Ever busy with her increasingly full schedule of Boss Lady things, the boss lady was out, which meant Cyg was left to work the counter. After doing a round of checks, making sure all the displays were in order and nothing looked too dead, yet, she went back to the front desk and set up on the little stool behind the register.

Scattered across the counter were sketches of motorcycles, different body styles, and colors; some were heavily crossed out in Sharpie, some so annotated with nonsensical shorthand that they may as well have been crossed out.

She was so in the zone that she didn’t hear the noise of Marshall Slade’s bike, which certainly would have made her ears perk. Not that she was super into motorcycles before, mind you-- but she was building one for Isaac, and it was actually super fucking fun. She might even make it a thing.

The bell went ding which meant someone had entered the shop and Cyg had a job to do, so she put down her pencil and crushed all the papers together, hiding them under the register.

“Welcome to Fiorelli Florestry,” she announced, fixing her customer service smile on her face (a job made easier because she was always proud to work here) “Is there anything I can help you find or are you just browsing?”

A motion to her side announced her Roserade, Shay, had returned from where she’d been pruning magenta dianthus to add to a bouquet. With the bundle of flowers in hand, she paused to see if she could be of any assistance.

Marshall Slade

☉

Oh, yeah, the Instagram, the Instagram for Elisabeth Fiorelli, the Instagram she’d made specifically to help Elisabeth, Elisa’s Instagram. “Oh, neat,” Cyg said, feeling another burst of pride, “glad to know it actually reaches people.” Elisa was a goddess at most everything but technology, god bless her, was not her sphere.

“So usually we do personal delivery, and by that, I mean me delivery, because I’m also the delivery girl.” She reached under the desk for the book of paper and card samples. She didn’t press him about the ‘friend’ bit because she immediately thought of Isaac and been there, done that, the difference being she worked in a flower shop, so he brought her baked goods and explosives.

She did, however, laugh a little bit at expert. “Well, I’m not quite as knowledgable as my boss, but I can help with the general gist of things. What are you trying to say? Do you know what colors she likes?” Cyg set the little binder of tissue paper and greeting card samples on the counter, and spun it towards him. “Then there’s, like, different styles. Like a traditional bouquet wrapped in paper, or in a vase. We also do boutonnières and corsages, gift baskets, baked goods…”

Opening the cover of the sample binder caused a few of her stupid motorcycle sketches to fall out. She frowned and pushed them to the side. They must’ve gotten accidentally slipped in here when she was cleaning them up.

Marshall Slade

☉

Cyg smiled knowingly. Marshall was far from the first guy to walk in here wanting flowers and having absolutely no idea what he wanted. “Hey, at least you’re not trying to say I’m sorry,” she cheered, “because we get that a lot.”

Spinning a pad of paper towards her, she grabbed a pen and started writing notes-- chrysanthemums, then a question mark, because in Alto Mare those were funeral flowers, then iris-- purple, bachelor’s button-- she double circled this one-- forget-me-nots, snowdrops.

She almost didn’t notice he’d grabbed one of her sketches. “Oh, yeah, I--,” she jotted down a few more notes as her face turned red, “--I don’t ride a ton, but my boyfriend does.” That felt really good to say. “But his bike is atrociously ugly so I’m building him a new one. Or, attempting to.”

Marshall Slade

☉

She grinned at him, and for every question he fired at her, it grew.

“Yeah, I’ve got the motor, eh, mostly done. The body is where I’m getting stuck. I can’t decide if I want to do something completely new or retrofit an old chassis.” He did bring up a good point, with using the Hunka Junka Death Machine as a parts repository. “Unfortunately, yes. That thing is a nightmare. The entire engine block is exposed, it’s--.”

She shook her head. “Flowers! Flowers for your girl. Let’s do that first. We can be gearheads later.” She wrote pink in capital letters and circled it. “Do you want a bouquet in paper, or do you want them in a vase?”

Shay, who had been listening to their conversation, suddenly started flitting about the shop, selecting the correct buds in the proper hues.

Marshall Slade

☉

Cyg made a face at him, halfway between apologetic and understanding. “Unless she works in a vase store I would not bet on there being extra vases,” she said.

She gestured Marshall over to a special shelf just kitty-corner to the front desk, displaying different styles of vases and glassware. “Oh, my sweet summer child. Everything costs extra.”

There were a number of variations, from clear glass to colored glass, square, round, and oval; silvery run through with gold streaks like kintsugi; solid colored ones in various hues, from pink to purple to mauve to lavender.

“See anything that catches your eye?”

Shay popped towards the back of the shop where the arranging station was, arms full of pink irises, carnations, dahlias; anything in a rosy shade that was irregular shaped, interspersed with bright magenta buckwheat, baby’s breath, and fuzzy willow shoots. With her nurturing touch, the snippings would not wilt.

Marshall Slade

☉

“Great choice,” Cyg said, flashing him a thumbs up. She took the carefully offered vase from his hands and placed it equally as gently on the tabletop, twisting it slightly this way and that. Shay sets the bundles of flowers on the table as Cyg grabs a nearby watering can (there’s, like, a trillion, scattered all around the place) and pours a few inches of water into the vase.

She gives Marshall a warm smile as she carefully selects two stems of pink irises and sets them in the face. “I’m a hundred percent positive he would love to show it to you. He loves that thing.” Her voice is full of endearment even as she’s rolling her eyes, fluffing the iris petals with gentle touches and selecting a willow branch to intersperse between the shocks of baby pink. “And I must sound really snooty. It isn’t that bad. Just because it isn’t aesthetically pleasing to me and it is beyond unsafe doesn’t mean it’s a bad bike.”

She sounds like she’s talking herself down from the ledge. In go some pink roses. Shay coaxes one to bloom a little more.

Unbeknownst to all parties involved, the poor bike was already in the process of dying. R.I.P Hunka Junka, you were a real one,

Meanwhile, Cyg pulls out her phone and opens a contact page, sliding it across the table to Marshall. “Yeah, I’d love to. We can even set up a time for you to swing by the garage. It’s just a rental, nothing fancy, but it’ll be cool to nerd out with someone for a while.” She lets Shay place some of the flowers as she goes hunting for a spool of ribbon to tie around the middle of the vase.

“Did you want this to come from you or anonymously?” she asked, digging out a FIORELLI FLORISTRY card to stick in the middle of the arrangement.

Marshall Slade

☉