she would be lying if she said that she was doing this purely out of concern for the coven’s reputation. sure, saskia has no doubt that silvertongue leaves a somewhat unsavory taste in most people’s mouths -- one that has been getting progressively worse lately -- but truly, it is the fact that she can simply spend some time with her brother that makes this mission all the better. other areas that add to her enjoyment include, but are not limited to: the fact that it is gardening ( tedious, but fun! ), and perhaps the fact that mrs edna powell has five cats. five cats! that’s five whole cats to pet and hug! five cats!

she stares down at an assortment of socks, and makes the wise choice of picking out a dark pair that would otherwise be plain, if not for the white-lined design of a cat’s face peeking out at the ankle line. subtle references that she loves animals, and would do anything to pat a cat. she hopes that mrs powell’s five cats will like her. by her side, her familiar watches her with a mixture of amusement and resignation.

there’s a knock at the door -- three, to be exact, followed by kasimir’s voice. she whirls around on the spot and nearly trips over herself in her excitement to get to the door. “yup! i’m ready! coming!” saskia bursts out of the door alongside luci, witch and familiar together a flurry of pastel floral-patterned fabric and pale fur. kasimir is there, waiting patiently, and she beams up at him, a smile somehow even sunnier than usual. “gardening, gardening!” she declares, in a sing-song tone, clutching his arm in excitement. “watch out, weeds, we’re gonna get you!”

“yes! they are!” she grins at him, sparing the cat socks a glance as they walk. “dressing for the occasion, y’know.” there are some who may disagree with her choice of clothing -- there’s something undeniably impractical about wearing pale colours to a task as tedious as gardening and weeding. no doubt it will get dirtied within the first five minutes. not that saskia cares, really; it’s cute. she’s in the middle of an internal monologue about how people should dress in what they like ( you know, just in case anyone happens to ask, she’ll have an entire speech and scene planned so precisely she’d be able to direct a stage show ) when a cat bursts out of an overgrown hedge towards them in all its glorious, adorable fluffy feline-ness.

she is delighted. maybe even that is an understatement. every thought immediately flies out of her head, and saskia abandons even coherent speech to crouch down coo over their feline visitor. she glances up only when the cat gently extracts itself from her embrace and bounds back towards the hedge. “that,” she says, pointing after the cat, “is a very good cat.” her eyes fall upon something else at that moment, and saskia jumps back up, waves her hand vaguely at kasimir to tell him to stay put, and dashes towards the hedge.

from that, she plucks a flower ( there are so many! mrs powell surely wouldn’t mind. ), sunshine yellow shrub roses that duck behind the fringes of the overgrown hedge. when she returns, eyes shining, she stands on her tiptoes to ( try to ) tuck it behind kasimir’s ear. “there! dressing for the occasion!”

“i’m sure she won’t mind,” saskia insists, watching her brother adjust the flower until it sits snugly in place. finally satisfied, she turns back to luci, who gives her an exasperated ( though undeniably affection ) grunt. “i mean, she did ask us to get rid of them, she didn’t specify where they went, did she?”

there’s a moment of pause as saskia considers the event in which mrs powell had truly specified a method of disposal. was there a special way to dispose of weeds, anyway? saskia knows close to nothing about gardening. what if there was a specific method? what if mrs powell’s garden was somehow magical and failing to do so would result in them getting poisoned by toxic plant gas? oh dear. her thoughts wander into more and more unlikely scenarios, and luci, privy to every of these thoughts, only nudges her shoulder gently to bring her attention back to present.

it brings her attention back, only to notice their client step out from behind the crooked overgrown trees. like some sort of wood nymph, saskia thinks, then remembers the existence of her manners. she mirrors kasimir abruptly, dipping into a hasty bow, and straightens up with her best smile. “mrs powell! hi!” she says brightly, and before she can stop herself, “i love your cats! they’re all very cute!”

promptly, she snaps her mouth shut, feeling mrs powell’s gaze sharpen for just a second. ( please don’t be a grumpy old lady, please don’t be a grumpy old lady-- ) fate has mercy; mrs powell’s eyes soften after a moment, creasing at the corners as she smiles at them, suddenly the picture of a benevolent grandmother and nice cat lady.

“yes, yes, i did. come, dears, it’s this way.” mrs powell turns back towards the trees, beckoning the siblings forward.

mrs powell turns to shuffle her way down the path, and saskia, somewhat perplexed and amazed both by the old woman’s sharp grey eyes and her sudden turn to kindly grandmother. to some extent, saskia is unfazed by such paroxysms -- attributes it to silvertongue, every witch a sum of their dichotomies, from amiable lunch partner to fearsome warrior in a matter of seconds -- but there’s something about the snow-haired old woman that amazes saskia. her eyes are shining as she follows down the path, careful not to trip over creeping gnarled roots and broken stone path where the grass beneath finds its way through concrete.

she doesn’t know how mrs powell weaves her way through all of it without tripping even once. the old lady neither slows nor wavers in her path, tottering onwards as though the path were as clean and navigable as a marble corridor. when saskia tries to emulate, she trips almost immediately, and grasps onto luci to haul herself back up. sheepishly, she returns to following kasimir’s footsteps instead, holding feather-light onto his arm as she looks at the garden beyond the path. it’s more of a wilderness, really. perhaps a portal to another realm, a gateway at the bottom of the garden where threads of reality converge in a verdant--

she squints at the mass of tree trunks and roots at the back of the garden, at a loss for words. she doesn’t even know what to call that except for a mess.

mrs powell says something about snakes and spiders and saskia gives an optimistic smile. “small snakes are cute,” she chirps, already looking out at the garden and wondering where they should start. “they’re friend-shaped.”

she’s too fascinated by the tall grass and odd lumps of plant growth to pay the odd look in mrs powell’s eyes any real attention. the reassurance and confidence of her brother is enough for her, even if, after a moment’s thought, she realises she’s not the fondest of spiders. they have too many eyes and too many legs, she decides. what do they do with so many eyes and legs? if you put a spider in tap shoes, it’d probably be a great dancer. maybe spiders are good sculptors -- enough limbs to mould something easily, enough eyes to survey it from every angle. she wonders, apprehension fading, if anyone has tried training a spider to do art.

“the shed it is!” she agrees, nodding decisively, and makes to move towards the particularly shed-shaped lump of greenery. or, at least, she tries to. but between the uneven ground of the garden and mrs powell’s cats perched at various points throughout the garden, saskia makes little progress. every few steps is sidetracked by attempting to pat a cat, or having to cautiously side step curiously large divots in the ground. the tall grass waves in the breeze, and she watches carefully for the appearance of any small creatures, but finds nothing. behind her, luci is less graceful about how she navigates, stubbornly plowing through whatever undergrowth stands in her way. thankfully, the path they happen upon is not the most overgrown, though that is a statement made in relativity. it is still absolute chaos.

there’s a funny looking tree branch that has fallen across what might be the shed door. saskia prods at it experimentally with a finger. huh. a trick of the light, perhaps, but she could have sworn it moved. she leans her weight against it and shoves, to no avail. so she turns to her brother, shrugging helplessly. “hey, kasi? could you help me move this please?”

she is busy wondering what sort of tools are required for gardening. in retrospect, she should have read up more. maybe stopped by a local florist, gardener, whatever; asked for tips. but then again, she thinks, optimistic as always, how difficult could it be?

the task, as it turns out, becomes considerably more difficult with the appearance of a giant snake. ( the same sentiments could be applied to just about every task, probably. )

saskia doesn’t notice it at first. she sees the odd ripple of movement in the leaves and thinks, that’s a funny sort of vine. then the vine grows glaring yellow eyes and fangs as long as her forearm and oh dear that’s not a vine at all.

kasimir tackles her away from the snake, wings flaring out in a scarlet halo, an avenging angel in the flesh. for a moment, saskia is useless, eyes wide in disbelief and staring blankly at the snake. for a moment, she says nothing, attention haywire and only now noting luci’s panicked roar as the bear dives towards the siblings, fully intending to be some sort of shield from bodily harm. then, she squeaks out, in a very small voice:

“that’s not a small snake.”

her hands are shaking, but somehow she has miraculously avoided spraining an ankle or getting bitten by the snake. she knows she can’t keep counting on luck, though. a frantic wave of her hands and sudden lines of amber light cut across the air before them, a feeble attempt at gates of heaven hampered even more by agitation. the light doesn’t hit the snake directly, but the ground before it, smoking where it makes contact. a deterrence, she hopes.

another panicked glance at kasimir as she scoots backwards hurriedly, voice raised over the chaotic sounds of the snake uncoiling and wood splintering. “maybe we should tell mrs powell about the giant snake?!”

for a moment, saskia is more worried about her brother panicking than her impending doom at the jaws of a giant snake; the thin veneer of calm in his voice belies those firestorm eyes, of which are simultaneously comforting and cause for concern. it is nice, she supposes, to know that one’s brother can easily scorch the garden to cinders. she has faith in his strength, his fire-given-form heart, even if he may doubt it at times. but, on the other hand, this is ( despite its overgrown nature ) a really nice garden, even if it may house some peculiar residents.

the siblings beat a cautious retreat, and for every two steps back, the snake slithers a foot forward. she holds the light at her fingertips, thin sunlit strands looping loosely around her fingers. pale, weak, in comparison to kasimir’s fire, but something at least.

thankfully, she doesn’t have to use it.

mrs powell makes her way down the overgrown path with more haste than saskia thinks possible for a woman her age, arms outstretched, calling after the snake -- monty, she named the snake monty?! -- with all the joy and familiarity of reuniting with an old friend. saskia can do nothing but watch, fear and apprehension fading abruptly to admiration and amazement.

“snake whisperer,” she murmurs to kasimir, hushed in awe. the previously monstrous reptile now seems nothing more than an oversized pet, its head lowered as mrs powell gives it a hearty pat. “mrs powell is awesome.”

saskia considers, briefly, turning to her brother with her brow furrowed in thought. “do you think i could pet monty, or do you think i’d lose an arm?”