Old Six Brews enters the room, trailing used teabags from her pockets. Some are still damp and they land with a gentle thud. Others are dessicated, falling with a susurration through the air, the dried out leaves whispering within the confines of their round papery pouches.
Old Six Brews is distracted. She’s only managed four brews so far today. So far. That’s the key. There’s still time. Twilight hasn’t yet brought down the shutters. Old Six Brews rests her hands, briefly ceasing the casual distribution of her tea stained cargo. Her tea stained fingers hover at the edges of her pockets, their tips meddling with the turned hems of the openings.
Old Six Brews spots the kettle. There’s a glint in her eye and her distracted air falls away. As the rumbling rattle of water boiling inside metal builds its head of steam, a smoothing takes place. Old Six Brews becomes incrementally more civilised. As water pours from kettle to mug, releasing the acid tang of tannin into the air, Old Six Brews transforms. Gone is the grumbling, tea stained hag who scares children. Tamed is the dishevelment of hair on her head.
Her name is revealed to be Camellia.