“Where shall we three meet again?” a young, slightly uncertain voice asked.
“Not here, this coffee is piss,” a loud, gregarious voice answered, drawing the attention of everyone in the coffee shop to her.
“What, it is!”
“Too full of itself also,” a third voice chimed in. “I asked for a small coffee and they told me I needed to ask for a ‘short’. What kind of nonsense is that?”
Magrat Garlick resisted, barely, the urge to put her head down on the table and groan loudly. To be honest, she wasn’t the biggest fan of meeting at Starbucks either. She didn’t really care for their business practices and it was rather pricey…but there wasn’t a local coffee shop or café convenient for all three of them to meet, and the last time they tried to meet at Lancre Park the police had asked them to leave because they were there after hours and things had gone downhill from there.
“We could meet at my house,” Magrat suggested.
Granny and Nanny looked at each other. Magrat lived in a little bungalow that she inherited from Goodie Whemper after she had passed. It was filled with the books and tools of all the witches that had gone before Goodie Whemper and Magrat…which wasn’t a bad thing. However, currently Magrat’s contribution to the bungalow seemed to consist of thirty to forty sticks of incense burning at any one time, a few cats who she fed and called her familiars, and more Occult and Magickal art on the walls than you could shake a broom at.
Also, her scones were like little rocks.
“Everyone is always welcome at my house! Especially since the girls cleaned it up quite a treat!”
Granny and Magrat looked at each other in a moment of rare solidarity. It wasn’t that Nanny’s house was so full of souvenirs, pictures, knickknacks, little statues of men peeing, and other obscene figurines that the rooms had paths that you had to walk through, as opposed to being open. Or that Greebo would jump on your lap and purr. And Nanny did always have wonderful baked goods out for everyone to eat. However, Nanny also had, at last count, about 32 grandchildren, who she let have run of a good amount of the house, and thus a trip to Nanny’s involved usually lots of shouting, hollering, the occasional sound of glass breaking, a hiding or two, sweets stuck in one’s hair, and other such shenanigans.
“I suppose,” Granny said, “we could meet at my house.”
Nanny winced. She and Esme went back, way back, but she never did like going out to Granny’s during the winter. Granny lived in an old Airstream trailer on a hill outside of town, which was sparsely decorated and had no heat or running water. The lack of a heater wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the fact that Granny refused to heat her trailer with magic and instead insisted on using seven or eight space heaters all plugged into one outlet, which in turn gave Magrat conniptions and the night usually ended with Magrat trying to unplug them and Granny giving everyone Looks.
The three women looked at each other for another minute over coffee gone cold, in a stalemate.
“We could go back to the park,” Magrat offered finally. “I think the police department won’t bother us again.”
“Sounds good,” Nanny concurred. Granny nodded slightly, which the other two took as a yes.
Nanny’s brow furrowed. “Ere, but when will we meet?”
 Nanny Ogg didn’t consider it coffee unless it ate the bottom of her coffee cup away.
 Though when she tried to explain that to Nanny and Granny she got two pained looks for her efforts and after that she didn’t even bother any more.
 In all fairness, the two police officers were new to the area and didn’t know yet but still.
 When Magrat eventually got married, she gave the bungalow over to Agnes.
 And who returned the favor by biting and scratching Magrat whenever she got near them
 Nanny had at least six or seven daughters-in-law, whose names she never bothered to remember.
 It was a threatening purr, one that promised scratches and bites if pets were not offered immediately.
 Well, to be fair, Granny never had that problem because Greebo wasn’t stupid. Magrat on the other hand…
 Nanny could bake like a champion…but why bother with that when once again, one had a legion of nieces, daughters, cousins, and daughter-in-laws to do the cooking for you.
 And a few nephews and son-in-laws too.
 Granny got around by driving an old, beat up station wagon, which was terrifying in its own right as Granny hadn’t started driving until she was about 45, and had little to no regard for such trivial things as “right of way,” “stop signs”, or traffic laws in general.