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 Posted: Thu Jul 18, 2013 10:26 am
The street that Farah's Garden called home was not one of the busiest in the city, located not in bustling down town, but closer to the suburbs. Convenient for those who commuted to work, but somewhere Art Gowan had felt safe raising a little family.
Nestled between other small business shops, the outside of the flower shop was as cheery as the blooms inside of it. It's walls painted bright white, the teal awning stood out in bright contrast alongside the open, rose-colored shutters. Plying its wares, on a good day the shop seemed to explode out wards into the side walk with its stands of colorful flowers. All the typical blooms were in abundance, but a sidewalk sign in colored chalk on blackboard proclaimed exotic species and custom arrangements inside.
The inside of the shop was like a green house, shelves and stands filled with a plethora of colors and scents ranging from subtle to exuberant. Coolers lining the back wall held the more delicate flowers and arrangements, with a door to the side hung with plastic beads... Most likely to the store room, and if one noticed the upper windows from outside, the family dwelling.
All in all... Probably the opposite in appearance and atmosphere to just about any Negaverse officer, which appealed just fine to the sole occupant of the shop on this fine day. A teen, maybe a junior or senior in high school, bustled about the shop straightening up after the last rush of customers. Slender brown fingers straightened and fussed over the delicate blossoms while their owner sang an alto passage from Herstlied, Mendelssohn. Dressed in pastel colors and flowing fabric, the bright green florist apron was sorely out of place on her and yet looked right at the same time.
Orah was glad for a chance to have a little peace while there was a lull in customers and her father was upstairs tending the books. It gave her a chance to order her thoughts and even practice a little for the up coming Meadowview Choir recital. Hitting the high note was hard and more than anything, the teen didn't want to embarrass herself on stage... Even if no one would probably notice if one girl out of twenty screwed up a note.
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Posted: Sun Jul 21, 2013 12:19 am
The thought had festered for long enough. For well over a week it's plagued him, clawing at the corners of his mind, stirring up its own turbulent aftermath. And as it roiled and writhed, he ignored it - he pushed it aside in favor of more important considerations. However, his leg injury instigated a lull in his life, and because of that, he had the opportunity to finally entertain that thought.
Thus he found himself standing in front of a flower shop.
A flower shop.
How the hell did he decide that was a good idea?
Still, the outmoded tradition resumed to this day. Despite being a paltry shadow of symbolism, leaving flowers at a grave warranted some sort of closure, no matter how meager it might be. At least, that's how he rationalized it. Perhaps by partaking in ancient ceremonies, he might draw something from it. Not an end to grief, not some resolution to their dysfunctional bond, not a shameless facsimile of a legitimate father-son relationship. Despite this, he pursued the age-old tradition, and not out of defiance.
So he stepped inside.
Curiously, perhaps ironically, the lone attendant to the shop sang an easily recognizable song. Though her pronunciation was a little off, probably due to an American accent, he recognized her words instantly. How fitting - singing of the transition from summer to autumn, to the fall of life, without even the remotest idea of what her latest patron had endured. Endured? No, engaged.
Alois considered hailing her with Entschuldigung, but that was just mean. Instead he ventured to break her concentration, her admittedly accurate tune of Herbstlied (in all the glory of its abysmally unoriginal name), and solicit some information about the flowers he sought.
But couldn't that tradition be malleable enough for some alteration to the flowers? He could ask for some suggestions; perhaps they already have some kind of pre-made design for funeral bouquets. Maybe bugging the young attendant was a good idea after all.
And after hitting that high note... Well, she had to be alerted to his presence now.
"I take it you're ze type zat likes to sing to your plants." He greeted, though his words belied some measure of I caught you. He limped toward the table nearest her, the one heavily adorned with all manner of flowers, and leaned on the bizarrely clean surface to survey her reaction. "Or are you just bored? I could gif' you somesing to do." He flashed an enigmatic grin.
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Posted: Sun Jul 21, 2013 12:52 pm
Becoming aware of an audience for her little recital was embarrassing... the fact that it was a customer and someone she had never met was near mortifying for the teen and her face took on a rosy hue that showed vibrantly under her dusky skin. Hurriedly tucking blooms into their stand to hide her recovery, Orah stole small glances at the shop's newest patron.
"Oh, geez, I'm sorry... I didn't realize someone had come in. I, um... I don't really sing to the flowers. It wouldn't do them much good, since they're cut and no longer growing..." She hurriedly tried to explain as she shifted around the counter and into a more professional position, hands smoothing out her lace dress to fall more becomingly over her hips. Her words nearly tripped over themselves as they bubbled forth in her excitement and, oddly, seemed to have some small measure of something that blurred her accent from what a 'pure' American would have sounded like. It was hardly noticeable though, and probably easily forgotten. She finally wound down with a more practiced; "What can I help you with?", and took a deep breath to calm the last flutterings of embarrassment.
Orah found herself thinking that he'd never come in here before and she had never seen him outside of the shop either. It would have been hard to forget him, because he stood out like an inky black hole in the middle of the riotous colors of the flowers and it made her wonder fleetingly what her simple shop could possibly offer that would draw him here... but it really wasn't for her to question a patrons needs. If they came in, then they had a reason to do so.... unless you were Uuni and came in with little more intent than to see how much you could rile up the shop keeper. His grin and offer seemed to point towards that, but was probably more her own coloring of it than his actual intention. Orah never claimed to be very good with boys, especially attractive ones with intriguing accents.
Summoning up her best professional attitude, she offered him a brilliant, welcoming smile as she rested her hands on the counter.
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Posted: Wed Jul 24, 2013 12:46 am
When she finally turned to face him, he eyed her with a stoic curiosity. She wore her grace without a second thought, as natural to her as the deep brown hair shielding her back in swaths. It coiled at the end, as if finally breaking free of heavy burdens. It must be thick; hair typically didn't begin its waves that far down. She also recognized how to dress herself in this weather, as she stood adorned in a light, airy dress sporting a fitting floral pattern, though it was moderately obscured by the shop's apron. Idly he wondered if she recognized her own beauty, or if that bashful demonstration from before was a sign of insecurity.
"I didn't sink so." She didn't comprehend the joke. No matter. He could pursue the topic of her singing, or spare her the embarrassment. Given how she currently behaved, he elected to dismiss the topic for now.
Considering that his leg chastised him with rancorous jolts of pain, Alois elected to lean on his uninjured leg and relegate the remainder of his weight through his hand, which still pressed against the counter. It felt good to lean on something solid for once. "I haf' an interesting request for you." Despite the coming topic, he kept his gaze fixated on the girl. "I'f never been one to follow traditions, so zese sings escape me, but... I'm looking for flowers fitting for a graf'e. But I am not sure if it's customary to default to ze type of flowers zat ze dead liked, or chysantemums, or..." He trailed off, and offered a staccato snort. "Listen to me; it sounds like I'f never encountered a deas' before." And he hadn't - not in such a formal setting. The dead desired no mourning; the practice benefitted only the living.
But this wasn't some trite quest for acceptance and closure.
"Ze second sing is a little... Harder to articulate." His accent remained painfully obvious, which further accentuated his point. "I need somesing zat says 'I didn't forget you' but I sink Vergissmeinnicht - forget-me-nots - are a little too obvious for me." To pay homage to an abstract idea, and life never coveted during its span... If she knew the entirety of his plans, she would likely dismiss his endeavors as a madman's fancy. And maybe it was.
But it already paid off, didn't it? He found himself amidst a plethora of mingling scents, all pleasing to the recently-discovered sense of smell, and a delicate flower of a girl who proved easy on the eyes.
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Posted: Wed Jul 24, 2013 7:07 am
Had she known what he was thinking when he looked at her, she would have found it painfully difficult to deal with him. She well and truly didn't see what others claimed to and having someone point it out only brought out feelings of inadequacy. Personality issues aside, his first request for funeral flowers brought a twinge in her chest and a sad expression to Orah's ever-agile face, pushing out all feelings of embarrassment.
"I'm sorry for your loss... There are a lot of different flowers, and combinations, appropriate for someone who has died. If its not too much to ask, who did you loose? It'll be easier to pick something out." She had no way of knowing his true feelings on the matter, so she filled in the blanks with her own. She knew what it was like to loose a loved one. As young as she'd been, and with so many years in between, she still remembered the pain. She felt it everyday with every reminder that she wasn't her mother and never would be. Her brown eyes held a deep understanding and sympathy, even if it was misplaced.
"It would also help to know who the second flowers are for. Flowers have such nuances to them... One kind might signify friendship while another says love. Some even have negative connotations, if that's what your're looking for. Monkshood or Aconite is an example of that." It was rare to find someone who actually knew that a certain kind of flower signified something like a disdain for humanity, but the art of flower language was an old one, meant for different times.
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Posted: Fri Jul 26, 2013 10:31 am
Did it actually matter who he lost or was she simply prying? He knew little of floral arrangements, but had an unconscionably high alertness to violations of privacy. For the tenuous boundary of strangers, she toed the line efficiently. Not quite a command, but more than a question. She knew how to dance through darker conversation; perhaps he should reward that effort with an answer. After all, he wasn't terribly broken up over such an insubstantial man.
"I lost my dad," he replied, though he responded with a softened tone. The least he could do was feign some measure of distress over it. Most balked at the first sign of heartlessness. Though he was a customer, he didn't want to overreach his position. "He died to one of ze monsters plaguing zis city. Wasn't much left to bury." He breathed a dejected sigh; inwardly he smiled. Something about the deep trickery involved in masking a death's true nature along with his personal feelings struck a chord in him. Could he press it further? Could he coax similar experiences out of the girl? Could he form a false friendship based on this experience alone? It was worth a shot, so he fixated his gaze on the back wall, much like a veteran's thousand yard stare.
Oh, how he loved to manipulate impressions.
When she brought up the second bouquet, he finally shifted his gaze to meet hers. He hadn't seen such expressive brown eyes before; normally the pigment acts as a poker face. How curious. "Ze second set isn't for a person. It's for an idea. It probably sounds stupid to you, like somesing straight out of ze renaissance period, but..." He trailed off. He had to do it, didn't he? Alois couldn't bring himself to function normally; he honored the intangible and only recognized the dead out of necessity. Perhaps it was fitting that he chose flowers for his father's grave - any potential feelings of grief or unresolved conflict may wither and die with them. To cover a grave with the dead... Was he building a necropolis now?
Suddenly he regretted the mention of a second set of flowers. Perhaps it was too personal to mention. He wasn't that brave, nor that bold; what possessed him to disclose a closer part of himself? It sure as hell wasn't for posterity's sake. "Nevermind. It's best to ignore ze second one for now." She didn't need to know.
Nightmares sparked an intimate fear. Such a personal event cannot hope to resonate with another; it is bound to him as surely as his skin.
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Posted: Mon Jul 29, 2013 8:39 am
Killed by a monster... The thought evoked horror, pain and fear as her imagination substituted her own father in place of his. Orah didn't know what she would do if her father fell victim to the monsters of this city... But that was why she did what she did when she took to the streets on patrol, why she transformed to become Ida.
Not that Alois knew that, so the sudden flinty hardening of expressive brown eyes, the loss of their depth to a mirrored surface, could seem strangely out of place. They were a veteran's eyes, matching the stare he had mimicked just a moment ago. It passed quickly though, and she was once more soft and sweet, showing nothing but sympathy now.
"The traditional flowers for funerals in modern days are lilies, symbolizing the return of purity to a departed soul, carnations, chrysanthemums, gladioli and, of course, roses. Less traditional flowers are Peace Lilies, Daffodils and tulips. All of those evoke feelings of innocence, renewal and fresh starts. Orchids are also becoming popular for their meaning; 'I will always love you'."
Her recital was practiced and fluid as she pulled up flowers and their meanings. Years of knowledge lay ready to spring to mind and she shared that freely, carefully studying his face to see if any of those might strike a chord in him.
"It can also be appropriate to get flowers that call up memories for you or him. If there was a kind of flower he prefered, or something that grew where he lived or grew up... Anything like that would be good too."
Honestly, she hadn't meant to come across as prying to him. With all of the nuances and choices available, knowing the situation and relationship had seemed to be obvious information to have, and professional courtesy dictated she not judge anything he might share.
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Posted: Tue Jul 30, 2013 10:52 pm
Alois ruminated on the choices she offered, but found none quite to his liking. From what he understood, floriography spanned a great number of emotions and messages, and he couldn't hope to name them all, but... None appeared quite so deep and turbulent as his relationship with his father. Perhaps that was the beauty of it - he could trivialize their interactions via bouquets of flowers, and as they died atop the grave, the symbolism grew deeper.
Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.
"Orchids, eh?" For a symbol of eternal love, they were entirely too finicky for his liking. Shouldn't they have picked a heartier plant? Then again, he opted for a symbol destined to die, so maybe that wasn't such a farfetched option. The fact that the bouquet would wither so quickly when exposed to the elements... It seemed an accurate description of his filial piety. "Zat sounds appropriate." Though, he also wondered if she possessed a flower to symbolize intent to kill, or solidarity. Maybe stoic resolve.
However, he found it only fair to pry in turn. If she wanted to solicit 'painful memories', then he might do the same. "Haf' you ever lost someone? ..." He paused to read the name tag displayed prominently across her apron. "Orah?" He ventured through the pronunciation tentatively, as if required a delicate vocalization missing from the German tongue. And perhaps he was right to treat it so gently, for that name might well be an echo of the lithe girl before him. Everything about her features spoke grace in well-versed volumes, as if practiced by an ancient hand. That beauty must've been hereditary; it was no accident.
As he awaited her response, Alois leaned heavily on the counter, distributing more of his weight to his folded forearms. He still regarded her with his unrelenting watchful gaze, expectant for an answer. Everyone in Destiny City has died; it was more a question of emotional or physical death. And as surely as they died, they had lost; it was more a question of who.
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Posted: Wed Jul 31, 2013 9:06 am
His face seemed to show emotion appropriate to his loss, but she suspected there were depths to him one could only see by being allowed to. It was intriguing and alluring, both the harsh way he seemed to portray himself and the mysterious other she could sense behind it all. What was it about bad boys that drew her so much?
His decision made, to her secret satisfaction, the teen bustled over to a stand where the delicate blooms were displayed. Two pots drew her attention, so she brought both back to the counter he leaned on as she thought over how to answer his question. One arching stem held pristine white orchids, their petals a flawless surface, with a vibrant pink center. The other stem was like a purple shadow of the white plant, it's petals a passionate indigo color with highlight of a lighter violet at the tips. Had the color been a shade darker, it might have been black.
Slender brown fingers running along one smooth leaf, Orah shrugged. "My mother died when I was four years old from cancer-related sickness. I barely remember her... We were living in Ireland at the time, but my father moved us to Destiny City shortly after. It sometimes feels almost like the whole thing was a sad dream I had when I was little, rather than something that actually happened." The feeling of sharing with some one who had also lost was a soothing one and she managed to muster up a wane smile. Bright in form, but sad at its heart. Unlike him, her depths were less like an ocean trench and far more like a coral reef, filled with bright color for all to see.
"Do you like either of these orchids? White is traditional for purity and innocence, but the purple has always felt so much more passionate to me... Though, I suppose that might be the wrong message to send." A laugh broke from her as she curled her hands around the small pot.
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Posted: Fri Aug 02, 2013 12:46 am
Though he listened to her account intently, he lacked the ability to relate. He never felt sad in the face of death before. Only... relief. Only vindication. Only satisfaction.
So she lost someone to cancer. What did that feel like? Did she think her mother manufactured her own poison, or that she bore the burdens of the world, which corrupted her so? Did she assume the blame herself, that if she were a better child then her mother might still be alive? Or, does she cling to the notion that cancer is inherent and random, and had nothing to do with her? And to lose her so many years prior... Did she even retain much memory of the woman? Or did she sadden herself through trite stories and frivolous tales told by the waning heart of her father? He'd have pried, but in such a setting, it proved an easy way to complicated a simple procedure of purchasing flowers.
He had a grave of his own to tend - hers should retain their rest for the time being.
"Do you ever dedicate flowers to her?" He asked, as he examined the two pots in an entirely-too-removed manner. Though he, too, appreciated the indigo, the color appeared too vibrant for his father's taste. The man never cared much for color, be it through emotion or language or even clothing. White shirt, black tie. White tie clip, black blazer. White pillows, black casket. He preferred his absolutes.
And her suddenly humorous comment only confirmed his decision. He laughed in response, mostly out of reaction than any real resonance. People wanted company when they engaged in such liveliness, didn't they? "I sink zat seals ze deal. I wouldn't want to send zat message to ze living or ze dead." Especially the living.
"Ze white ones it is. He always hated color, but I guess zat makes sense when you look at me." Idly he wondered if he dressed so darkly due to his father's iron rule, or out of his own choices. He endured his share of contorting himself to suit his dad's preferences, but he figured he'd long since abandoned that practice. "Zough he'd chastise me for choosing a flower as feminine as an orchid, he might..." Might what? Approve of a choice he made? Not likely. "Oh, what am I saying? It's beside ze point."
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Posted: Fri Aug 02, 2013 7:03 am
A real smile broke out on Orah's face as she heard him laugh and it seemed to fill the space she occupied with light and color. She suspected that laughter, real laughter, was rare for him and the idea was a sad one. Everyone should laugh, not doing so closed you off from parts of life it was a pity to miss. Really, Orah strongly suspected there were a lot of things about this stranger that he kept private, things most people would want to share, and it was really a shame. He probably had the potential to be a really wonderful person, way down under it all.
"My mother was buried in Ireland, out in the rolling hills she loved. We spread wild flowers over her grave so she'd always have flowers around her. I haven't been back to her grave since we moved, but this whole shops is a dedication to her. That's why we named it 'Farah's Garden'." She said as she smiled, walking over to settled the indigo plant back on its stand. Hands free, she paused for a moment in thought before she moved to another section and pulled out a rose from a large bucket.
Bringing it back, she bustled around behind the counter popping a little vial of water on the end before she straightened up and offered it to him.
"This is a tea rose." The bloom in question was different than most would imagine when picturing a rose. It had far more petals than it should have and the petals curled into points around a rounded center. The one she had chosen was a vibrant yellow, tinged reddish orange near the edges. The color very nearly matched his eyes, in fact. "Tea roses say, 'I will always remember you'. You were looking for something like that, right?"
Orah hadn't forgotten his earlier request, and she hoped she wasn't being too forward by picking something out for him.
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Posted: Sun Aug 04, 2013 8:24 am
Death was an inevitability, yet humans celebrated (or mourned) it nonetheless. That lent to the procedure benefitting the 'survivors', the people who react adversely to the incident. They sparked the advent of the funeral, the wake, the bön festival. But she didn't mourn her dead in quite the same way, did she? Funerary rites aside, she and her family transitioned from spreading flowers, which withered and died, to dedicating a place of business with no known lifespan. Was it not painful to work in a place named after her mother? Not only did it constantly remind her of her loss, but that memory of loss may yet outlive her if managed well.
If his family's bookstore was named after one of them, he'd have quit a long time ago. Why steep himself in someone else's memory and force himself to acknowledge it every time a patron asks about the name?
"I'm surprised you haven't quit, zen." Luckily he muttered the majority of the phrase under his breath, so she wouldn't hear him while she placed the brilliant orchid atop its designated shelf. He expected her to return empty-handed, so when she came bearing a rose, he glanced from the flower to her deep brown eyes and cocked an eyebrow. Why a strange yellow rose? Didn't they decide the orchid was best?
Alois didn't respond for several moments - instead he elected to examine the tea rose with more diligence and care than he ever expressed for the orchid. Several petals, all curling without the signs of looming death. She certainly chose a boisterous color - it might've mocked the appearance of fire with its color scheme, and contained that unruly passion within its visage. Idly he ran a finger over one of its delicate petals, though he hardly registered the smooth texture. It was almost akin to touching water.
Finally he responded. "Yes, I was looking for somesing like zis." A single flower to pay homage to a dream seemed almost a mockery of its very existence, but perhaps that was what he wanted, in a way. To be slave to an idea was worse than to a man, for how do you murder an idea in its tracks? "It will work nicely." Perhaps that's as close to retribution, to recognition of how far it spurred him, as he could get within the traditional realms of ceremony.
For a moment he neglected to stifle his introspections - since their business exchange would soon draw to a close, he didn't have to stick around if he pissed her off. Hell, he didn't even preface it - he simply laid it on her without prompt. "Why do you work here? Why do you surround yourself wis' all zese reminders of your mom and how much your dad loves her? I mean s**t, he dedicated an entire business to a dead woman, not to ze lif'e reminder of what she once was. I'd haf' beaten him half to deas' and left home by now." Succinct, more or less.
Probably worthy of a slap to the face.
Note to self - watch her hands.
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Posted: Sun Aug 04, 2013 7:21 pm
Relief flooded her, releasing tension she hadn't been feeling until that point. She had to admit she had been worried he would have rejected the flower at best, or ridiculed it at the worst. Acceptance was almost more than she could hope for and a beaming smile lit up her face and her rich chocolate eyes.
His question, though, took her by surprise and she was at a loss for words for a moment. Why would he ask something like that? She didn't really understand the question, but he had asked, so she had to come up with some sort of answer. Orah opted for the truth, struggling to phrase it in a way he would understand. Since he had asked, he obviously didn't see things the way she did.
"I work here because its all I've ever known, I can't imagine myself doing anything else. I barely remember life before this place and most of that is more like a dream than something that really happened. The better question, I guess, would maybe be why am I happy here?" She said as she shrugged, lifting one shoulder and dropping it. "The reminders keep my mother's memory alive and it feels less like we've all lost something, because we have a part of her with us. Like she's watching over us, protecting and guiding us... I feel closer to her here. We all want to honor her memory, because she was important to us and we loved her."
Suddenly feeling shy after realizing that she had opened up to a complete stranger, the teen turned to the register to ring up his purchase and hopefully cover her pink cheeks. Fingers flew over the buttons and a number popped up on the display as she reached for the normal paper and plastic one used to protect flowers for transportation.
"Is that, um, everything you needed?" Orah asked, pushing the parcel across the counter.
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Posted: Thu Aug 08, 2013 3:33 pm
She failed the test.
He did not fault her for it; to test her without her knowledge meant that failure did not fall on her shoulders entirely. No --
Failure did not deserve the constant connotation of shame. Failure in the animal kingdom met with death, and that failure bore a gift to the triumphant, an homage to their skill. So in her failure, what did she leave to him? What was her boon in response to her neglect?
An unconscious permission to leave, of course.
Alois adopted the same stoicism he normally wore as she spoke, searching her countenance as her story went on. His gaze trailed across her shoulders, down her arms, lingered on her hands, before finally taking in all of her posture and reassembling the pieces. Shoulders, arms, elbows, fingers, hips, legs, knees, feet. All of these individual pieces spelled out her slight nature, whereas their whole spoke of truth. She was telling the truth, much to his derision.
She actually wanted to drown in the memory of a dead woman. How... quaintly macabre. The dead leave no trace of their presence. All are turned to ash or buried out of sight. It was natural progression - as things appear, things disappear. Here, in this heinous mausoleum of a shop, the cycle breaks and the results become daughters steeped in death shrouds and memorial flowers. The living tombstone, Orah, selling death and all its sharp reminders to all who pass through the doors. She even enjoyed her blasphemous place in the whole affair.
Thus, elected to avoid responding. He would not air his thoughts on the matter, more to protect himself than honor any sanctity between customer and shopkeeper.
"Yes, zat's everysing." Alois eyed the admittedly old display before coming up with a couple of bills to cover the purchase price. "Keep ze change." After placing the cash on the counter, in a strangely neat stack, he reclaimed his purchases and and gave her one last shark-eyed glance before turning his back to her.
Wasted beauty.
Wasted mirth.
Wasted life.
If they were to see each other again, surely it would be outside this eyesore of the over-honored dead. Without goodbyes, he pushed past the shop doors and into the bleached-out landscape of Destiny City.
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