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the little quasimodo, despite its unsightly name, holds the ambiance of a tightly-wrapped present. wicker baskets of flowers adorn the exteriors, and inside, lace doilies are carefully arranged upon every surface, much like decorative armor. the hardwood floor groans with every gentle step, yet the place has its charm; rosemary chose it for this very reason, after all.[break][break]

rosemary's interest in gardening left her with a disdain for all things fabricated to within an inch of their lives, but she could begrudgingly admit that the soft scent of wisteria and the low hum of casual conversation has calmed her nerves as she awaits her... well, 'business partner' feels too warm. 'her soon-to-be associate, at her father's behest' feels more accurate, if a little wordy.[break][break]

she leans back in her seat, one arm crossed over her stomach as the nerves jangled like a windchime within her, an intricately decorated china teacup in her free hand. the saucer underneath it rattles as her hand shakes slightly.[break][break]

jitters. the tremors grow worse as time passes; maybe it is nerves, maybe it is because it feels like a piece of her is itching beneath her skin. regardless, she needs both hands to set the cup back upon the table without spilling its contents. she sighs, annoyed, and pulls the sleeve of her cardigan down over her wrist.[break][break]

eustace vasiliou has a name that precedes him like the scent of expensive perfume, and rosemary feels as if she is awaiting the right moment to be approached by a very well dressed snake.[break][break]

suffice to say, she is not looking forward to this. it is the case with almost every business venture her father orders her to pursue.

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