FIFTH BLOOM ❀ TEXT | SEELIE LOCKED

[showmeyourwreath]

Hello everyone,

Pardon me, but I'd very much like to know if there's anyone that knows how to regrow limbs, please. Preferably by potion, but I'm all open to other methods. If you'd like compensation for the knowledge, we can talk about it. It seems like it would be handy to know.

[You know, just hypothetically. She likes to be prepared.]

Thank you for your time.

Comments

[showmeyourwreath]

...Alright. I'm at the Citadel. I'll meet you at the front?

[depicted]

I'm already there. I'll come to where you are quartered.

oh wow what's, one less tag i owe you?

[showmeyourwreath]

Alright, I'll see you soon, then.

not for long, punk

[depicted]

[Dorian comes as quickly as he can. He sets aside nothing, doesn't fret about his clothing, concerns himself with nothing but getting to Flora, quickly. He moves through the halls with a determined sense of where he is going. Only when he is at Flora's door does he stop for breath, and even then he is quick to give a short, sharp knock on her doorway.]

Flora? It's Dorian.

counter attack /WRITES ALL THIS TO SAY FIVE WORDS

[showmeyourwreath]

[One of the doors swing gently open and Flora is there, lightly dressed, but far from indecent. Heavier clothes just feel uncomfortable to her right now, but her rooms are more than warm enough despite the winter chill.

That's right. Rooms. And the fact that she has an expansive greenhouse here hasn't appeared to have impacted how much greenery is here in the slightest. Part of that is her due eccentricity, but the rest is a blend of loneliness, slight anxiety and discomfort. It's just so much space, she's still too accustomed to sharing less with five other--okay, Stella had her own suite, but still. Same general area.

It's a bit of a jungle in here, moreso than it may have been if there were other people to be considerate of (read: people telling her to dial it back a lot), but still not enough to be outright and especially oppressive. Still, there are branches and vines grow from the walls and floors, and there are planters and pots of plants everywhere in the parlour. Large, slightly opened blooms hang from the ceiling. There is enough light filtering through her windows that they're not needed, but they glow at night, acting as light.

For all that there are dozens of plants, the air isn't heavy, only lightly sweet.

As for Flora, would that she could half as healthy as her flowers. Her skin manages to look pale despite its tan and there's a slight heaviness under her eyelids. Even while looking worn, she manages to smile. She is happy to see him, after all.]

Hello, Dorian. Please, come in.

[depicted]

[He almost expects the rooms to look like this. It is Flora's appearance that worries him.]

Should we sit? I brought you biscuits. [LOOK HE HOLDS UP THE BASKET

You can bet there is jam for the biscuits too.]

[showmeyourwreath]

[She'll take that bet and win, thank you.

Also she's fine, totally fine.]

You can take a seat, I'll get some tea.

[depicted]

Perhaps I should get the tea—you can sit. [Not that he's worried about Flora or anything!!

He's so worried, it's right on his face. He doesn't want her overstressing herself.]

[showmeyourwreath]

[son pls]

No, it's...[She pauses, wincing slightly. Her potion's effects are wearing off. Muscles jump in her jaw as she tries to power through it.]

No, it's fine. What did you feel like today?

[probably not tho]

[depicted]

Sit down, Flora. [Tossing etiquette out the window, Dorian takes Flora by the forearm and steers her to a comfortable seat. Probably one covered in cushy plants, knowing Flora.] You will tell me what you feel like today, and I shall get it for you.

[showmeyourwreath]

[Flora lets herself be led without argument, sighing her concession. It's Dorian, she doesn't mind--actually likes--physical contact, and she does feel terrible.] I am, perhaps, being a bit unreasonable. I'm sorry. [She wants to say anything, but he did bring biscuits, she wants to seem thoughtful of his gift by thinking of something to complement it.]

Darjeeling, something with cardamom or lavender will be fine.

[idec, fuck earl grey, farrah.]

[depicted]

Just stay here. [He comes back a while latter with a lavender tea for her and a cup of DELICIOUS EARL GREY for himself. He sits down close to her—closer than he normally would, in fact. With the cup set before her, her takes her hand.] You look fully limbed.

[showmeyourwreath]

[STOP LYING ABOUT EARL GREY, but she thanks him graciously for the tea and is comforted by the proximity.

Yeesh, maybe she should injure herself more often.]

I'm keeping them put away, I'm not sure how becoming of me to walk around injured like that--not that there's anything wrong with having injuries or any shame, but I don't want to worry anyone.

[Nor does she want the reminder, or to put herself on display like that. She almost wishes it were another limb but it will grow back if it isn't fixed another way, and in the meantime she has the ostensible luxury of keeping it hidden in a manner that won't seem incongruous to most.

Just to her.]

[depicted]

But it bothers you.

[Dorian squeezes her hand, gentle.]

I can stay with you for a time.

[showmeyourwreath]

[It does. It does a lot, and her eyes widen, uncertain. Vulnerable.]

Are you sure?

[But like a child, she squeezes his hand back reflexively, and betrays her want in the process.

Please don't go.]

[depicted]

[He sets a second hand over hers.] Certainly. [And then, his grin promises mischief.][CHILDHOOD DREAMS ACCOMPLISHED.]