fandomtownies | Covent Garden Flowers; Wednesday [04/06].

There were balls of crumpled up paper surrounding Astrid at the counter at Covent Garden that Wednesday.Not discarded and rejected attempts at sketches or drawings, actually, but, instead, letters. Because she had finally received a letter back from Paul Trout, finally back in New York, where he'd discovered her various correspondances waiting for him at the comic books shop where he'd told her to send him things. And he thought it was a great idea for her to come to New York, too; he was actually getting a place, nothing fancy, obviously, just a hole in the wall, but it was still better than what they'd dealt with at the MAC, right? A corner of the subway would be better than what they'd dealt with at the MAC.

And he'd even included a little comic, of various nooks and crannies they called apartments around the city.

And so she was trying to think of how to write back, and she didn't know why she was having so much trouble with it, but she didn't want him to get the wrong idea, or make it too obvious that she felt she might be taking advantage of the situation, or make it too obvious that she had no other options anyway. The end of the semester was closing in fast. She didn't really have a lot of time.

Including time to try and compose the perfect letter. Writing was never her strong point, anyway; her mother was the poet, not her. So after she crumpled up one last paper and considered the scattering of rejected attempts around her, she buckled in, resolved to make whatever she put to paper in this next on the final say, and then she'd tuck it into an envelop, seal it, leave it at that, and then work on turning all of the discarded ones into a sort of bouquet piece that she'd simply call Writer's Block.

Covvent Garden is open!