Robin Bartlett credited as playing...
Cecily Pembroke
- Myrtle Snow: So, before we move on to our lobster poché beurre, a little melon ball palate cleanser. Remember back in the day, Pembie? We'd always be served a palate cleanser at Sunday supper.
- Cecily Pembroke: Such a sensible tradition, nobody bothers anymore.
- Quentin: Now, Myrtle, Pembie and I were just saying in addition to how thrilling it was to get your phone call, we-we...
- Cecily Pembroke: I've... we've... just had terrible regrets about the whole misunderstanding.
- Quentin: And we cannot get over your skin.
- Cecily Pembroke: Ah. No burn scars.
- Quentin: You look younger than ever. We-we've got to hear all about this Misty Day and her magical mud. Should we be looking into it? Selling it, perhaps?
- Myrtle Snow: You miss the point, darling. The swamp mud is a metaphor, her metaphor. She's a sophisticated witch with extraordinary gifts, hiding out as a hippie swamp rat. From humble hillbilly stock, she's been a witch since birth, her power and humanity separating her from everyone around her. In fact, those around her have tried endlessly to destroy her, in order to mask their own evil purposes. Yet she rose from the ashes, stronger than ever, more fully realized. A living testament to the greater ideals of our coven. Power, compassion, and uniqueness... We are lucky to have found her, and she us. It resonates with my own story, doesn't it?
- Cecily Pembroke: Myrtle, I want to toast you. For your spirit of... f... give...
- Myrtle Snow: Forgiveness, you say? Forgiveness is, and always will be, the high road... the preferred road. Would that we had such luxury. Oh, Quentin. Not to worry. It's just a bit of monkshood in your balls. Causes temporary paralysis. "Human Statue Syndrome," we call it. I believe it's the nervous system first. You lose control over your limbs, the muscles harden into cement, and it feels like ice in your veins. Then the respiratory system. Or is it the other way around? Well, no matter. It's supposed to be quite terrifying, is it? Are you terrified? You should be. At any rate, I'm not going to kill you. Well, maybe after dessert. I put a lot of effort into the key lime pie. I do love a key lime pie, even more than a ile flottante. Call me a Philistine! Enough chit-chat. You've both wanted to eliminate me for years, so you could dominate the Council. But I was never worried you'd be hapless enough to try. Quentin! You're a fatuous fool and a drunk! Pembie, you're even worse. You're weak-willed, boring, and your fashion faux pas give me nightmares. I invited you here not to chastise you or exact revenge, But to help out the coven. To help out my beloved Cordelia. Ha! I bet you thought, "Oh, she left the melon baller in there. She's growing old and forgetful!"
- [scoops out Pembroke's left eye with the melon baller]