That she had gotten lost at all felt ever more foolish as she arrived at her complex. The strange antique shop had been mere minutes from home, and if she'd just kept walking a little further, Scarlett was certain she could've gotten home without a bizarre encounter. In any case, though, she was finally home, out of the cold and back into the comforting warmth of the apartment.
The few people who'd actually seen her apartment often found it amazing that Scarlett, quite possibly one of the most repressed people in all of Seattle, had a place such as this. Wild paintings on every wall, odd little statues and decorations scattered on every surface, and an easel positioned right by the sliding glass door to the balcony. It seemed out of character for Scarlett, and it was; all of that belonged to her roommate.
Rachel had been the last sort of person Scarlett would expect to be friends with. Certainly, the way they'd gotten to know each other had been entirely outside of her comfort zone. Freshman year of college and the artistically-minded Rachel had been in desperate need of a math tutor, just as Scarlett had been in need of someone to help develop some actual creativity for her english classes. Without each other, both of them probably would've flunked out of said classes.
The arrangement was maintained for the rest of their college careers, and as different as they were, Scarlett found that she enjoyed Rachel's company a great deal. The feeling seemed to be mutual, especially once they both graduated and the engineering major turned out to have a much easier time earning money than someone who majored in art.
Hence the apartment they shared, a much nicer one than Rachel could have afforded on her own. Legally speaking, it was actually Scarlett's - hers was the sole name on the lease, given how inconsistently Rachel could pay for part of the rent... or utilities... or food... or much of anything. Scarlett hadn't really minded much, however. She could still support them both comfortably, and honestly, being able to keep a roof over her friend's head as she pursued her passions was far more satisfying than anything else she could've bought with the money.
Tonight, she arrived home to find Rachel in the kitchen, exercisng her culinary rather than artistic skills as she prepared dinner. Dyed-blue hair bobbed as she looked up, smiling at the sight of her roommate. "Good timing. Pasta's almost ready."
"T-thanks." She let out a long sigh as she seated herself atop a stool at the counter, enjoying the warmth that radiated from the stove nearby. Out onto the counter came her keys, her dead phone, her purse, and finally, the cup, set down gently so as to avoid annihilating it. The sight of the clay caused her roommate to quirk an eyebrow, silently requesting an explanation.
Scarlett raised a hand to the back of her neck as she started trying to put the strange encounter into words. "I-I uh... I got lost, uh, on the way home, and..." She shrugged slightly. "I went into this shop, and this weird lady... she said she'd uh, s-she'd tell me how to get home, but.. uh... I had to promise to uh... d-drink... out of... this thing."
Rachel's pasta-stirring hand came to a stop as she stared across the counter at the brunette. "....that's... a little sus."
"S-sus?"
"Suspicious." She very quietly sighed. "Slang, sorry. Anyway... you're not gonna actually drink out of that relic, are you?"
"Well... I-I promise her I would, a-and she told me how to get home..."
The artist's expression turned to one of worry. "That thing has gotta be loaded with germs and bacteria and shit! And I mean, it looks like they made it before anybody invented cleaning!"
She had a good point - it probably wasn't the smartest idea in the world. But... Scarlett had never broken a promise before, and she didn't want to start now. "Well... uh... a-at least a sip." That wasn't so bad. Statisically speaking, that'd minimize her chances of catching the black death or something from some long-dormant microorganism.
Sliding off the stool, she gently stepped over to the fridge, hoping to just get this over with quickly. Rachel's expression continued down into something approaching horror, as she simply stood back, watching her friend commit to something even she would've considered too dumb to try. A hand moved over to her phone, ready to dial 9-1-1 as she watched Scarlett pour just a tiny bit of water inside.
There was an idea in her head to say 'bottoms up' or something else appropriately witty, but nothing came from Scarlett's mouth as she hesitantly lifted the cup to her lips. The texture of the clay was rough, old, but not unpleasant, a fact that helped spur her on to quickly throwing the water back and swallowing it before she thought better. To her surprise, it wasn't loaded with dust or foul in taste - it was water, albeit water that seemed to tingle as it spilled down her throat.
If there had been any awful taste, it would've fallen to the wayside by what happened to the cup. Instantly, as if the pressure in her hands had simply been too much for the old clay, it shattered, falling apart into thousands of tiny granules that flew across the kitchen floor. Both women yelped, leaping backwards in shock, their eyes drawn to the floor before they looked up at each other, tense and breathing heavily from the suddenness of it all.