Unlike when she was employed at GMH, nights spent working were one of her favorite things, and a real perk on the job at Fiorelli Florestry. Sometime’s they’d close down the shop, her and Elisa, and just sit and talk for a long time. Other time’s they’d grab a bite or go for a short walk before bidding adieu.

And other nights-- nights like these, when the stars were bright as wishes, the night air warm but not sweltering, and the flowers full and peaceful-- they’d have genuine sleepovers. Slumber parties of old, but the liquor was legal and there were no parents sleeping on the floors above to chastise them for giggling.

Cyg had taken a late lunch break and popped down to the market for some champagne and fresh summer strawberries. She had these in hand as she trekked back, finding Elisa by the lily pond, illuminated by candles.

She missed Elisa. A lot. She was super busy and gone more than not, of late, given she had gotten a big, fancy promotion and was a big, fancy Rocket bigwig, and Cyg was still, just, y’know, Cyg. Just… hanging out here, getting her ass saved, or drowned, or beat up, on a regular basis.

It was fine. It was fine, it was fine, it was fine.

She set the bottles of champagne and the strawberries down and sat herself crosslegged next to Elisa; she tilted her head and watched her ministrations with the rose petals, listening as her mentor-- and friend-- spoke.

“This smells a lot better than spin the bottle in Becky Corleone’s broom closet.”

She was quiet for a minute, mentally preparing herself, as she handed one bottle of champagne to Elisa, and fished her utility tool (screwdriver, bottle opener, wine de-corker, et cetera, et cetera) out of the pocket of her jeans.

“Hold on, I’m not drunk enough for this.”

It was kind of a joke but also kind of not (she popped the champagne cork and slid a red solo cup underneath it to catch the overflow) because she had a squeeze in her stomach that came from years of being emotionally constipated.

Elisabeth Fiorelli

“You’re not missing much,” Cyg confessed, taken back to the scent of a musty closet and sweaty palms, fumbling lips, embarrassing questions. “One time, though, she swiped a bottle of margarita mix and everyone thought it had booze in it because they were teenaged idiots. That was hilarious.”

Growing up with an alcoholic mother, Cyg found herself decidedly in the know about what actually had alcohol in it, and what did not.

She clinked the neck of her bottle gently against the dark glass bottom of Elisa’s. “Thank you,” she said, grinning into her sip. “Even a blind Greedent finds a nut every now and then, as my dad says.”

Cyg remembered the last time they’d talked about the haunts of Elisa’s heart, back when they’d had Fernando Silph’s credit card and had been blowing it up at a very expensive restaurant.

Ah, those were the days.

But she’d been cagey and secretive at best, and seemed in downright denial at her worst-- which was a joke because Elisa at her worst was still far better than Cyg at her best.

She didn’t expect to make much more progress with this delve, but it was always worth a shot. Cyg trusted Elisa to not get in over her head with anybody. But she also wanted to be apprised of Elisa’s romantic hemisphere so she could map out the targets and murder them if they did anything at all to hurt her best friend.

She didn’t say that. She just smiled and said, “Yeah, you first.”

Elisabeth Fiorelli

at the suggestion that she was shy, like some sort of fainting violet to (use a flower metaphor seemed quite suitful to Elizabeth) Cyg did her best damsel eyelash batting. “But of course,” she said, threading a high pitch into her voice in a comedic impression of Elisa’s own highbred Kalosian accent, “it’s improper for a lady to air her dirty undies. I mean laundry.” And she laughed.

because she wasn't so much shy as she was confused. there was a lot going on in her life-- specifically with one single person that she thought about all the time-- and she wasn't familiar with that kind of weight taking up most of her mental fortitude. she had few enough brain cells to spare to do her Rocket work and her Elisa work, let alone have a romance.

She watched with curiosity as Elisa’s Gardevoir scattered the petals and listened with intent as her best friend and mentor recounted a tale of her youth-- but she couldn’t suppress a roll of her eyes and a big, shit eating grin, because of course Elisa was going to tell some fairytale from yesteryear and not talk about any of the things that were happening in her life, right now.

She was a cagey bitch. Cyg loved her.

how much easier their lives would be if they were just lesbians and each other’s types.

“Loyalty,” Cyg confirmed with a nod. “Well, you can’t expect a phantom from your girlhood to still be loyal, after all these years. Especially if you’re not in each others lives.” Cyg didn’t believe in fairy tales and she definitely didn’t put stock in the abstaining power of men.

“Unlesssssss,” Cyg ventured, drawing out the consonant as she swirled her champagne bottle like a wine glass, “the Telltale Heart boy was a ruse and you’re actually thinking about someone with whom you’ve dallied with recently.” She threw that word in there because she figured Elisa would like it. “In which case I need to know immediately so I can murder them, postehaste.”

Elisabeth Fiorelli

Cyg laughed, a genuine, sparking sound; she was shocked at the thrill of excitement that shot through her at the thought of Elisa defending herself. It was like the world’s most fucked up buddy cop move, what was playing in her head. “Yeah, I know you are,” she said, a little dreamily, still smiling. “Capable, I mean.”

She took a sip of champagne and let her eyes fall on Elisa. “Well. I know you’re keeping secrets. Which is fine. You’re a big admin now and all that.” The sarcasm woven into her tone was smothering.

Laughter found her again, eyebrows lifting at Elisa’s continued deflection. “Yeah, yeah,” she said, sliding closer to her friend. She had the grace to blush when Elisa called her interesting. “Nah, I’m just a grease monkey of no importance. My life is intrinsically boring.”

Aside from robbing abandoned underwater structures with an oscar clayton piloted Genesect and hunting ghosts with Cillian Quinn , she didn’t really get up to much of anything fun.

“I think you think I’m a lot more social than I really am, Elisa.”

Elisabeth Fiorelli

Cyg gave Elisa a dagger-like look. “That’s not true,” she said, last word a loud scoff. “Elisa, you wouldn’t even lose, like, half of your mystery, let alone your charm.” Hell, the woman could probably spill her darkest secrets and Cyg would still be in the dark. Her boss was an onion-- she had layers.

Elisa’s next compliment made her blush. She swelled with warmth at the thought that people enjoyed her company-- at least two of them, Isaac was on that list-- and she just grinned a dopey grin as she accepted more champagne. “It must be those people that I keep finding then.” She shook her head and sighed. “It’s fine. Hey, did I tell you I’m building a motorcycle?”

She was ignoring the petals at this point, preparing for her own turn.

Elisabeth Fiorelli

She lets her eyes fall to the yellow petal, smile a lazy thing, lingering on her face. She always feels happy when she’s with Elisa. It’s a rare thing.

“Um, yeah,” she says, remembering she was telling a story, “for a-- a friend. He’s driving a massive deathtrap right now. It’s a big Orren half-hover bike, which is… horrendous. It’s so ugly. The whole engine block is just-- exposed. So I’m building him a new bike. Mostly from scratch.” The engine was coming together nicely, but she was still hesitant on the frame, didn’t know if she wanted to repurpose an older vehicle for speed of acquisition or begin anew.

“He is also a Rocket,” she adds, as though that tidbit carries any value or meaning outside of eventual heartbreak. She doesn’t know what makes her volunteer that information, but it’s out there, anyhow. “Anyway, my turn for Flowermancy, right? Like a real Winx girl.”

Elisabeth Fiorelli

Cyg knew Elisa enough by now to understand that, while she was an amazing woman, her knowledge of pop culture couldn’t fill a thimble. She laughed when Elisa agreed with her.

“Winx was a show about, like, teenage witches, or something. I didn’t have cable growing up so I only caught reruns but they were super girly and flowery and shit,” she elaborates.

She nods fervently when Elisa agrees that Isaac Merlo’s deathtrap sounds awful, taking a long draw of champagne as she does. “It’s so ugly. And dangerous.” Then Elisa asks her how much time it’ll take to build a new bike and she winces. “Maybe… the rest of the year? What with work and the Kyogre boat and trying to get my own Genesect… I’m kinda in a weird place with it where I need to make a decision but don’t know what to do.” She shrugged.

Cyg had to laugh, at herself, at the situation. “I don’t know why I said that,” she confessed, drawing circles in the condensate on her champagne bottle, “maybe to convince myself that it’ll be okay.”

She doesn’t miss the admission, instead latching onto it like a bird of prey.

“Is Fernando even considered a member of the League? I thought he was his own entity.”

Like she was on a first name basis with Fernando fucking Silph. He'd bought her a very expensive dinner, once... by proxy.

Elisabeth Fiorelli