Chapter Text
8:13 PM | SOHO, LONDON
It was no night like any other; it was the night of the monthly business owners meeting for those on the street of Soho.
The banquet was thrown for each business owner to get to know one another and discuss new plans for each business. Maggie, Owner of "The Small Back Room" Record Shop. Nina, Owner of "Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death" cafe, and the other business owners, including Mr. Fell of "A. Z. FELL & Co." The local bookshop with suspiciously no customers? And Mr. Crowley of "The Garden of Eden," the local plant shop, also with no customers for whatever reason.
The banquet is relatively slow, and everyone there talks about their shops or random, boring updates in their bland, boring lives. At least, that's what Mr. Crowley thought as he sat there in an uncomfortably upholstered chair in the basement of "Will Goldstone's Magic Shop."
"Magic." Mr. Crowley scoffed.
"It's such a stupid waste of time. A little smoke and mirrors, and suddenly, every stupid person is practically throwing money at you! It's ridiculous." Mr. Crowley grumbled to himself.
Anthony Crowley was a rather sour man in his late 40s, with tattoos on each arm, dark clothes, and snakeskin boots, and no matter if he was indoors tending to his plants or outside yelling at the punk kids standing outside his shop, he always wore his black shades.
Some people think he only wears like that to think he is cool, and others believe they're prescription; either way, no one cared for him. They thought he was too abrasive and rude towards people, but no one ever knew why.
The last time one of the shopkeepers tried to talk to him, he stared at them with this annoyed yet angry look until they left. They all wondered how Mr. Brown even got him to attend this event, but they didn't want to ask out of fear of Mr. Crowley.
Mr. Crowley just sat there, looking at everyone mingling while sipping on his whiskey, waiting for the meeting to be done so he could go home and watch TV, when all of a sudden, a few of the shopkeepers decided to come to the snack bar and continue their conversation next to Mr. Crowley.
"Fan-fucking-tastic." Mr. Crowley thought, "Not only did they choose to stand right next to me and quite loudly discuss something as boring sidewalks or whatever, but now I have to stay here and listen!" Despite the earlier description, the chair Mr. Crowley was sitting in was getting quite comfy, and he didn't feel like getting up, so he practically stuck there.
"-but I was thinking of maybe getting some shrubs to put in front of the shop, you know, to get more foot traffic? Make the shop seem more inviting!" said Maggie
"Shrubs?" Mr. Crowley said to himself, his head perked up when he heard that.
"Yeah, well, I was thinking of getting rid of mine so you could have them, Ms. Maggie. Too many leaves keep falling on my sidewalk from it, a bit of an eyesore if you ask me!" Said Mr. Arnold of the local music shop
"Oh really? Thank you! Yes, that would be just-"
"Well, now you can't go doing something like that!" Mr. Crowley shouted at them while still not getting up from his seat or looking at them.
The shopkeepers turned to look at him. They had no idea Mr. Crowley was even listening to them, let alone having an opinion on what they had to say. He rarely ever talks, so this was quite a surprise to them.
"You can't just rip a shrub from the ground and hand it over to someone else like a terrible Christmas present! You need to get the right one for that specific area and carefully remove any obstructions that make it harder for the shrub to grow properly!" Mr. Crowley now has his head turned to the group, "And by the way, Mr. Whatever your name is-"
"Mr. Arnold"
"Yeah, whatever, listen." Mr. Crowley continued, "The reason why you've got nothin' but leaves on your walkway is because you hardly ever take care of the bloody thing anyhow! It's not a decoration; it's a living thing! And you can't just occasionally throw water on it and call it a day! You need the right fertilizer, the right amount of water needs to be given to it, and it needs to be at the correct PH levels; otherwise, you're going to keep getting-"
"It could also be because of the local kids running past it, too! Y'know, knocking into it, shaking the leaves down?" Interrupted another shopkeeper.
"Oh yes! I've been getting the same problem with those kids as well!" Said another shopkeeper.
And with that, a completely different conversation about how to keep the children in the area from running in front of their shops had started, and Mr. Crowley quickly faded out.
The shopkeepers felt a little bad later on about interrupting Mr. Crowley and just walking away while he was talking, but they were all too afraid of him to stay and listen to what he had to yell at them.
"This is why I hate these stupid things..." mumbled Mr. Crowley. "No one ever wants to make progress on the things they already do and just wanna make new rules or get new things to distract them from the old problem that's still there. Just put a big bloody bandaid on the whole thing." He mumbled, getting back to his drink, as he sat there contemplating if he should get up and leave.
This also made Mr. Crowley feel rather sad. True he's rather cold towards everyone, but he doesn't necessarily wish to be alone. He just has a hard time making proper connections with people, always has. He doesn't know how to have proper conversation, let alone how to hold one, and he's never really been known to start any either.
He's been alone his entire life. No friends, no relationships, just him, his mom, and his dad, running the plant shop until it was handed down to him from his father until he passed. He's had no one to talk to his entire life since then, except for his plants and the occasional call he gets from his parents old business partners wanting updates on how the shop's going.
He had no one...
No one wanted him there, and no one wanted to hear what he had to say, so he might as well just-
"Well? Continue what you were saying!
END.