phrase. It is light-hearted. It is indicative of the kind of person Mr. Boggs thinks others might find fun and engaging.

Mr. Boggs covers the top of his mug with his hand so rain doesn't fall into his hot cocoa as he takes a sip. "Ah," he says. The cocoa tastes good. He enjoys it. He is relaxing. This is how one relaxes. Right?

Demi is up at the crack of dawn, thanks to the sound of shovels.

Looks like I shall be doing less bed, more breakfast.

She flaunts her latest snakeskin robe and addresses the room. "Good Morning Yazeba, Sir Parish and… oh, Mr. Boggs. You’re here, yes. And with your cloud, the only cloud not sprinkling snow. The hired help will surely appreciate that."

She sits down next to Mr. Boggs. "Ah, it is Bring-Your-Own-Mug Day." Glancing up at her bangs, she says to them, "You were right, girls." Then to Mr. Boggs or whoever’s listening: "I have merch from the Clash of the Titans sequel."

She raises her mug (not so much to show it off; she’s expecting it to be filled), and says, "Perhaps you’ve seen it? Clash Gorgon, a film-festival favorite in which I play the gorgon heroine."

As Demi thinks about it, the theme song gets stuck in her head. Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun CLASH …Gor-gonnnnn, she’ll save every one of us…

Mr. Boggs' heart thumps a little faster when Demi greets him. He fondly recalls Sal's play that they starred in together. Their characters had been romantically entwined. Mr. Boggs is adept at separating fiction from reality, but doing so becomes more difficult in the company of the enchanting movie star.

"Ms. Gorgone. Good day," he says, offering her a smile from behind his raincloud. "The precipitation from my cloud appears to always amount to a steady drizzle, no matter the ambient temperature. It does not reduce my visibility too much. Nor does it seem to dampen the surrounding furniture or carpeting, so long as I am careful to maintain the proper angle of my head when I sit or stand. I am still uncertain where it came from, but it is a minor annoyance, at worst. And furthermore..."Mr. Boggs realizes he is rambling somewhat, so he abruptly stops talking, sipping his cocoa to cover the sudden awkward silence. He clears his throat. "Ahem. Yes, I have seen Clash Gorgon. You were quite good in it."

Parish considers Yazeba for another moment before attempting to break the ice. "Do you like the cocoa, Yazeba? I used ceylon cinnamon imported from Sri Lanka, and peppermint leaves from the mountains of Oregon. It is a drink that warms the belly and the soul. A fine treat on a chilly day. I hope you find it pleasing."

Yazeba smiles tightly at Demi and Mr. Boggs. As guests at the B&B, Yazeba tended to withhold the harshest of her comments from them. If they wanted to enact this foolish ritual, let them. Dissuading others of their folly was like carrying water with a sieve.

Yazeba looks at Parish, turning to face him. "Well, ser, I am glad to hear someone still cares to use quality ingredients. The effect is certainly a pleasant flavor. And I'm sure the added expense will give me cause to recall the flavor again when I'm reviewing the ledgers." While her tone is sharp, there is a slight hint of playfulness in her smile now that only an old acquaintance like Parish could spot.

Parish chuckles at Yazeba's jape. "Touché, Yazeba. Let us drink. To our health, and to the continued prosperity of the Bed & Breakfast." He takes a long sip from his mug, settling back in the frog-sized plush recliner. He puts his webbed feet up, warming them by the fire. "We haven't seen you around very much lately. Much 'witchy business' to attend to, I presume?" Parish asks, hoping the leading question gets Yazeba to open up a bit.

Demi is quite proud of that role. "It’s not every day a C-list actress meets a fan," she says."It must not be easy… what you do. I mean, take the film industry. Where would we be without someone to manage the budget? Actors know nothing of money. That’s why we make seven to nine figures per film—so we don’t spend our way into destitution.

"How do you do it, Mr. Boggs? How do you keep the company afloat? Is the cloud over you the manifestation of your constant brainstorm?"

Mr. Boggs adjusts his glasses. "It is not easy. Balancing spreadsheets, filing TPS reports, accounting for inflation and interest accrual. To wit:"

And then Mr. Boggs launches into an incredibly lengthy (and incredibly boring) breakdown of his company's fiscal and fiduciary well-being. Many numbers are quoted, many equations are solved, and the vast majority of it goes right over the heads of anybody who isn't a CPA.At the end of his spiel, Mr. Boggs clears his throat and adjusts his soggy tie. "So, as you can see, I have a lot on my metaphorical shoulders. Somebody's got to do it, else the company would go under. But... it's lonely at the top, and I haven't had much chance to take care of my own needs. You know, this is my first vacation away from the Big City in fifteen years..."

"Yes. Sometimes it seems that there is no end to it." Yazeba pauses and sets down her mug. She leans back as a lit cigar appears in her hand, seemingly out of nowhere. She takes a long puff of smoke and blows it out into the room. She picks a bit of tobacco off her tongue as she listens to Mr. Boggs, hearing an echo of her own concerns in his spiel.

"And mundane business must also be taken care of. It would be so easy to just magic the problems away," she snaps her fingers "but then the problems come back, angry at being put off." She looks at Parish and considers asking him about what he has been doing recently, but suspects the uncharacteristic small talk would not work as a deflection on him. So instead, she takes another puff on the cigar and gazes back into the fire.

"You know, you don't have to try to handle those problems all by yourself, Yazeba," Parish gently says to the witch. "I'm always here, willing to listen. You just have to be wiling to talk." He gives her a hopeful look as the fire warms the room.

---

Demi listens intently, not taking in Boggs’ every word (for there is a surplus healing over an abundance)… but what she can’t help but note is "You have so much to say about this calling of yours, Mr. Boggs. Such passion is a rarity! Do your office-mates not realize you are the proverbial—"

‘Diamond in the rough?’ Too Disneyish. Can I do an Excaliburian metaphor with pen-is-mightier implications? Well of course I could, but why? An interjected family-friendly F-alliteration: ‘frequently-foxy French frock!’ What. And. No. Her eyes flicker to the cloud.

"—silver lining."

"Foes afire, Parish! Of course I have to handle these problems myself! I'm the only one who knows how things work at the Bed and Breakfast! And as the one who suffers any consequences of failure, I am the only one who understands what is truly at stake." Yazeba says, lashing out at the noble frog. The void where her heart used to be reflexively hardening at the thought of opening up and letting anyone in. Her words were harsh and even cruel, but that was the only way to keep the blackness locked inside and to protect those under her care, even if they might not see it that way.

Parish winces as Yazeba snaps at him. "Zounds! I am only trying to help you, Yazeba!" he inadvertently snaps back. He knows he shouldn't keep pushing, but he blusters on, regardless. "I have known you to be cold since we met, but rarely have I known you to be cruel. Especially to me. It is unbecoming! You are my oldest friend, my dear. Why do you push away those who care about you the most?"

Mr. Boggs smiles at Demi Gorgone from behind his raincloud. He is about to respond when the argument breaks out between Parish and Yazeba. He turns to look at the pair across the room, curious about the outbursts. The raincloud emits a peal of thunder, perhaps picking up sympathetic vibrations from the tension in the air. He remains silent for now, but it is clear that he is listening intently to the witch and the frog.

---

Demi can’t help but notice, after listening to Mr. Boggs drone on about work, her compliment was completely ignored. But does it bother her, a star? No no nonono of course not! She just sits back, looking beautiful as ever for those paying attention, sipping from her mug.

At Parish's words, Yazeba realizes she has gone too far with her cruelty and aimed it at someone who, she realizes, does matter to her - even if (even now) she can't quite bring herself to use the word friend to describe her feelings. She takes another puff of her cigar and exhales with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You are right, Parish. You deserve better than that. You have always been a stalwart companion and your heart has been big enough for the both of us." She pauses to take another drink of hot cocoa and stare into the fire. "After all, things must be balanced and potions are stronger and more effective if more than one ingredient is used. This place truly benefits from your sense of duty. And your meals provide comfort to the guests that I alone could not provide." She watches the flames dance in the fire, as if answers could be found in this process of combustion.

Parish seems somewhat mollified by Yazeba's not-quite apology. But across the room, Mr. Boggs stands and straightens his tie. "My apologies, Miss Gorgone. I shall return soon," he says to Demi. He picks up his mysterious briefcase and carries it at his side as he approaches Parish and Yazeba.

"Excuse my interruption. I couldn't help but overhear your conversation," Mr. Boggs says. "This is a fine establishment you are running here. So far, my time away from the Big City has been rather enjoyable. But the business structure of the Bed & Breakfast may not be at its most optimal configuration. After all, I know all too well how burdensome it can become to have an entire company's fortunes dependent on a single individual. Perhaps a restructuring might behoove all of the employees here? The appointment of an assistant manager may not be remiss."

---

Yazeba takes a slow sip of the cooling cocoa, savoring the interplay of the cinnamon and peppermint flavors. She looks at Mr. Boggs as he approaches and taps the edge of her mug with a fingernail. She turns back to the fire with a "Hmpf" as she listens to his business talk.

Even though Mr. Boggs isn't the best at picking up on social cues, he can feel the tension still lingering in the air. He thinks. What would he do to lighten the mood if this were a business meeting? He smiles slyly, then he picks up a spoon and taps it against his cocoa mug, the ringing noise echoing through the den. The other guests look up from their conversations.

"Excuse me. I would like to propose a toast," Mr. Boggs says. He puts the spoon down and loosens his tie a bit before continuing."Yes, a toast. First, to Parish, for providing us all with this delicious hot cocoa. Your culinary skills are second to none, and your service always comes with a smile."

He turns to Yazeba. "Miss Yazeba, you've created a wonderful refuge from the stresses of daily life. I couldn't have chosen a better place to take my first vacation. Thank you."

He turns then to Demi Gorgone. "I have met so many new people here at the Bed & Breakfast, but none as lovely or as charming as Miss Gorgone here. You are a singular sensation, and when your light and warmth shine on me, they make me feel like even my raincloud may one day go away." He favors her with his best charming smile.

"Hear, hear." Mr. Boggs raises his mug, then takes a long sip before sitting down across from Demi again.

---

Demi raises her glass. Not wanting to steal Boggs’ thunder, she only adds one line to the toast.

"To sunny skies in your future, Mr. Boggs."

Parish smiles after Mr. Boggs, his spirits buoyed by the businessman's compliment. He turns back to Yazeba. "You see, old friend? Both your staff and your guests respect you. We enjoy it when you deign to grace us with your presence. Perhaps you should come out of that stuffy study of yours and spend time with us more often?"

Yazeba maintains her silence, snide comments running through her mind. Seeing the others' happiness, she can't bring herself to say any of her comments. But that doesn't mean she is fine with just sitting here and having this saccharine wave wash over her. They seemed to expect her to say something nice and warm. This room with the cozy fire and the warm cocoa. Everything was too warm! With a discrete motion of her non-cocoa hand, she creates a cold blast of wind that blows down the chimney, bringing wet snow with it. The fire does not die out but it sputters and smokes as a wet chill begins to infiltrate the room.

Parish shivers as the icy wind blows through the living room. He gives Yazeba a look, then hops up to tend to the fire. After much fussing and moving of logs, it begins to burn brightly once again, the chill beginning to lessen. He turns back to his friend.

"You can choose to ignore your problems all you want, but that won't make them go away. Oftentimes, it just makes them worse. Sooner or later, you're going to have to face them. And I don't think your magic is going to help."

Demi sits back and sips her beverage. It’s nice to be the audience sometimes, especially when real-life is like a Hallmark holiday special. Life imitating art…

As the room gets chilly, so too does the rain drizzling onto Mr. Boggs' head. Ignoring his own discomfort, though, the businessman pulls out his large black umbrella, opening it and placing it between the cold wind and Demi Gorgone. "For your comfort, madame, which is paramount," he says.

In the face of Yazeba's continued obstinance, Parish sighs. "I'm trying, Yazeba. I really am. But how can I help when I don't know what's wrong?"

Demi very much appreciates Mr. Boggs knowing how to treat a lady.Demi answers the question by example. "Helping when you’re not entirely certain how is as simple as taking the chance as Mr. Boggs just did. And you know it works from the response.

"My response to you, Mr. Boggs, is that your umbrella leaves ample room for two if you don’t object to sitting just a little closer."

Demi does not back away, even if moving closer results in rainfall under the cover of the umbrella. (Cold doesn’t bother her anyway. She’s cold-blooded.)

Yazeba stares deep into the fire considering the question. Perhaps it is not possible to help without knowing the problem. But can she truly open up to the others and show them her weakness? Perhaps a select few could be trusted to share in the burdens she grapples with. Certainly, Parish is the obvious choice for such a one, but would he view her differently once she no longer appeared to be the strong, stoic witch he has known this whole time? She huffs in consternation.

Mr. Boggs' cheeks flush, but he is not one to deny a beautiful lady's request. He pulls his chair next to Demi's as he settles down next to her. "Ahem. Indeed. Even if all of the variables may not be readily apparent, the solution remains the same. Stay the course, and you will not be steered astray."

Parish considers the others' answers, nodding to himself. "Indeed. It just like on my quests of old. Be brave, be just, and be true to thyself. That is the measure of a true knight. So I will continue to offer help where it is required, even if it is not requested. And perhaps one day, that help will be appreciated."

Despite his worry, he gives Yazeba a smile.

---

Yazeba stands, draining the rest of the cocoa from her mug and plunking it down on the table loudly, clearly having no intention of cleaning up after herself at this time. She turns to Parish and says "Thank you for the hot cocoa, Parish. Perhaps next time you could put some whiskey in the drink. It would complement the flavor of the chocolate as well as the maudlin nature of the conversation." She is unable to force a smile onto her face as she bids farewell to Mr. Boggs and Ms. Gorgone with icy platitudes before retiring to her private room to brood.

As Yazeba leaves the room, Demi says, "Doncha just love her?" Her tone is sincere. "She’s a stickler to her principles, and she’s honest. Brutally, perhaps… but look what she’s built. The cigarette smoke and the G-rated F-words are part of the package.

"And Parish, the combination of an exquisite meal with a side of fatherly advice hits the nostalgic spot for me. As a five-thousand-year-old immortal, I believe I’m qualified to deem you wise beyond your years.

"And Mr. Boggs… there are rules, so I can’t say what it is I like about you here and now. So…" She hands him her napkin. (Inside the fold is her phone number written in lipstick.) "Call me." She pulls out her flip phone.

…which suddenly starts to ring. "It’s my agent. Please excuse me, Mr. Boggs… and no matter what my agent wants, do call."

The Gorgon slinks out of the room, waiting for the seventh ring before picking up. "Darling… of course this isn’t voice mail. I always pick up, as is currently evident. Oh, cry me a river, waiting for the seventh ring. After six husbands, so am I. Now, that project you started to bloviate about when you thought I was voice mail…"