7.

Nestled amongst lush trees, and resting along a quiet little roadway marked 'Acorn Lane' sits a charming two story, Tudor style home. Painted in green lettering on the side of the aged looking, iron worked mailbox is the name Hawthorn, for that is who lives here.

This particular morning, Mrs. Hawthorn has just returned from depositing both of her daughters at school and is back home in time for another portion of her weekday morning ritual, tea with her next door neighbor and dear friend Kenneth. As the kettle announces it's job as finished, Meadow rinses her mug from earlier in the sink then plucks the box of tea bags from a nearby shelf. A light knock sounds upon the back door, followed by a friendly "Morning, my dear." as the dark haired man lets himself in, closing the door quickly behind him. He gives the slightest shiver and rubs an arm with his free hand before moving the counter and placing the mug from his other hand near Meadow's own. "Fall is certainly on it's way." Meadow leans in to place a light kiss upon the man's cool, clean shaven cheek and chuckles. "You should have seen how difficult it was trying to convince Livia that pants would be a wiser choice than shorts." At this Ken smirks, "And how did that go?" Meadow sighs, retrieving now a third mug before plopping a tea bag into each cup and filling them from the kettle. "We compromised...apparently it's shorts AND hoodie weather." Ken smiles proudly, "That's my girl."

Ken takes two of the steaming mugs and moves to seat himself at the table, placing one before himself and the other at the seat to his right. Meadow follows, taking her usual spot across from him. She peeks briefly at her phone which rests on the table beside her then gives her tea bag a few good dunks to aid it's steeping. "Have you decided on your costume for the Festival this year?" She asks while making her tea as she likes, with just a spot of honey and a dash of milk. "Well..." Ken says, "...where as I'm not quite ready to bust out in full queen's attire as of yet, I think I may take Sheyna up on that Sonny and Cher idea...if only to see her in something other than her uniform." Meadow nods in approval, "Oh please do! You two would look amazing. And Shey has the hair for it. The bitch." Ken chuckles and nods in agreement. "Maybe next year I'll have the courage to be Dorothy to her Tin Man." Meadow smiles and gently pats his hand. "You'll know when you're ready, Ken. I'm proud of you for taking the steps you have thusfar."

The Hawthorn's had moved to Oakhaven roughly six years prior when she and her husband, Cliff purchased a restaurant there. Since moving in to what Meadow still feels to be her 'dream house', she had come to know Kenneth quite well. She saw the man through the tail end of his divorce, been a shoulder to cry on and a sounding board for new life plans when he at last embraced his being homosexual, (much to his ex-wife Barbie's chagrin) and where as they shared a property line and saw one another on a daily basis, their relationship had come to feel quite like family. Ken celebrated Holidays with them, attended her childrens' choir concerts and school plays, and thus had become an honorary Hawthorn.

In sync with one another, Meadow and Ken both shiver as the air within the room drops several degrees. Ken smiles and says, "Morning, Penelope my dear." his breath small puffs of condensation as he speaks. Penelope Farnsworth, a long since deceased young woman who died from consumption at the age of 23, also took part in this morning ritual of tea on Mondays through Fridays, not that she could actually drink the tea, but she claimed that she could inhale it's scent and that would have to be good enough. The spirit glides over to hover just above what was 'her' chair, the act lending the appearance of sitting, and smiles to the pair, though Kenneth himself could not actually see her. Meadow on the other hand had possessed the ability to communicate with ghosts since childhood.

At times like this she could serve as a power source to Penny for short periods of time, like at their morning tea parties. Penelope could not make herself visible to Kenneth for periods of more than about 15 seconds without expending all of her own energy, but if she was near enough to Meadow to siphon the smallest bit of juice from the woman's aura, she could make her voice heard for a good thirty minutes, and that was how the three of them held conversation.

Penelope lets out a long breath, or rather the act of which, for she no longer HAD any breath to expel. "I swear to the two of you, that if I must endure one moment more of that man's prattling, I shall go positively insane! I mean it!" Meadow passes a knowing glance to Ken who offers a head shake. "He's still on about that is he?" Ken asks, knowing well the answer. Penelope it seems, had recently acquired a suitor. A deceased older gentleman who like Penelope was of an age past, but where as she was of Regency, he was of Medieval, and certainly NOT of Penny's high society ilk. The man was by Penny's account, "A foul mouthed peasant who did little more than trail about at her heels and offer lewd and inappropriate propositions." For whatever reason, Penny had aroused the man's desire and try as she might, she was finding it impossible to rid herself of him. The Hawthorn's home was one of few safe havens for the poor woman, as Meadow kept all but one small area of the entire perimeter marked by salt, and unless a spirit knew where to find this entrance, they found themselves unable to enter. This was not solely for Penelope's benefit, as Meadow did not enjoy being plagued by unfamiliar incorporeal houseguests whenever they so chose to pop in. Her introduction to Penelope had been pure happenstance once afternoon while Meadow was out tending her garden and the two had bonded immediately.

"I have already offered to take my skillet to him...care to change your mind about that now?" Meadow asks, before sipping her tea. Spirits did not handle iron all that well, and the few times Meadow had had to rely on this little gem of knowledge, the entity who had been on the receiving end of her favorite cast iron had simply disappeared. Not permanently, but long enough to lay down some extra salt, and they usually just reset back to whatever area was considered their usual haunt. "I may just change my mind indeed should this continue. This morning he had the audacity to pinch my derriere! Thankfully no one was about to witness the act, as I let out the most startled cry. I would have been positively mortified had there been an audience. As if having to spend the rest of eternity in my nightgown and slippers with hair unbound was not a great enough tragedy!" Meadow shakes her head, simultaneously feeling pity for the young woman and thinking just how much it would rock to spend her own afterlife in her favorite flannel lounge pants.

Ken turns to look upon Penelope, or roughly where her head would if he were able to see it, and with a frown says, "I am so sorry, Penny dear. Not all men are Prince Charmings, as I'm learning well myself. You would be positively horrified by some of the messages I get through my dating apps. Lecherous pigs, the majority of them." Meadow cringes, having seen some of said messages. "Well, you know where to find me. I'll get the skillet good and seasoned for whenever you're ready."

The trio continues to chat for their usual half hour time slot, anything beyond that leaving Meadow too weary to carry out the rest of her day. Penelope bids them both goodbye then breaks their connection, leaving naught but her now cold cup of tea where she had been seated. Meadow finishes her own tea then places she and Penny's mugs in the sink, Ken rising with his mug in hand. "Until tomorrow?" She asks. "Of course." Ken replies before letting himself out, leaving Meadow to her own devices.

Mombie: "Hmmm....so many characters. Do you think I'm introducing too many so soon? I promise, they WILL all tie together with time."

Narrator: "I believe it will work itself out if done properly. You are puppeting an entire town about afterall."

Mombie: Nods and sips her own tea. "Only time will tell I suppose, I just have so many ideas and so many characters bouncing around in my brain."

Narrator: "I think your readers will understand that this is merely groundwork. All will be well."

Mombie: "I hope you're right about that."

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