"Gods damn."

Colette huffed a short breath, examining the assortment of flowers before her that she had once been meticulously arranging, though as the stress had mounted, it had grown less strict and more flustered with her simply throwing stuff together. A rose here, a lily there, with nothing in terms of composition, no story to be told among the bouquet, something she had always aimed for when it came to her hobby-turned-profession. Even as she took a step back, shoving her fists against her hips while examining the arrangement before her, she did her best to convince herself that there was something here worth saving, and yet-

"It's-" Mrs. Dunn managed only barely, having to tilt her head in search of something to say, "-it's certainly a bouquet, but-"

Frowning through a heated sigh, Colette dipped her head low, "I know, I know. It's not up to standard."

"Gods, I'm happy you were the one who said it. Look at this! I requested bearded irises, not this frilly little- Ghah!" the Lady Dunn reached up to pick at one of the lilies, tossing it aside in disgust, "And there are no orchids!"

Colette offered simply, "Lady Dunn, as I mentioned during our consultation-"

"Ah! Excuses!"

A vein at her brow, Colette pulled in her lips for a moment's respite, continuing as softly as she could manage, "-epiphytes are-"

"I don't even know what that means, but I do know what it means to have orchids in a bouquet," Mrs. Dunn sighed, more as a growl than anything else, shaking her head piteously, "Such a shame the only florist in Aubernpine is so uniquely helpless when it comes to customer satisfaction."

"Well, Lady Dunn, if you feel that way-"

"Oh, I've already fronted the bill; I suppose it can't be helped," she crossed her arms, shaking her head in placid examination once again, "You'll just have to begin again. And I want bearded irises and orchids this time, alright?!"

Biting her lip, Colette bent low in labored adherence to social graces, muttering through gritted teeth, "Let me go grab the charter we adhered to when you first arrived, just so we can review what I agreed to."

"Yes, please!" Lady Dunn drew a porcelain stick from her pocket, unfurling a fan from its sheath and fanning her face as she buckled her legs, readying for a decent wait, "And do be quick about it, I must be making haste."

"Gladly," Colette strained, finally worming her body around and allowing herself the ability to tear the grin from her face, a grimace scorning her face as she stomped off into the back of her storefront, angrily swinging open her office door and stepping inside.

"Gods damn that woman!" she growled like a lioness, taking a moment to throw her arms up in the air in a dramatic show of frustration, "I told her! Where does she think we live?! Some corner of the planet between Germany and Southeast Asia!?"

From her desk, the gentle clanking of a teacup returning to its saucer met her words, a much gentler tone accompanying its biting pitch, "I suppose this means we won't be finishing our tea?"

Turning to Rowan, she tempered her irritation for just a moment, dropping her shoulders in defeat, "I'm sorry; I thought she was just going to take a quick look, not have me redo the entire thing only to then tell me about the flowers that she forgot weren't on the charter. I swear, she's the only one I have trouble with."

A gentle scoff as Rowan smirked, not bothering to hide her lips as Colette eyed her with suspicious, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. You just seem to have a knack for finding the most high-stress people and situations."

Colette's brow dipped low in accusatory zeal, "Says the introvert who stays at home or the tavern with a book half the time. Stressful people simply come with the territory, if you must know; it's a numbers game that, thankfully, I've gotten pretty good at." She took toward her desk, rounding it and crouching low to hunt through her drawers. "Sure, I put up with more Lady Dunn's of the world, but I also meet more Rowan Irvine's. It's just that Aubernpine is more full of the former- I can't exactly help that; were I in Edinburgh, I'd be the toast of the town."

"And I'd still be happily toasting to my peace and quiet," Rowan retrieved her teacup, taking a sip, "Retreating from being so high-strung."

"I'm not high-strung. I'm the perfect amount of strung," Colette returned just a moment before her teeth shone once again, angrily shoving her drawer shut, "Gods! Where is it?! It should be right there!"

Rowan watched her from overtop her mug, breathing a shallow breath through her nose, the rippling waves of tea catching her eyes for a brief moment before she turned her attention away, reaching for a small stack of notes in her lap, "They're right here, by the way."

Jumping to her feet, Colette frowned, "Rowan!"

"Well, how else was I going to have a word with my friend?" she returned with a frown of her own, leaning forward to drop the stack of papers on the desk, "You're the one with a village of friends, not me."

Lips strung tight, Colette watched her frown with a mournful glance as Rowan admitted with an even-keeled expression, helped by her shut eyes as she hid behind her teacup once again, "I only get so many of these, you know."

"Row-" Colette paused, sighing heavily before stopping entirely. She reached for the stack of papers before rounding the desk once more; though, instead of exiting the office, she leaned against the front of its oaken frame, examining the stack in front of her friend, "You know most clients end at one of these pages? This one made it to five."

Realizing her friend's capitulation to her attention, Rowan smiled softly, "What was the wildest request?"

"Well, let's ignore the flowers that grow on trees in Sri Lanka... I'm pretty sure she-" she paused, eyes narrowing. She flipped through the pages, hurriedly, as though hunting for something lost, suddenly dropping her head back over her shoulders, "Fuuuuck."

Rowan's attention concentrated upon Colette's grievous reaction as she whined, "I didn't say no orchids. What the fuck is wrong with me?!"

"Colette, I'm telling you, you're stressing yourself out," Rowan sat her teacup down, rising to her feet and gently patting her friend's shoulder, "It's not all you fault, but- You're forgetting the basics, now."

She dropped her head, "Oh gods, this business is gonna go under, isn't it. Mrs. Dunn is going to tell the Groveton Society, and they’re going to tell the Veranda Club, and they're going to tell the Marker's League."

"You're not going to go under. Just go out there, apologize, and try to explain it to her. Even if she doesn't sound the most understanding type," Rowan sighed, though she ended with a smile, "Look, why don't you go do what needs to be done, I'll go grab us some wine from the vineyard and we'll do some catching up tonight, instead. I'll even try to procure some cheeses for us to try."

Still defeated, Colette nonetheless perked up slightly, "I do like cheeses."

"Alright, so that's some motivation, then!" her smile like moonlight, Rowan almost excitedly took to her satchel, readying herself to leave, "I must return to the shop to finish the latter half of my shift, but I'll see you at my place tonight after dark, alright?"

Colette smiled, "Alright, it's a deal. Now to get this hellion out of here..."

"Be nice," Rowan reminded before scoffing, rolling her eyes, "Me lecturing somebody else on basic human interactions. What has this world come to?"

She strode to the office exit which led out into the alleyway, leaving Colette alone to collect her thoughts, returning to her stack of requirements within the contract. She shook her head, wondering what all must have been going through Mrs. Dunn's head, as still floating around in there.

---

Stepping free from the cobblestone porch of 'Florist Under the Flower Sign', its name derived from the very same sign which still swung there from a bygone era, Colette carefully made sure to clear the puddle of murky water that had remained from the night before, face wholly curled in disgust as she did so. Having inherited the shop from her parents, she had little say in the business or its displeasures, the most significant of them being its location beneath the large incline that made up Slocum Hill, the rather eerily-named main drag of Aubernpine that, on its best days, allowed the summer sun to rest directly upon the town's residents as they scurried to-and-fro amidst the lazily inclined shops. On its worst, however, fall rain poured and collected directly here at Colette's curb, driving customers away for days as the stink of mildew hung there, often leading to passers-by finding her with a rag to her face scrubbing down the store's cobbled front.

Little pleasures found her here, though it was an income, one which generated well enough. Her father had amassed a decent reputation, and many people from neighboring villages would arrive simply for things to be floristed, much to Colette's delight when the assignments were more free and able to cater to creativity. It was perhaps the one thing that kept her here; even as a job, she clung on to the pleasure she derived from the creativity of it all, from the shapes, the colors, the hues and patterns, all of which she could use to create entire landscaped within a vase. For all the loud thoughts she often projected through her tongue in the form of speech, she just as fervently spoke through these pallets of petals.

At least, when not restrained by her stricter customers. of whom Mrs. Dunn certainly was not alone in being the worst. There were many worsts that Rowan had heard of over their years of friendship.

Taking a quick whiff of the environment, the lack of acrid air left Colette with the faintest sense of hopefulness as the afternoon sun slowly began to descend beyond Slocum Hill's incline. She often counted her battles in this way; yes, her steps were impeded by the puddle, but the stench of mildew hadn't assaulted her senses - perhaps she was even?

"Ms. Bamburgh!"

She stiffened. Make that a negative fifty.

Gritting her teeth, Colette took a sharp breath before forcing a cordial smile - the least she could afford in that moment - before turning, "Mr. Milne."

The man standing there offered a swift bow, his well-quaffed hair fluttering through the air as he did so, "Ms. Bam- Colette, I-"

"Ms. Bamburg," she corrected, unable to hide a wince.

He cleared his throat, nodding, "Yes, that is- Ahem. Have you considered my invitation to-"

"Mr. Milne, I already told you, I'll be busy that evening."

His insistence, once so gradual, now became near-instant, "Well, what of the night after? or after that? I'm not a picky man!"

"I know you're now, I just don't think- Fall really is the busy season, you know," Colette felt her social battery began to wane in an instant, rushing her to anxiety as she hurried for an exit, "In fact, I'm actually just now on my way to a client of mine, so if you'll please excuse me-"

These interactions had been something of a regular occurrence ever since Lincoln Milne had caught Colette in his sights. The pride of Aubernpine, the man had amassed quite a fortune, conveniently subsidized by a hefty endowment by his parents, though it was his dashing looks that had truly brought him to great esteem amongst the townsfolk. Fluffed hair, dark eyes, chiseled jaw, thighs that easily shone the extent of his afternoon walks which he took, by Colette's estimation, for little more than to be awash with the admiring glances of the men and women of Aubernpine. In her experience, he'd been rather boorish, and persistent, having continued to pursue her even after having been rebuffed, not once, but on multiple occasions. That said, he had long reciprocated negation with respect.

That changed today.

Colette stepped away, though, instead of allowing her to continue, Lincoln took a forceful step in her direction, the kind that immediately sent her into a defensive twist of her body, defiance showing in her eyes as she leaned away from him, altogether ready to hurry away yet capitulate as his shoulders shone like shadowed mountains cast before the horizon.

"I must insist, please," his voice was low, yet the pleading words carried something that help cut its severity, "Your very presence- You catch me off guard with every flash of your eyes."

Not only was Colette sure that he'd said this many times before, the cad, she was wholly and utterly not interested in entertaining much of anything romantic, much less with the man before her who was every bit of style with nothing of substance lining his hollow words. Her every inkling was to bite back, synapses alight with fierce retort, only for something far more primal than her need to fight welling up that appeared in the shape of the man's broad shoulders, his arms - in the emptiness of passers-by and witnesses.

"Mr. Milne-"

"Please."

Whether subconscious or not, Lincoln's body shifted forward, only in the slightest motion, though the inside of Colette's body moved nearly a mile a minute without her body shifting an inch in that moment. Her face flushed, near fearful anxiety.

"N- Next week, then," she capitulated; anything to diffuse what was becoming something threatening, "Tuesday night."

Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, Lincoln let up, relinquishing his forceful presence and stepping backward as though a weight had forced him close and had now left him, "Gods, what good news! and only four days away! I will have to do my utmost to prepare - you will not be disappointed." He raised a finger in poignant demonstration. "Any woman would be lucky to be in your shoes, Ms. Bamburgh, and I intend to truly show how true that is, just you wait!"

Managing only the most forced of smiles, Colette yanked her lips upward like the mightiest curtains of a stage, with all the production therein, "I can't wait."

He bowed dutifully, stepped away backward, right into the puddle in front of the shop, though it failed to even catch his attention, "Have a good day, Ms. Bamburgh! You will have my every thought until then!"

"Gods damn, I will have your head," she cursed under her breath, turning to return to her previous destination, hanging her head low at her perceived subservience masking fearfulness. Frustration worn as worthlessness.