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fandomtownies2018-11-11 08:29 am
mages_suck) wrote in fandomtownies2018-11-11 08:29 am
Entry tags:
Covent Garden Flowers - Sunday
There were poppies everywhere. Big ones, little ones, small ones made of paper in a display on the counter. The entire store was going with a red and black theme. Fenris didn't really mind it but he had a sneaking suspicion the poppies weren't supposed to be running this rampant.
Hundreds of them had wound their stems into a wreath and hung in the window.
There were even some wound around the branches of other plants, stems out of water, blooming away with no sign of wilting.
The dogwoods were quiet. Solemn, even. He eyed them suspiciously.
Tickles was subdued as well. Fenris frowned and picked him up. "What's wrong? Are you sick? You were zooming around the place just last week." He peered at the little thing, refusing to acknowledge that he was worried. "No, not sick. Sad. Why are you sad?" Tickles, predictably, didn't answer. Fenris sighed and put the kittenwillow on his shoulder, where Tickles curled up against the side of his neck with a tiny, quiet purr. Fenris didn't understand, but that didn't prevent him from offering quiet comfort, one hand riding almost possessively on the kittenwillow's back.
He caught up a spray bottle and went to at least mist the stems of the stubborn poppies clinging to everything.
The wreath in the window - it was a symbol of something, even he could recognize that. It didn't seem festive, for all it was made of bright colors. He regarded it solemnly, reaching a tentative hand to touch it for a moment before he misted it down and took up his place behind the counter.
He'd brought a grater and a box of chunked-up soap base with him. Fenris spent some time grating the bits of soap into far smaller bits in the box. The quiet, repetitive motion seemed somehow appropriate.
[Open!]
Hundreds of them had wound their stems into a wreath and hung in the window.
There were even some wound around the branches of other plants, stems out of water, blooming away with no sign of wilting.
The dogwoods were quiet. Solemn, even. He eyed them suspiciously.
Tickles was subdued as well. Fenris frowned and picked him up. "What's wrong? Are you sick? You were zooming around the place just last week." He peered at the little thing, refusing to acknowledge that he was worried. "No, not sick. Sad. Why are you sad?" Tickles, predictably, didn't answer. Fenris sighed and put the kittenwillow on his shoulder, where Tickles curled up against the side of his neck with a tiny, quiet purr. Fenris didn't understand, but that didn't prevent him from offering quiet comfort, one hand riding almost possessively on the kittenwillow's back.
He caught up a spray bottle and went to at least mist the stems of the stubborn poppies clinging to everything.
The wreath in the window - it was a symbol of something, even he could recognize that. It didn't seem festive, for all it was made of bright colors. He regarded it solemnly, reaching a tentative hand to touch it for a moment before he misted it down and took up his place behind the counter.
He'd brought a grater and a box of chunked-up soap base with him. Fenris spent some time grating the bits of soap into far smaller bits in the box. The quiet, repetitive motion seemed somehow appropriate.
[Open!]