Covent Garden Flowers; Wednesday [08/25].

[white_oleander]

Going into work that Wednesday had been a little bit of a challenge for Astrid; if it was her T&C shift, it might have been different, but Claire had been particularly thrilled at the idea of Astrid working among all these flowers and was naturally enamoured with the whole place, picking out an arrangement that was already starting to droop its way toward being pressed into a book, sitting on Astrid's bedside table, next to her oleander.

She'd noticed, of course, that when they'd stopped in over the weekend, the oleander seemed to have made itself sparse. A temporary truce, of sorts? But as she suspected, they were back in full force that Wednesday, and Astrid couldn't help feeling like it was some sort of reminder, as if the universe was afraid she'd lose the conviction that had settled into her as a result of the weekend.

If she didn't hear back from Susan Valeris by Friday, she would reach out to her instead.

And she would tell her that no amount of money or promises would convince her to testify for Ingrid. She might even actively testify against her. The library here probably had an excellent law section she could start digging into, really...

Either way, before setting to her tasks for the day, Astrid made sure to put the 10% off to anyone who brings me a coffee sign out on the door again, because it had actually been working great so far, really.

Covent Garden is open!

Caritas; Wednesday [08/25].

[somethingwithturquoise]

Summer was still alive, but she wasn't about to let her guard down entirely quite yet, she figured there was still about a week left before the threat of a rage-prone former cop had fully passed, and she really hoped that it did because she kind of had a lot of things going on and it would kind of suck to not get to do them just because a moose thought he was funny or whatever it was that made him do things like give her, of all people, the Rosa Diaz class.

Like, she was staring down at an anniversary over here, people. Like, actual anniversary. Year, not even that month, quarter-year, half-year bullshit. Which was just....what??

Not a complaint! But definitely a nice distraction from thinking about ways in which she might try to compromise with Rosa that didn't involve brutal murder or, worse, teaching math.

Somehow, Sumemr didnt' think Rosa would be swayed by jello shots. But, at the very least, she knew her usual customers would be!

Wednesday Jello Shot Specials!

Back to being free if you sing a karaoke song
because there's no more Wednesday activities!

Double Stuffed Oreo
Sugar Cookie
Thin Mint
Animal Crackers

Oh, was that a theme?? She hadn't noticed!

Caritas is open!

Dite's Decadent Delights | Wednesday

[begmetwice]

When Irene clicked into the shop today, she discovered that apparently it was Halloween already. On August 25th. While it was still boiling outside.

At least the product that had come in wasn't decorations -- or, if it had been, Irene would have ignored it for now. No, naturally, it was a plethora of sexy costumes. Sexy Lumberjack. Sexy Little Red Riding Hood. Sexy Corn.

"Sexy Corn?" Irene asked aloud, reading the invoice. "Sexy Eleanor Roosevelt?"

Dite's, in any case, was open.

[I cannot be the only fan of Mean Girls: the Musical. Open!]

The Devil's Nest, Wednesday Evening

[okteiviakom]

The rest of the island didn't seem to have changed much while Octavia and the guys had been away. The club, however... Well, Octavia had already received an earful about the changes there after Lucifer had come home from his shift last night, so at least it didn't come as a surprise. Besides, it felt kind of weird enough to be back here in the first place. She felt vaguely different, so why shouldn't the Nest be, too?

Regardless, Octavia was behind the bar. Trying to remember how to do anything except use the soda pistol.

She'd known she should've picked up some shifts at Lux.

[ooc: No ocd because I dun wanna and you can't make me.]

Pick Your Poison, Wednesday

[not_a_goddamn_princess]

You ever just have one of those years? ‘Cause a year ago all Margo worried about was what she was gonna wear to the Trials, and maybe what cocktail was going to feature at the next Physical Cottage rager.

She sure as fuck hadn’t wasted an entire day yelling at a bunch of gnomes back then, or lost a whole evening on enchanting a medical horror cabinet masquerading as a mini-fridge until it could store a reasonable amount of delivery. She’d wound up so tired she hadn’t had the juice to make the mattress more comfortable while she was at it.

The gnomes hadn’t panned out, and that small-town take on sweet and sour chicken fit just fine in the back of her thrice-as-big-on-the-inside fridge now. Time to take stock. Literally. Nobody had shown up to the lotion store downstairs since she’d gotten here. Hell, something had left the keys sitting on top of the fridge that morning, along with a letter addressed to the place with her name on it.

It smelled like a big fat hint.

“Starting to wonder if this isn’t one of Fogg’s shitty witness protection spells,” she muttered as she stood at the counter, looking at the letter. Something about more inventory coming in tomorrow? Fuck if she got it, she didn’t do retail. But if she opened the door and people came in, well, people were going to do what they did, right? Maybe they’d buy something without bothering her, and she could put off spelling the local ATM into spitting up cash for her wardrobe replacement fund for another day.

[ open! ]