Mushrooms, what fun!

“This is literally, actually, so vomit!”

“Did quit thy complaining, Brooke.  T’ needeth to beest done, hibiscus…”

Brooke doesn’t mind the fact she’s on her hands and knees behind her yoga establishment’s, ripping out glowing blue shrooms that began to sprout beneath and from the cracks of the building's concrete and bricks. She doesn't really mind that she must cling close to the wet, dirty brick wall as the storm water rushed beneath her palms, and rain poured down on her head, ruining her hair (this bit she does mind, actually). 

What she does mind, not counting her beautiful hair being ruined, is Ophio not doing a damn thing! She’s in her office, sipping on whatever wonderful tea she brews and yipping at her through her earbud via phone call.

“Thee might not but doth this, Brooke.  We can’t risketh the mushrumps getting into the plumbing, what tragedy shall befall us then?”

Brooke grunts over her business partner, ripping out a clump of the gross little bastards and tossing them in the partially-filled-with-rainfall garbage bag. “I dunno. Tap water which makes you trip balls? Be a good selling point, I think.”

Ophio considers this over the phone, humming softly, which eventually turns into a beautiful melody. How nice. It almost makes Brooke forget how angry she is with her. This week was supposed to be easy—fly right by—but April decided to do nothing but piss from the sky and have mushrooms sprout all over her fucking everything! Fuck sakes! Fuck! 

Brooke takes a moment to breathe and calm herself, even though she believes she's perfectly in the right to be absolutely irritated out of her gourd right now. “You’re quiet. That means you must agree, or you’re ack-tually considering the dumb shit I suggested,” Brooke comments, enunciating dramatically since she knows it annoys her work partner.

“ Mmm...I’m not necessarily consid'ring the idea, but m'reso the effects of these ‘haze-shrooms’? Its title the public shall decideth on. It’s a species I’ve nev'r seen bef're, but t’ shares some relation to the spores we useth in the sauna…”  

Brooke hums and looks down at the mushrooms she’s collected so far, a good arms-full worth. She groans dramatically and tilts her head back, “I got a ton from all this cleaning,” Brooke rips out a few more clusters, tossing them in carelessly and hoisting the bag over her shoulder, “I could send some over as samples,” She says as she begins to walk towards the storage facility of  Diva’s Oasis. 

Brooke growls, tilting her head away from the rain to hear Ophio's voice through the speakers. "--Yond shall beest most wondrous, aye. Doth not sendeth me any did damage product, I'll keepeth thee updat'd if 't be true aught cometh from this endeav'r."

“Alright queen, you’ll get your ‘mushrumps,’ don’t get too excited…” With a sigh of vague relief, Brooke enters the storage building, setting the bag of mushrooms down. The space is filled with shelves lined with yoga mats, essential oils, and various other wellness products. Despite Lady Ophio’s lack of physical presence in the wellness-center, her influence is felt in every corner, her meticulous organization evident in the neat rows and labeled containers. Though if you asked Brooke, the paintings strung high on the walls would be a dead giveaway to Ophio having her grubby hooves involved in something.

Brooke hoists the mushrooms up onto the nearest table, she’s already so drenched he greed bun doesn’t care when water spills from the garbage bag and onto her front.

Who the Hell hangs up fine-art in a garage?  She thinks. Brooke respects the rich audacity of it. Having the blue collar workers that unload the shipments of all your crap greeted with a three-foot tall painted portrait of one of their employers? That’s hilarious. It’s why they get along, shit like that is funny. Another reason they work well together is because Brooke would go mad if she had to deal with keeping inventory; all of this fancy sauna product shit is Ophio’s ideas anyway.

“Crisp the mushrumps of any dirt, and again doth not sendeth me any thee has't ravag'd in thy quest to free those rumps from the mure. In row-4 of section-D th're shouldst beest suitable enwheel'rs. If 't be true thou art standing at the w'rkbench I believeth thou art, behold to thy hath left.” 

“ . . . “ Brooke stands a little straighter, startled, and glances to the left of her. Spotting ‘row 4’ in arms reach, as well as airtight containers perfectly sized for containing annoying, gross, dirty, hallucinogenic mushrooms, “Bitch, are you spying on me through the security cameras??” 

Brooke reaches over and snatches the boxes, pressing the big button on the container top to pop open the lid. A simple mechanism, she has containers similar for storing food at home. 

“Nay, I has't bett'r things to doth the present day, ‘t just maketh senseth f'r thee to beest at yond table. I trusteth thee to finish, I'll sendeth thee and thy sir a gift basket as grant you mercy f'r doing this task.”

The offer of a gift basket soothes Brooke’s bristling fur at being told ‘I have better things to do.’ Like yeah duh she knows that but jeez bitch maybe cut her some slack. 

“Good, because I don’t do this shit for free, Ophio. Make sure it has mangos and peaches, alright? I really liked that one you got us last time,” Brooke pulls her phone from her waistband and sets it down on the table, grabbing the box of latex gloves next to slip them on,  “Yeah yeah. Like I said, you’ll get your damn trippy trash mushrooms. Byebye now, sexy,” She punctuated with the snap of the gloves' plastic. 

“Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow, hibiscus.”  Then Brooke hangs up. Ughhh she wishes she wasn’t the only person in the building, this is somebody else's job to do. Maybe she’ll save some of the mushrooms for herself, make a drink or possibly even ice cream out of it. Yeah… That sounds good.