Welcome to Gaia! ::

Were comfort and safety in short supply for someone who worked at so relaxing a job? Maybe his home life was really awful. It was hard to say without inappropriately prying questions. He wondered how much growth stacked against those priorities.

Comfort.
Safety.
Growth.
Risk.
Maybe that is what life is boiling down to for a lot of people right now. How far do we stretch out our hands to grasp what is worthy and change, hoping that they aren't cut off. Yet we need the change.


"You're probably right. Simple is good for beginnings. Does the nursery sell planters? Will i need something under it to catch the water? " He didn't want to accidentally ruin his floor. "And...soil. Do they need plant food, or is water enough? Are there any other maintenance basics?"

"And...what is that you're looking for when you're turning them around like that? You've inspected each that you've picked up."

"You must have worked here a long while..." It was sadly not a widespread trait anymore for the interest in such minutia in every aspect of product or preparation in a business. And even at that, it usually took time to learn them all for those whom had the trait. Given Mr. Evans more frequent smiles, though, he guessed that exploring such minutia was not burdensome. Maybe even a piece of that security and comfort. An area of certainty and expertise.

"Oh....well...that's all good to know. Any advice on how much to water these three fellows? Or specifics of caring for them? Like if they need clipping or how? Are these kinds fussy?"

Ah, there was something of an exposition at last- and warmth, not just arm's length business. Personal anecdotes were a sign of something greater in a place, in people, when shared- established proverbial roots and connections between the walls of faces that people showed each other and the real person on the other side. It was an expected part of business practice in some countries, and one notably lacking in post-modern business state-side.

Quinton could imagine a scene, he didn't doubt that it was fictitious and wholly stereotyped, of Victorian enclosed gazebo of glass with a central round fountain. Benches of marble and ivy grown up imported statuary. A boy with Mr. Evan's hair and eyes in culottes and a button down elbow deep in dark, rich earth and laughing up at a woman who was equally petite but with fine bones and a wide smile. Idyllic, pleasant...he hoped that it had been something like that. Something worth carrying around as a golden candle in the dim of the world. "It sounds glorious. It would have been nice to be so close. I grew up latchkey and mostly with my grandmother. She'd had a potters wheel, liked to sew. A whole tin of antique buttons. I guess it used to be a thing to keep them from old garments in the day for when you made new ones. Cutting costs and all. Never any gardens, except when I went abroad to other countries to walk in them. "

"I'll have to catch up, " Quenton squinched his nose, only joking as though it were some sort of race. "Is it okay to stop by once in a while for advice, even if its between picking up new fertilizer? I don't want to be a pest, but I like to learn from people rather than entirely from books. I love books, don't get me wrong, I have a small shelf overfull of them. "

"And I guess that would wrap it all up for what to carry to check out? "

"Well, I learned pottery and sewing and a few random crafts from her...but I won't say that it was ever pretty to look at, " Quenton laughed. He had no trouble whatsoever admitting that he came from very humble beginnings of his craft. "I wouldn't even say I made many actual pots. The clay often ended up 'decorated' with something else, or in supposedly functional shapes. I made a creamer for tea and coffee service that looked like a cat? The tail was the handle and it poured out the mouth. It was odd. She kept it and all the rest though, and has them on a shelf. Actually, the inspiration to really do art as a thing was my cousin. We got stuck together at Gram's a fair amount. She's 9 years older? But that meant she was in formal art classes when I was still in grade school, so when she was saddled with keeping an eye on me she took an interest in how much I visualized blocks and clay into other things. She bought me a book on Bernini and I never looked back. I never forgot the gesture either... "

Giving something free where it seemed needed or appreciated. He'd taken it up most with his lapidary. Looking at Mr. Evans, he couldn't help wonder if he could find something just that shade of slate.

As a boy Quenton's hair had been long. From a young age he'd decided he adored Stroud's hair and never got it more than trimmed. The glasses, however? Those were a vanity, not even required yet and containing regular panes of glass. His mother and father both wore real ones, and it seemed like if it was going to happen eventually anyway, he might as well get used to the sensation and enjoy the geek-chick look while he could still actually see. He liked how they looked. Dad assured him by the end of college he'd have ruined his eyes in books and need real ones.

"I would love that, actually. Especially if you're only here on weekends. Murphy's law something would happen during the week and I'd come here with a floppy plant and be lost. "

"Oh, hey, it doesn't have to be the a to z in order. If you remember anything else, you can call me anytime, too. I'm up all hours at the studios, so unless I'm using power-tools, I'll hear the ring. " He patted himself down over a few pockets, found the silly thing and extracted it to get to the info screen. " Just dialing it will let us get both numbers into Contacts."

"It was a pretty deranged looking cat. but you shouldn't be too down on never having 'formal' training. Lots of professionals that are lauded in many fields- illustration, portraiture, concept art, graphic design, you name it are self trained. Formal training is just really good to shore up basics and pass on knowledge like a rushed apprenticeship....there's just some stuff that can't be learned easily without guidance ..but everything can't be easy."

Even not on a business call? Quenton perked. How long before I snap his head off about something stupid and he never talks to me again? No, no, don't shoot yourself in the foot. A possible friend? God's breath that would be nice. Just don't talk about money or politics or...whatever else is volatile. He seems to like art and plants. Plenty to talk about there, right? Speak, Quenton.

"I'd like that. Maybe I could take you around the studios and you could see what you think of the work at the University. " He dialed the number, then entered - Alexander Evans- into the contacts, taking a stab at which versions of the spelling on either it would be. "How much do I owe you?"

It was exciting. Almost sad to go, really, but he couldn't come up with a good excuse to take up more of the other youth's time. And it woudl be wrong to do so anyway. Evans was working, and should be seeing to the plants and other customers, not walking around with him talking about every leaf and flower. Getting things home on the bus was going to be an adventure, but he had faith. It wasn't usually too crowded this time of day , anyway.