Knock knock!
The beast kept banging on the witch's door, but the witch was debating whether to answer or not.
There it was again, another knock.
The witch was contemplating whether to drop an asteroid, but that would destroy her treehouse. Her head was thinking of other ways to stop the noise, but she couldn't come up with anything.
With a sigh, the teapot urgently filled her teacup. Aurelia Orlandei, Supreme Crimson Witch of the Swamp™, opened one pink eye and groaned like a grandma.
"Ugh. Furries~"
She'd had enough.
She floated to the door upside down, blanket wrapped around her like a burrito.
A witch burrito...
The door opened itself out of shame, and there he was, the man himself, the dog in all his trench coat-flapping glory: Mr. Beast.
A wolf. He had a monocle and a cute, tipsy hat. He stepped inside and fixed his collar.
"Good afternoon, Crimson Witch of the Swamp," he said. His voice was oozing with charisma. What a distinguished gentleman.
"Mr. Beast..." said the witch. And the wolf felt it.
Every time a strand of his fur touched the floor, it grew small, microscopic legs and ran away from the house like an Olympic runner, because it didn't want to sully this sanctuary.
Some strands even took refuge within the Mushroom Kingdom, where they were welcomed with open spores.
They may yet become formidable allies in the coming turf war against the not-so-kind tulip neighbors.
"The wolf is here! The wolf is here! Please don't piss at us! Don't piss at us! We don't wanna be marked by a furry!" sang the sunflowers in unison, like an angelic choir having a panic attack.
"Aren't they silly little things?" the wolf chuckled.
"Please, witch, I have standards. I piss on gold tiles, it hides the color of my urine." His eyes met the witch's; what a menace to society.
"...I did not need to know that," said the witch in a deadpan tone, still like a burrito floating in the air.
"What brings you here today, Mister Beast?" asked the witch.
As the narrator, I'm concerned for her well-being. She's been an upside-down burrito for so long that the blood may be gathering in her head.
Please, witch, fix your posture...
"Ah, dear witch, may I interest you in some—"
"No..." replied the witch.
The wolf looked terrified, not knowing that the witch was talking to the narrator.
Wait what?
"Pardon?" asked Mr. Beast, who felt flabbergasted and bamboozled.
But the witch sniffed the air, and Mr. Beast had an interesting scent to him.
"MrBeast, what's your current perfume?"
"I'm glad you asked."
The moment the witch asked that, the wolf had the brightest smile on his face.
It was time to scam—cough—advertise his precious products to the witch.
He opened his coat dramatically, and the witch was immediately dying inside, as she watched, in horror, as tufts of fur rained down onto the floor of her treehouse.
Terrible news for the witch.
Excellent news for the Mushroom Kingdom.
"Ah, ma chère sorcière...!"
MrBeast dramatically lifted one paw, the other clutching a delicate glass bottle shaped like a heart rose.
"Oui? oui?" The witch replied, I do wonder why they're speaking French all of a sudden.
"Allow me to present to you…
...'L'Essence de Swamp – Eau de Moisissure.'"
Wtf is he saying?
The witch blinked. "Did you just say mold?"
What mold? The furry did not say mold once...
"Oui oui, but of course! Not just mold, this is the scent of mystery, of forbidden forest romance! of a frog singing at midnight under a cursed moon!"
Can this wolf just say the perfume smells nice?!
"I'll smell like a frog?" replied the witch in a defeated tone.
"No!" replied Mr. Beast.
The wolf leaned closer—mind you, the witch was (and still is) floating like a burrito.
"This perfume was crafted from the tears of heartbroken, numerous single mothers... with moonflowers and a bit of whale belly."
The one who made that perfume should be in jail.
"Ewww—"
"That sounds disgusting, Mr. Beast! Why would I need to smell like that?!" Finally, some emotion from the witch within her burrito confines.
"Because you're single—" delivered the wolf, with the confidence of someone who sells emotional damage to his customers.
The entire garden gasped.
The wood. The broom. The trees.
The tulips. The mushrooms.
Even the hair that had just fallen.
Gasp—
That was the narrator gasping, too.
"Doggy," uttered the witch, with a slight pout on her face. "Apologize. Right now!"
The dog... he felt his nutsack convulse.
But that didn't even happen. He saw his future. If he didn't say sorry, he'd be forever infertile.
Before he could say sorry, the tulips were already chanting. Mr. Beast couldn't understand the tulip language, but he knew he was being called names.
"Dear witch. I got carried away."
"As an apology, may I interest you in some more wares?" He clicked his fingers, and behind him opened a portal. Inside was an entire traveling department store.
It makes no sense, but we'll roll with it.
"Here for your restock!" he said proudly.
Aurelia blinked. "I didn't ask for any of this."
"You never do. But I come anyway. I can't leave you living alone, witch."
But in truth, it was MrBeast who had been providing the witch with all her necessities—and more importantly, her tea.
And she loves tea...
She rubbed her temples. "Fine. What's the payment this time?"
"The usual, dear witch. The only thing you can provide this wolf..."
The witch had zero thoughts.
All the mundane was easily forgotten like dust in a mist. "I don't remember, Mr. Beast. You want treats?"
MrBeast chuckled. "Ah, you're such a joker, dear witch..."
"…I want… grooming," said the dog.
Grooming… what?
This dog came all the way here to the swamp, not to a pet shop, nor a vet, nor a salon, for that?
The burrito witch… is a wolf groomer?!
Chapter End.