Astrid Magnussen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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fandomtownies2018-11-13 08:01 am
white_oleander) wrote in fandomtownies2018-11-13 08:01 am
Entry tags:
Covent Garden Flowers; Tuesday [11/13].
Astrid had considered just skipping work today. She hadn't slept well the night before, hadn't slept at all, really, it had been more like she'd just passed out from emotional exhaustion, and then was kept restless by bad dreams that were nothing but blurry, unsubstantial messed by the time she woke up. But what else was she going to do? Curl up on her bed all day, moping and trying not to cry? Maybe if she didn't have a roommate or a bunch of other people around her in the dorms. At least the shop was almost always pretty quiet, with no one hardly ever bothering her except for a few weird orders and the plants themselves.
The plants who were being their usual strange selves, but instead of finding it charming and whimsical today, Astrid just found it annoying. They kept trying to bother her, nudge at her shoulder, brush tendrils in her hair, and she had to push them aside or move them or threaten to sheer them if they didn't just leave her alone, she just wanted to sit there and fill her sketchbook with shadows and try to forget about everything for a while.
Ugh. What had Ingrid called it? Dickensian. That's right. Poor little orphan flower girl, cast aside by her own mother into a world of...this. Dickens by way of Carroll. Maybe she just should have stayed in bed after all.
Covent Garden is open!
The plants who were being their usual strange selves, but instead of finding it charming and whimsical today, Astrid just found it annoying. They kept trying to bother her, nudge at her shoulder, brush tendrils in her hair, and she had to push them aside or move them or threaten to sheer them if they didn't just leave her alone, she just wanted to sit there and fill her sketchbook with shadows and try to forget about everything for a while.
Ugh. What had Ingrid called it? Dickensian. That's right. Poor little orphan flower girl, cast aside by her own mother into a world of...this. Dickens by way of Carroll. Maybe she just should have stayed in bed after all.
Covent Garden is open!