Chapter Text
Hyacinthoides Non-Scripta: the Common Bluebell; a symbol of humility; one the main components of the first row of Quinn’s garden. The soil beneath them was the optimal mixture of substrates, the right PH, the perfect temperature… it was looking a bit dry through. Odd. Marshall would make sure to tell her as soon as he found her. Whenever that would be.
He’d been searching for her for hours and he hadn’t found a trace of her. It would help if he knew the way to her actual manor, but Quinn’s labyrinth of a garden always left him disoriented. Honestly, he wasn’t even a hundred-percent sure it actually followed euclidean geometry. That would would explain quite a bit about the place- it always seemed rearranged every time he went, but every room was the same as he last visited. It shouldn’t be within Quinn’s skill set, but she could have had a third party arrange it. There was a group of… wait.
There were more pressing things to focus on; he was already a few minutes late. She wouldn’t care, but Marshall would be damned if he didn’t at least try to be as punctual as possible. It would be unbecoming of him. Time is a finite resource, one that must be properly used to reach true efficiency. He’d already wasted hours that morning searching for- he’s going on a tangent again isn’t he?
He took a second to collect his thoughts, straightening the stacks of papers in his head. Fractaling factoids halt at blunt ends, connecting threads hang limp between pins, books lock closed, statics die…
His eyes open to see that the scene in front of him had completely changed.
Oh, this was going to take even longer than he thought.