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there's no phone flashlight to illuminate rosemary's path, just the dim glow of her led lamp that her father had suggested for nighttime roadside emergencies. hardly something that would preserve the intended majesty of the temple, nor would it instill fear into the hearts of raiders who might decide decided to pillage such grounds. though now, rosemary admits with a bemused huff, she can imagine why ancient looters would be intimidated.[break][break]

a sense of unease finds a home beneath her skin once more, which only worsens when she hears the keen echoing off the walls of the cavern. her eyes dart around wildly, seeking the source of whatever ghoul or ghastly apparition that had sent that omen into the ether. her head spins for a moment, adjusted to the silence of her thoughts rather than the intrusion of another soul in her proximity. the sickness climbing her throat now confirms what she'd realized too late in her adventure:[break][break]

she'd forgotten to eat today.[break][break]

more pressing matters arise when she hears a scuffle of a foot against stone, followed by a shout into the darkness. a gale. whatever has come has not come silently, it seems. she narrows her eyes at the silhouette, hands scrambling for the holster at her belt. they pause halfway, quivering, rosemary silently kicking herself for such foolishness, letting her curiosity lead her into the depths where anybody could have overtaken her. where anybody could have gotten to her before she got to them.[break][break]

"who's there?" she calls out to the stranger, her voice lilting with a nervous, quavering cadence, fervent and laced with thinly veiled wariness. her hand grasps the cold metal of her lamp, as though she could wield it as deftly as she could a firearm. "i'm armed!" she adds, her voice cracking at the peak of the second syllable. she winces. she wishes that was as convincing to her as it sounded.

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rosemary's jackboots crunch against the sand, which is cooler now that the sun is dipping beneath the horizon and staining the sky in brilliant shades of rose and vermilion. the winds are gentle, tickling her neck, sending an uncharacteristic shiver up her spine. the flowers tucked in the sand, called rain lilies in the guidebook she studied on the journey here, are so frail and vibrant against such arid death. such a place that she never would have known existed, were it not for today's meeting.[break][break]

a strange place for a dead drop, indeed, but rosemary chalks it up to the client's peculiar request, odd and specific like most rich folk. she wonders if the client intended to pull her in with the mystery of these dusty ruins that now lay uncovered before her. scattered and massive boulders of weathered gray stone lay among collapsed pillars, some overturned and broken entirely. it's sad. grandeur faded by time and neglect, reverence replaced by her lone presence, armed with two guns, ammunition, a briefcase, and insatiable curiosity.[break][break]

she walks between the fallen stones in near reverence, each footstep considered, dainty, and cautious not to disturb the stone too much. old habits die hard, and her fingers find purchase in the grooves of each engraving she sees. surely the dust alone could tell its story of olden times.[break][break]

"ah, it's been a while since i've indulged in this sort of thing..." she murmurs to herself, a smile playing on her lips as her eyes grow wide with wanderlust, drinking in the spectacles left for her. it is here she decides to put off finding the location of the drop, and elects to traipse further into the bowels of the lost temple instead, each step feeling heavier than the last, as if something lays beneath her skin, sits in her chest, thrumming. curiosity. the conqueror worm. she ceases stifling the feeling and indulges. anything to satiate it. anything to satisfy it. she's been running from the looming shadow of her disease for so long... it's about time she embraced it by going where no living woman dare trod.[break][break]

rosemary disappears into the tomb.

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rosemary has known many things. she's known how to aim since she was ten, how to hold her liquor since her teen years, how to keep her breathing steady when she's having a dizzy spell and nobody can know. but she's never known how to deal with people.[break][break]

especially not now, with ten black market rifles laying in her backseat and one of the region's protectors approaching her from the other side of the road. her breath catches in her throat, pulse rising. the man's words fall upon her ears with as much grace as the shard of metal in her tire. frankly, they're just about as welcome too.[break][break]

the worst part is how innocent he sounds. how can he spare sympathy for anybody when hoenn's so far gone already? worry makes her mouth taste like dry copper. she runs a hand through her hair nervously, mind racing. "ah, y-yeah." she barely manages, forcing a steady exhale through her nose. "my tire popped. guess i hit a piece of debris, or something."[break][break]

rosemary desperately wants to glance towards her trunk. not because she needs to check that the weapons are still there, or out of some unconscious desire to have her intentions be figured out, but because her fingers are itching to grab one and bolt. tension roils through her body like slow electricity as she becomes acutely aware that if she's gonna get out of this, it's not gonna be with minjun's assistance. the tire is in her trunk, beneath an enormous amount of contraband.[break][break]

if rosemary's name gets out, her father won't think twice about exiling her like the rest of her family. and if she can't take her meds anymore, she won't make it. her lungs have already suffered enough today.[break][break]

her vision narrows, all fight or flight instinct springing to the forefront of her mind. suddenly it's harder to breathe. rosemary dips a shaky hand into her pocket for her pistol. still forcing herself to breathe slowly, she holds the gun limp at her side, obscured from minjun's view by her body. she discreetly unlocks the safety. hopefully he won't try anything. it would be so much easier if he just-[break][break]

"hey, uh." she interrupts her own thoughts with a shaky interjection, looking at minjun now with wide eyes. despite her best efforts, she knows they're tinged with fear, only barely abated by the security of her pistol, now raised and pointed directly at the ranger. "i really don't wanna do this, but i can't let you interfere. i don't want any trouble, i just need to deliver my cargo. so i'm going to back up to the trunk and get the tire and start changing it out. okay?" it's a long, rambling request, all things considered, but there's a faint undercurrent of desperation in her voice that brings a stronger word to mind.[break][break]

a plea.

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the road before rosemary is pockmarked and scarred, a testament to the suffering and strife that's taken place on this very soil. despite the relative silence in the air, despite the calm, there is an undeniable tension. rosemary does what she can to ignore it, to only focus on the task at hand: courier ten black market rifles to the address scrawled on the wrinkled piece of paper tucked into her back pocket. (and figure out a way to blow off some steam afterwards, of course. run a bath, read a book, lounge beneath her weighted blanket.)[break][break]

the scenery all around her is achingly beautiful. lush greens and earthy browns, far off city skylines wrought with dark clouds. even when the worst happens, nature finds a way to persevere. it's just the way of things. she tightens her grip on the wheel, the leather of her gloves creaking as she does so. they're an old habit of hers, driving gloves. whenever she has to drive for long periods of time, she slips them on for comfort.[break][break]

hopefully she's not walking into a trap. route 102 has been quiet, aside from the brief conflicts occuring near the petalburg woods. intel indicates that she should be safe tonight, and it's crucial that these guns are moved from point A to point B while the coast is clear. also in the note is a kind message from her father—these weapons aren't a part of lovelace's official inventory. they're not to be traced back to him. they're her responsibility.[break][break]

the sun is beginning to set as she nears the outskirts of petalburg city. ironically, once a nature-Loving city rivalling even that of fortree, the suburban paradise became another battleground like so many other places. what was once peoples' homes is now a warzone. rosemary finds herself feeling guilty for not feeling more for the locals. fortunately, or unfortunately rather, her father had instilled in her a good poker face. any hint of uncertainty in her gaze is kept behind an iron-clad exterior.[break][break]

irony doesn't keep her mind busy for long though, because right as she's passing through route 102, the familiar sound of a tire popping makes her heart sink into her stomach. she lets out a shaky exhale through her nose, pulling over. she leaves the engine running as she gets out of the car to take a look, combing her hair behind her ear with shaking fingers.[break][break]

rosemary takes in a sharp breath through her nose, crouching to appraise the slash and shard of metal gutting her tire. there's no way she's making it to petalburg on that. the girls in her trunk have a good chance of being found if she's caught, as she's just driving on the main road with no pretense. so this looks bad. real bad. real, real bad.[break][break]

fuck. how does she get out of this?

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"i can assure you, a boring palette is the last thing that will come to your company," she nods reassuringly, eagerly committing this first stipulation to memory. she taps her finger against her lip thoughtfully as she envisions the space in her head, the terrarium a bloom of color in the center of an achromatic room.[break][break]

"and crystals—yes, i think i know exactly the ones you mean," she adds, eyes sparkling with possibilities. the landscape already takes shape in her mind's eye: the tera crystals in shades of rose and pink, sprouting from the earth, a beautiful mimicry of their wild counterparts. this project, this piece, will be more special than any she's made before..[break][break]

rosemary pockets the card carefully. it feels like a promise, or perhaps an invitation, a chance to bring something new and vibrant to life. she glances down to her hands and realizes she's still clutching the terrarium they made together like a talisman. she gently transfers it into ameena's waiting hands and finishes the transaction swiftly.[break][break]

"i'll be in touch soon," she says, and her smile feels genuine, excited, something even rosemary can't deny himself. this work, this creation, feels like home. "thank you so much, miss...?"[break][break]

she trails off, realizing belatedly that she's gone the entire conversation without ever asking ameena's name. the warmth in her cheeks spreads down her neck, but she maintains eye contact, not bothering to hide her sheepish smile. "i can't believe i didn't get your name. i'm rosemary, by the way."

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the request makes rosemary's heart stutter in her chest. a project of such magnitude and scale is the likes of something she had only ever dreamed of—the chance to make something so beautiful, to cultivate so much life in the center of a company, where it can be properly adored, is a temptation that sets her fingertips buzzing with excitement.[break][break]

she knows she shouldn't. the reminder lurks in the back of her skull, sharp and cold like an icicle. after all, her father's deadlines are fast approaching, her inheritance hangs on a knife's edge, and getting involved in such an undertaking would surely draw his ire if he ever found out.[break][break]

but the expression on ameena's face is so earnest, and a denial would sting too much on her tongue. this is her calling—the duty of her heart—to surround herself with soil and green and snaking roots. rosemary’s hands grip tight to the counter as she steadies herself, but her eyes are alight with hope.[break][break]

"i would be honored to make a terrarium of that size," she answers finally, her voice trembling only slightly. "it would be a big project, of course, and would take time to gather all of the supplies and map out a design, but i can't think of anything i'd rather work on more."[break][break]

rosemary doesn't mention payment, as money holds no value to her. she had agreed before ever hearing a price, drawn to the project on a level deeper than coins and cash. for rosemary, this is a chance to heal. to create. to pursue that which makes her heart truly sing.[break][break]

"are you looking for anything in particular?" she continues, already buzzing with ideas. "something colorful or more muted? a lush jungle, or maybe a recreation of a familiar landscape? a twenty foot tall terrarium is essentially a miniature world— the possibilities are endless!" her laughter is small and skittish, self-conscious about her enthusiasm but excited nonetheless.

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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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rosemary nods in response, and she sweeps quickly over to the selection of succulents that ameena might like. she plucks a few that fit the bill: a vibrant echeveria with leaves like lavender petals, a sleek aeonium with leaves of a deep, dark emerald, and a string of pearls, which doesn’t match the colour scheme but its whimsical nature proves too irresistible. rosemary places them all delicately on the counter and holds each one up in turn as she explains their care instructions to ameena.[break][break]

"we can put together a little dish with these three," she explains, gesturing to the plants with her free hand as she holds a medium-sized glass bowl in the crook of her arm. "it'll only need about a fourth of a cup of water before we close it up. they do well in bright, indirect light, but they'll thrive anywhere you put them. then, once we seal it, it never has to be touched again."[break][break]

with the grace of somebody who has done this a thousand times, rosemary layers smooth river pebbles, charcoal, and soil into the bowl, creating the foundation of the terrarium. she pours the water in, creating a thin layer of moisture. she then starts the process of nestling each plant into the soil. as she works, her shoulders relax and her breathing evens out, content in this tiny world she's creating.[break][break]

"i used to make these all the time when i was younger," she says, almost wistfully. "they're like little worlds all of their own." she gives the bowl a gentle tap when she's finished, wiping away the stray soil on her fingers with a towel.[break][break]

stepping back, rosemary observes her work. the plants crowd together in a small, spherical glass piece with a funnel at the top for a seal—the purple echeveria adds a delicious contrast to the deep color of the aeonium, and the more muted green of the string of pearls pulls together the ensemble. rosemary glances up to ameena, seeking approval. "does this setup look nice?"

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rosemary startles at the sudden voice, unfamiliar and tinged with something that sets her nerves on edge. she turns, still clutching the broom in one hand, and finds herself staring at a floating... something. it takes her a moment to process what she's seeing—an unfamiliar human being with vestigial wings and a face lit by LEDs, grinning at her in a way that she finds difficult to interpret.[break][break]

"i—excuse me, but who are you?" she asks while clutching the broom handle closer to her chest, trying to keep her voice level despite the rapid beat of her heart. she hasn't dealt with such strange people all too often, but she knows better than to trust anybody who would prefer to put forward a false visage rather than a natural one.[break][break]

"what do you want to talk about that can't wait until tomorrow?" she adds, resuming her cleaning in an attempt to hide the rising anxiety in her chest. her eyes dart to the door and back to the stranger, considering her chances of making a quick escape. "certainly it's not about me specifically."[break][break]

even as she speaks, rosemary knows she's not going anywhere. not while he's floating like that. not when she's the only one here. there's an uneasy feeling in her gut that this isn't just a simple conversation, but she does her best to feign ignorance as she scoops the last of the broken pot into the dustpan and rises, keeping a safe distance between them. she hopes, desperately, that this brief contact shall not end in bloodshed.

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