Flame
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Causam ago dementia
Posts: 198
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Post by Flame on Feb 6, 2012 0:09:39 GMT -5
"And a bouquet of carnations and baby's breath from the grocery cooler wouldn't do?" Aidan wonders, eyes dancing. "Well, I hope I don't disappoint. She's a good friend of yours, then?" He turns, beckoning Petunia to follow as he wends his way between racks and under lights of varying brightness.
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Post by Pee-Dee on Feb 6, 2012 0:15:44 GMT -5
"No," Petunia admits. "But I know what it's like to wake up not knowing who you are and with no one ever coming to see you but the hospital staff."
She trails after Mr. Flynn, holding her chrysanthemum ever so carefully.
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Flame
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Causam ago dementia
Posts: 198
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Post by Flame on Feb 6, 2012 0:40:20 GMT -5
Petunia explains and Aidan nods, listening even as he starts looking over the ferns. He settles for a mature plant with bright colour; the younger ones are so vibrant, but they still have so much growing to do. He can't bear to take them this soon. He gathers up the terracotta pot in both hands and takes it to the counter.
"So," he says, mostly to himself as he thinks aloud, "sympathy… well-wishes…." He chews briefly on one blunt thumbnail, ignoring the dirt caked under it, while he thinks. Then he lights up and he's on the move again.
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Post by Pee-Dee on Feb 6, 2012 21:19:22 GMT -5
Petunia follows Mr. Flynn around, rolling her chrysanthemum between her fingers. "Not being alone."
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Flame
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Causam ago dementia
Posts: 198
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Post by Flame on Feb 9, 2012 17:24:40 GMT -5
Aidan is only partly aware of Petunia trailing after him as, murmuring partly to himself and partly to the plants, he bustles from one rack to another, crossing the shop multiple times as he examines and gathers just the right blossoms. He pauses long enough to look back at her.
"Were you considering a vase," he asks with roses and white bergamot tucked in the crook of his arm while he reaches for the mullein, "or would you rather simply wrap the bouquet and give it to her? If you'd like them in a vase, I have a few you can choose from, or I can prep them to go into one you're planning on picking up later."
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Post by Pee-Dee on Feb 10, 2012 13:55:06 GMT -5
"I'd like a vase-" Petunia pauses, pulls out her wallet, and counts the bills she has. "Erm. How much would that be?"
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Flame
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Causam ago dementia
Posts: 198
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Post by Flame on Feb 12, 2012 11:08:39 GMT -5
"This time," says Aidan, "consider it complimentary." He gestures to the rather modest selection he offers before fetching snowdrop and purple pansies. The vases aren't particularly dull or too plain, but they aren't all that extravagant either, simple glass or ceramic in a small range of cool and neutral colours, some slender, some squat, some smooth, some with decorative fluting.
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Post by Pee-Dee on Feb 12, 2012 15:33:57 GMT -5
"Oh, thank you." Petunia beams at Mr. Flynn; she doesn't know what she'd do sometimes without the kindness of strangers.
She looks over the vases, pausing by one that's a cobalt blue. She picks it up and turns it over; Muzzle's car is this color, isn't it? There's a shiver of conversation, words meaningless, but the emotions - contentment, safety, fondness.
The vase slips from her fingers, and the memory slips from her mind as she drops to catch the vase before it breaks.
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Flame
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Causam ago dementia
Posts: 198
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Post by Flame on Feb 19, 2012 10:27:51 GMT -5
His arms are full of flowers, but Aidan reflexively lurches to catch the falling vase as well even though Petunia is right there. The second impulse – to be sure she's all right – comes with a guilty flash. People should matter more than his merchandise.
"Are you all right, Miss Petunia?" he asks, brows knitted and eyes dark with worry, whether or not the vase is saved.
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Post by Pee-Dee on Feb 19, 2012 14:12:08 GMT -5
Petunia glances up, vase in her hands, chrysanthemum on the floor. Her expression is- strange. "I'm just a man who's circumstances went beyond her control.1"
Then she smiles and sets the vase carefully back up where it belongs, then picks up her chrysanthemum. "Sorry about that. I don't know what came over me."
1. "Mr. Roboto", Styx
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Flame
Rookie
Causam ago dementia
Posts: 198
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Post by Flame on Feb 23, 2012 21:01:08 GMT -5
"You're certain you're all right?" Aidan wonders fretfully in spite of Petunia's reassurances, though he does get back to work, taking the fateful vase since it seemed Petunia was drawn to it. He can always go with a different one if she changes her mind. He goes on from there, choosing and cutting and fussing over the placement of the purple pansies amid clusters of snowdrop, trying to keep the bergamot and mullein from bunching too closely.
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Post by Pee-Dee on Feb 25, 2012 16:20:32 GMT -5
"I don't think anyone's ever all right," Petunia replies. She follows Mr. Flynn back to the arrangement and ooohs softly. "Pretty! Esprit said you were a good florist."
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Flame
Rookie
Causam ago dementia
Posts: 198
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Post by Flame on Feb 28, 2012 23:03:31 GMT -5
Aidan looks dismayed by this insight of Petunia's even as he clucks his tongue and rearranges the fern fronds. He says nothing for a few heartbeats.
"I'm glad you like it so far," he says sincerely. She mentions a name – Esprit? – but he can't seem to put a face to it, though it tugs at his hazy memories. Must have been a customer, of course, to refer Petunia here, and ordinarily, he wouldn't have any problems recalling a customer. But the medication tends to leave him feeling foggy and today is no exception. Awkwardly, uncertain why his pulse quickens, he hedges, "Did she now? Well, I'm flattered." Word of mouth is good advertising, after all.
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Post by Pee-Dee on Mar 1, 2012 0:04:32 GMT -5
It's hard to slip behind the smiles and the honest enjoyment of life to catch what's in Petunia's heart. Loneliness and a slinking sort of fear - Gretel lost in the woods by herself.
Mr. Flynn might be the only human who's seen the edges of it.
"She did," Petunia says firmly, "and she was right. Does this say anything in the language of flowers?"
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Flame
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Causam ago dementia
Posts: 198
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Post by Flame on Mar 9, 2012 12:50:09 GMT -5
Ah, now here's a comfortable topic, one he's quite happy to pick up so he needn't worry about this co-worker of Petunia's that he can't quite recollect. Aidan smiles with all the warmth of a cosy fireplace while he tidies up the arrangement, and he gently curls his hand around each plant in turn as he explains.
"You're in my thoughts," he says, brushing the pansies, then moving to the ferns and bergamot, "and I understand what you're going through." Just under the bergamot, he tucks the bright yellow mullein back into order. "I hope you're well soon." He lingers on the snowdrop and gives Petunia a significant look. "Hope is a remarkable thing, like this little flower. Sometimes, in the coldest moments, you wonder if it's there at all." Gingerly, he settles the arrangement so that the snowdrop sits outermost, with the blossoms hanging between and just below the pansies. "But like the snowdrop, it's always there," he murmurs. "It might be sleeping, but it's there, and it's from the worst times that it blooms brightest."
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