willow balks and her curiosity turns into something uncomfortable. something sour. but her face does not betray the fear that accompanies it. no, instead her features display her instant distrust. her anger at not knowing who this man is. 

"how do you know my son?" she asks, eyes narrowing. he could hardly be much older than her, if at all. and there's no way he knows bo - he would have told willow to expect someone. 

jayden cross

☉

it's after five on saturday. boruta maher has Roman Maher for the weekend. willow had given adelaide the weekend off as well, so she and her mother are seated in their upstairs living room, watching television while willow idly presses flowers. they're not expecting anyone, but the knock on the door doesn't really startle her. it's not uncommon for neighbors to pop over and say hello. 

she kisses her mother on the forehead, heart giving a small squeeze at her vacant stare, and then lopes down the stairs to answer the door. 

her gaze drops to the mimikyu and then goes up to the stranger on her doorstep. "hello? what can i do for you?" she asks, eyeing the black bag in his arms. 

jayden cross

☉

"i'll let her know you said so," willow replies. a reminder that there are people like elisa who care about her will go a long way - it's always nice to be thought of during recovery. especially now because willow knows grace is going stir crazy. crocheting can only fill so many hours in the day. 

"wonderful." she smiles to show her appreciation. mud-caked boots crunch over the gravel path leading up to her greenhouse. her butterfree flit across the flower fields, keeping to themselves as the women pass.

the greenhouse is an inviting structure, but the in-ground gloom plots on its western side are where they're headed. and sure enough, her troublesome turtwig is standing a few feet away from the splash zone, taunting the gloom with a leaf storm of his own making.

willow grabs the kerchief around her neck and brings it up over her nose. "might wanna stand back unless you have one of your own," she warns out of habit more than anything. elisa, unlike boruta maher , would know that a good spray in the face from a gloom could knock you out cold. 

she simpers under the kerchief, remembering the day bo had walked back into her life. and of his catastrophic attempt to help her replot her gloom. 

"gideon!" she hollers. the turtwig turns and the flurry of leaves dies down immediately. he scampers off away from the plots and willow laughs. 

"i think they're enjoying that mulch you recommended to me. i haven't seen their leaves look this good in ages."

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

will's not exactly tall herself (and man if she doesn't notice it when she's standing around bo) so she can definitely appreciate a good self-deprecating short joke. willow joins in on her laughter, green eyes drifting to her plucking. she has a feeling roxie isn't the most comfortable with her stares so she looks outward, onto the street. 

"eh, no shame in that. my dad never got himself a formal education. hell, i never studied past high school." and even then, that had been a stretch. she'd wanted to drop out to take care of roman full time, but her parents had forced her to finish an education (something she will always admire of them and be thankful for). 

"mmm, well, would you take lessons if you could? guitar lessons, i mean."

@roxie

☉

he's saying a lot of things that are going over willow's head. when he brings up pheromones, they at least have some common ground. putting them to sleep would negate that, but it hadn't once crossed her mind that they may be less susceptible to camellia's sleep powder. she looks down at the ball in her hand, feeling in adequate. 

bo would know what to do. 

still, she nods to greyson and opens the net ball. camellia flutters beside them, shedding small amounts of dust from her wingbeats. willow puts a finger to her lips and encourages the moth to wait for instruction.

"mel can fly just above the blizzard. if they start to anger, she should be able to reach them with sleep powder and not get hit herself." 

Greyson Connors

☉

"ah, but then he won't lament over how he's missed you," she says teasingly. al is faithful to his wife, of that willow is certain, but he does enjoy the company of the esteemed woman who makes her way through the ash from petalburg all the way to say hello. the first time he'd seen her, willow had about knocked him topside the head when he took his hat off out of 'respect.' 

"i try not to think about it too much," she says and her stress lines are slightly exaggerated as she draws out a sigh. "i've been looking after grace's farm. it was devastated recently by a burst of," she pauses, wracking her brain - what had Greyson Connors called it? "primal energy. made some local combee go on a rampage."

elisa reaches down for her pouch and willow presses her palms to the counter-top, standing on her tiptoes to peer over. her eyes light up when she spies the desserts. elisa's hand with pastries blows her own baking skills out of the water, but she's not one to complain - after all, she's the one with the tasty treat, minus all of the work. 

but the real treasures are in the seed pouch she produces. willow is gentle as she lets some of them tumble out and into her waiting palm.

"i'll have to have ro help me plant these. thank you so much." grace is sure to love them as well. 

ophelia steps back through again, bucket in hand, flowers spilling over the rim. willow steps aside so the girl can shuffle behind the counter. when she sets the metal pail down, she wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. 

"ms willow, i think gideon might be messing with the gloom again..."

will sighs and opens the side door, waving elisa through. stepping stones lead to the greenhouse and willow waits with one arm oustretched, lounging against the door. 

"are you staying a while? i could use the company."

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

and with that she turns, glass of wine in hand. she ruffles his hair as she plops down at the kitchen table. her green eyes glimmer and she sighs, trying her best to look annoyed but failing. 

"and you think he wants, what - nope. nevermind. no, we're not going into that." not with only half a glass drank, they're not. she sets it down. 

"if anyone can look out for himself, it's bo. now, how have you been? other than camping. keeping up to no good?" she teases (and oh, if only she knew). 

CIAN MAHER

☉

and chatter she does. al from the hardware store down the road stops by and buys a bottle of her honey. before, he'd come by once a week to pick up flowers for his wife, but now it's twice, and willow knows damn sure it's because he's proud it's his wood and supplies she has to thank for the bee boxes.

he's a sweet man and willow certainly doesn't mind him coming around more often. when he idles and chats for an hour, she sells more honey than a few more days in the week combined. 

but this time he doesn't stay very long. willow watches him go and then leans against the counter, chin propped in her palm. she nearly dozes off like that, but the chime above her door rings again. 

and a little bit of heat flushes to her cheeks when she realizes who it is. 

"elisa," she greets, offering a thinly veiled, but still tired smile. "you just missed al." willow's leavanny pops up from behind the counter and peers over, antennae twitching with delight when she senses primrose. 

"business is good. locals are a little spooked, but they're still coming out to see me so i can't complain. how've you been?"

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

half of her time is split. half of her time that she's already split a hundred and one different ways is split. grace offers her her mudsdale so willow can make the trek down to the berry patch if she's going to insist on it anyway. so at 4 am, willow's up and on her way down to restore what she can of grace's farm while the elderly woman nurses her broken leg. 

and then after a couple of hours, when she's aching and sweating, she rides back to the flower shop and ensures ophelia is set up for success. the young girl's gone full time, which willow can't be happier for, but she's guilty, knowing she's only seventeen and should be doing more than this. 

she's starting to have to turn away patients and it breaks her heart, but she just doesn't have the ability to look after them like she should. a week ago, one of the gloom spread the fungus she was treating it for to three others.

and Greyson Connors  is busy looking after the region. their beekeeping venture wasn't meant to become a full-time endeavor, but the money's good and the bees are happy to produce as much as they are. 

she takes over the shop, asking ophelia with a thin smile if she wouldn't mind checking on the greenhouse. she just needs some time to chat with the locals, to remind herself of why she lets her life get as hectic as she does. 

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

she gets the pie cutter out, even though it hasn't cooled properly yet. she gets some glasses out. pours some milk into both. draws out some napkins, keeps her back turned, and the back of her neck goes red. 

she looks down at the glass of wine in her hand, swirls it around. 

"let's not do this, cian." everything's too fragile now. they're both busy now. and lance showing back up has complicated things. 

CIAN MAHER

☉

she steps obediently into place behind him. she'll let him take the brunt of the offensive, should the need arise. no problems there. but her apprehension about the situation grows as they travel down the path. one thing she notices is the lack of sound. of plusle and minun rooting through the undergrowth, the spinda who like to dance amidst the ashfall. they're all absent. 

when greyson stops, she nearly bumps into him, too lost in her own questions. but she touches his shoulder and then takes a step to the side, dropping her hand as she spies the wall of combee. 

"i brought camellia," she says quietly, drawing the venomoth's ball from her pocket. "she may be able to put most of them to sleep."

Greyson Connors

☉

and that is where willow gets her bright idea. she doesn't have time to offer guitar lessons, but she might have time if she were compensated in some way. and roxie would probably learn a lot more with a teacher than she would practicing on sidewalks, no one there to guide her. 

but she doesn't say anything, not wanting to push the poor girl. she already looks like she's folding under willow's compliments. ah, to be so young and naive. really, she reminds willow of herself. and maybe that's why she's so fond of her already. 

"it's easy to get in the habit of selling yourself short," willow says instead. she smiles sideways at her.

"so, what do you like to do when you're not busking?"

@roxie

☉

"that's the thing," she says and takes a sip. "he doesn't have the time." they really were quite ridiculous to think they could handle all the production. because of course her father's bee boxes were going to work splendidly. and of course the bees are happy enough that they're producing excess. 

poor ophelia's duties have stretched from bouquet dressing to bottling and labeling honey jars. 

she tries not to look too interested in hearing about bo. in fact, she takes the moment to turn away and hover a hand over the top of the pie to check if it's cooled enough (which, of course it hasn't). 

"sounds fun. haven't been camping in a while. ro liked it when he was little though." maybe we should go camping again. 

willow atkins

☉