Chapter Text
Snowflora- Flower Shop
Coriolanus cast an exasperated glance around the flower shop, its atmosphere a peculiar blend of gothic allure, chic elegance, and old-fashioned charm. Dim light filtered through stained glass windows, casting intricate patterns on the worn wooden floor. Antique vases and ornate pots adorned with ivy and moss dotted the shelves, showcasing an array of flowers that seemed to have their own silent conversations.
As Tigris launched into another enthusiastic rant about Lucy Grey, Coriolanus reluctantly directed his attention to the task at hand. He sprayed a mist of water over the Lewisia and White Tulip, trying to lose himself in the rhythmic sound of droplets hitting the soil. The scent of lavender hung in the air, intertwining with the subtle aroma of aged leather and musty books.
“She is sooo pretty; her name is Lucy Grey. Like that poem, Lucy Gray,” Tigris gushed, her voice resonating with an almost musical quality that clashed with the somber ambiance of the flower shop. Coriolanus rolled his eyes discreetly, questioning the authenticity of Tigris' supposed connection with the enigmatic Lucy Grey.
“That's nice, Tigris,” he responded, feigning interest as he delicately removed a thorn from a bouquet of roses. The crimson petals seemed to deepen in color under the low light, adding a touch of drama to the display. Coriolanus couldn't help but feel a sense of irony in arranging flowers that symbolized love while being subjected to Tigris' relentless pursuit of the elusive Lucy Grey.
The flower shop, with its shadowy corners and antique charm, felt like a haven for secrets. The walls, adorned with ivy and trailing vines, whispered tales of forgotten romances and unrequited love. The gothic undertones of the decor clashed intriguingly with the chic arrangements that graced the counters, creating a peculiar but captivating atmosphere.
Coriolanus sighed inwardly, his mind wandering to the unexpected predicament that had forced him into this floral sanctuary. His father's prolonged stay in District 2 had left him tethered to the shop, a place he had never imagined spending his time. The gothic allure and vintage charm were lost on him as he begrudgingly navigated the world of petals and thorns.
While Tigris continued her animated monologue about Lucy Grey, Coriolanus found solace in the intricate details of the shop. The wrought-iron chandeliers hanging from the ceiling cast soft, warm light over the floral arrangements, highlighting the delicate beauty of each bloom. Gothic arches framed the entrance, their dark wood contrasting with the vibrant hues of the flowers.
The display tables, adorned with lace doilies and antique candle holders, showcased a curated selection of blossoms that seemed to defy the passage of time. The juxtaposition of elegance and decay created an otherworldly charm that drew customers seeking something beyond the ordinary. Coriolanus, however, remained an unwilling participant in this floral escapade.
As Tigris prattled on about Lucy Grey's supposed allure, Coriolanus couldn't help but wonder if the elusive girl even knew she was the subject of such fervent discussions. He glanced at the collection of vintage teacups, each holding a delicate posy of forget-me-nots, and mused about the irony of his situation.
The air in the shop hung heavy with the scent of roses and the subtle undertones of ancient parchment. Dust motes danced in the filtered light, creating an ethereal ambiance that seemed to envelop the flower shop in a timeless embrace. Coriolanus caught between the gothic allure and his own reluctance, couldn't wait for the day when he could escape the floral prison and return to a world less adorned with petals and more grounded in reality.
"You just have to meet them. OH! Coriolanus, can you be a dear and order some coffee for us from the coffee shop? Please, please," Tigris exclaimed. Coriolanus, with an eye roll that mirrored his reluctance, responded, "Sure, fine. But you are paying," he said, holding his hand out as his cousin slapped some money into it.
"OK, bye-bye. You will love it. The coffee is so good. Oh! Maybe you will meet someone cute," Tigris chirped, ushering Coriolanus toward the door and pushing him out of the shop. The heavy door closed behind him with a soft creak, leaving him to navigate the streets adorned with the remnants of autumn leaves. The gothic allure of the flower shop has now been replaced by the brisk chill of the coffee shop just across the street.
Coriolanus ambled across the brick road, devoid of the usual hustle and bustle of cars, as the Capitol took pride in its efficient public transportation system. His gaze ascended to the coffee shop and bakery, a rustic charm emanating from its weathered exterior. The sign, proudly displaying "The District," drew a subtle tch from Coriolanus. The influx of various districts into the Capitol had triggered his father's concerns, fearing that their provincial ideas might tarnish the pristine image of the Capitol. His mother, on the other hand, advocated for giving them a chance. His mother always has a bleeding heart, but his father has always been foolish about her, so he backed down and away when his mother said to drop it.
As he approached the entrance, a sense of nostalgia clung to the surroundings. The quaint exterior, though charming, bore the weight of time. The wooden facade, once vibrant, had weathered into a warm, earthy tone, revealing the passage of years. Ivy tendrils embraced the corners of the building, weaving a tale of nature's attempt to reclaim what once belonged to it.
The sign, displaying the shop's name in bold letters, hinted at a simpler time when handcrafted elegance trumped modern aesthetics. The paint now faded and cracked, whispered stories of countless seasons, each leaving its mark on the once-vibrant establishment. Coriolanus couldn't help but ponder the clash between the Capitol's polished exterior and the charming weariness of The District's facade.
The brick road beneath his feet added to the quaint ambiance, the irregular patterns hinting at a craftsmanship long abandoned in favor of more contemporary conveniences. The absence of cars allowed the echoes of his footsteps to resonate through the quiet street, creating a serene backdrop for the coffee shop's rustic charm.
The Capitol's insistence on incorporating various districts had brought about a clash of cultures, evident in the amalgamation of architectural styles. The Capitol's sleek modernity, with its towering structures and pristine facades, collided with the modest elegance of The District. Coriolanus, caught at this intersection, couldn't help but feel a sense of dissonance.
Pushing open the door, the quaint jingle of a bell announced his arrival. The warmth from the inside spilled onto the rustic porch, inviting him to step into a space frozen in time. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, instantly enveloping him in a comforting embrace. Coriolanus, momentarily shielded from the apprehensions about the district influx, stepped into the coffee shop, eager to explore the charm hidden within its vintage walls.
The District – Coffee shop and bakery.
Coriolanus approached the worn counter, manned by a boy who couldn't have been more than 17. Engrossed in his task, the young worker looked up briefly, flour-dusted hands powering through a batch of donuts. "I'll be with you soon," he assured Coriolanus, his attention momentarily diverted by the sweet confections taking shape before him.
As Coriolanus waited, he took a moment to survey the surroundings of the coffee shop and bakery. The interior, a testament to the passage of time, echoed the rustic charm of its exterior.
Weathered wooden tables, each with its own story etched into the grain, filled the space. Vintage mismatched chairs embraced the patrons with a sense of familiarity, each creaking softly as someone shifted their weight. A collection of faded photographs adorned the walls, capturing moments frozen in sepia tones, evoking a nostalgic atmosphere.
The air hummed with the gentle murmur of conversations and the soft whirring of the espresso machine. Dim lighting cast a warm glow, creating pockets of coziness amidst the quaint chaos. The scent of freshly baked pastries mingled with the robust aroma of brewing coffee, enveloping the space in a fragrant symphony.
Behind the counter, shelves showcased an array of baked goods—flaky croissants, decadent cakes, and artisanal bread. The glass display, adorned with delicate lace doilies, held an assortment of cookies and pastries, each a testament to the craftsmanship of the bakers.
The ambiance spoke of a bygone era where community and tradition held sway over the fast-paced world outside. Coriolanus found himself momentarily transported to a place where time seemed to linger, allowing patrons to savor the simple pleasures of life.
His attention was drawn back to the young worker, who, having finished with the donuts, was now focused on the task of brewing coffee. The rhythmic sounds of grinding beans and the hiss of steam added a melodic backdrop to the eclectic scene. As he continued to wait, Coriolanus marveled at the authenticity of The District, appreciating the vintage charm that set it apart from the polished façade of the Capitol. How nice to bring something from the District to the Capitol. How nice.
"Hello, so what can I get you?" inquired the boy, his power-blue shirt adorned with a name tag that read Sejanus. Coriolanus couldn't help but notice that Sejanus was kind of cute.
"A coffee iced but without ice. Heat it to only 40° with no sugar but three teaspoons. Whipped cream, but just two puffs. Extra ice. No cream. Black coffee. Oh, and add a strawberry," Coriolanus specified, handing over a piece of paper to ensure the precision of his order. "And a Honey Roses drink for my cousin Tigris, plus two Lemon Meringue tarts," he added.
Sejanus glanced over the written instructions, a smile playing on his lips. "Got it, coming right up," he responded, the charm of his genuine enthusiasm adding a touch of warmth to the vintage ambiance of The District. Coriolanus settled into the eclectic atmosphere, somewhat eager to see if the coffee lived up to the reputation Tigris had built. Or maybe she has delulu herself into thinking it was good because the so-called Lucy Grey was cute.
After patiently waiting for 10 minutes, Coriolanus settled the bill for the drinks. As he handed over the payment, a girl with dark, curly hair entered the scene. Her locks were pulled up, intertwined with limp wildflowers, and she wore a power-blue dress adorned with delicate flower hand embroidery to the seam.
"Sejanus, Reaper is going to be late today," she informed, the wildflowers in her hair swaying with her movements. "Thank Lucy Grey. Anyway, sir, here is your order and change," Sejanus replied, handing over the carefully prepared items to Coriolanus.
Coriolanus couldn't help but observe the girl, realizing that she must be Lucy Grey. There was a certain enchantment about her, with the wildflowers in her hair adding an ethereal touch to her appearance. He could sense the reason for Tigris' fascination but found himself unable to fully grasp the underlying why. Perhaps Tigris would elaborate during one of her infamous rants.
Snowflora - the flower shop
Coriolanus placed the carefully crafted drinks and tarts on the checkout counter, right in front of Tigris, who eagerly snatched her drink and extracted a slip from it. "Ah, the sweet, sweet brown nectar of the gods. Yumm, thank you, Coryo!" she exclaimed, savoring the first sip of her coffee.
With Tigris contentedly immersed in her coffee, Coriolanus delved into the next hour, navigating the diverse tapestry of flower orders that streamed into the shop. Each customer brought a unique story, and their choice of blooms revealed sentiments as varied as the petals themselves.
A young couple, fingers intertwined, sought the perfect bouquet to celebrate their anniversary. They leaned toward romantic red roses, symbolizing their enduring love, with a touch of vibrant lilies to represent the passion that ignited their journey together. Coriolanus meticulously arranged the flowers, weaving a visual ode to their shared history.
In the corner, an elderly woman with wisps of silver hair was drawn to delicate daisies and lilacs. Her order reflected a nostalgic yearning for the past, as she sought to recreate the wildflower meadows of her youth. Coriolanus carefully arranged the blossoms, infusing the bouquet with a subtle, timeless elegance that mirrored the woman's enduring memories.
A bohemian artist, adorned in flowing fabrics and eclectic accessories, requested an avant-garde arrangement. Unconventional wildflowers, like sunflowers and dahlias, were to be entwined with whimsical vines, capturing the essence of creativity and artistic spirit. Coriolanus, embracing the challenge, crafted a bouquet that mirrored the vibrant soul of the artist.
A shy, bespectacled man stepped forward, hesitating before expressing his desire to send flowers to a colleague. Unsure of the appropriate choice, he sought Coriolanus' guidance. Together, they selected a blend of elegant orchids and subtle baby's breath, symbolizing admiration and friendship. The resulting bouquet spoke volumes, conveying a message that transcended words.
As Coriolanus meticulously arranged each order, the flower shop transformed into a kaleidoscope of emotions. The intoxicating fragrance of blooms mingled with the palpable excitement and nostalgia that filled the air. The antique vases and ornate pots embraced each bouquet, becoming vessels of untold stories and unspoken sentiments.
The diverse array of patrons brought forth a tapestry of requests, ranging from celebratory bouquets to somber sympathy arrangements. A young student, burdened with the weight of exams, sought the vibrancy of sunflowers to uplift her spirits. A middle-aged man, navigating the complexities of love, opted for classic red roses to convey his heartfelt emotions.
Amid the floral symphony, Coriolanus couldn't help but appreciate the significance each order held for the customers. The language of flowers transcended mere aesthetics; it became a medium for expressing the intricate nuances of human emotion.
As the hour unfolded, Coriolanus seamlessly weaved together the threads of joy, sorrow, love, and friendship into a canvas of blossoms. The flower shop, with its gothic allure and vintage charm, stood witness to the myriad stories encapsulated within each carefully arranged bouquet.
The checkered floor, now strewn with fallen petals, bore witness to the passage of time and the fleeting nature of beauty. Coriolanus, amidst the blooms and thorns, found himself immersed in the art of storytelling through petals and stems. Each order was a chapter, and the flower shop, with its unique ambiance, provided the backdrop for the unfolding narratives of the customers who sought solace, celebration, or a simple expression of sentiment.
As the day neared its end, Coriolanus prepared to close the flower shop when an unexpected visitor walked in. The boy from across the street, Sejanus, entered with a shy demeanor, apologizing for coming close to closing time.
"Hello, sorry for coming before you guys close, but do you have any flowers? I'll take anything," Sejanus inquired, his gaze fixated on the floor.
"It's fine. We have some leftover flowers from orders," Coriolanus assured him, reaching for a selection of blooms. He presented Snowdrops, Sunflowers, and Red Chrysanthemums, a modest assortment that caught Sejanus's attention.
"Hmm, red Chrysanthemum. You know that means love in the language of flowers," Sejanus remarked, paying for the chosen blossoms.
"I did not know that flowers could have a language," Coriolanus confessed, his indifference toward flowers momentarily overshadowed by Sejanus's enthusiasm. He couldn't deny the appeal of listening to the charming boy speak, even if it was about the symbolic language of blooms. As Sejanus left with his unexpected floral purchase, Coriolanus couldn't help but wonder if the flowers would convey a message beyond the confines of the floral shop.
Coriolanus closed down the flower shop, a tinge of weariness evident in his movements. He cast a glance at his cousin, Tigris, who lingered as if tethered to the shop by an invisible force.
"Come on, Tigris, it's time to go," Coriolanus urged, sensing her reluctance to leave. With a playful groan, Tigris feigned the need for more coffee, though Coriolanus saw through the ruse. It wasn't the caffeine she craved but rather the chance to cast heart-eyed glances in the direction of Lucy Grey, the captivating girl from the coffee shop.
Rolling his eyes at Tigris's antics, Coriolanus couldn't help but appreciate the subtle dance of emotions woven into the fabric of their day. The flower shop, with its tales of love and sentiment, seemed to have left an indelible mark on the pair.
The dining room - the Snow's Penthouse
Coriolanus and Tigris sat down to a simple meal prepared by the family's chef, assisted by Coriolanus's mother and grandmother. The dining table was adorned with an array of dishes, each a culinary masterpiece.
"What did you do today, Coryo, baby?" Coriolanus's mother inquired, savoring the flavors of the double-smoked salmon with horseradish cream.
"The same old, same old. I did visit the coffee shop and bakery Tigris was ranting about," Coriolanus replied, deftly cutting the seared scallops and baby spinach with spiced pomegranate glaze into smaller pieces.
"Tch, the one run by district people. Tch. Tigris, why must you have a crush on a district girl? Tch, tch," Coriolanus's grandmother interjected, enjoying her steak and potatoes.
"Grandmother, so you're okay with me being a lesbian?" Tigris questioned her, playfully poking at her lemony mussels with cherry tomatoes and potatoes.
"Yes, that's right," affirmed Coriolanus's grandmother.
"As long as she is not from a district," Tigris added.
"Yes, it's good that you now get it. The Cardew family has a nice older daughter who is like you. Lesbean or something. Very nice," Grandma continued, the conversation weaving seamlessly with the delicate flavors of the diverse dishes on the table. The family, bound by shared meals and shared stories, found comfort in both tradition and acceptance.
Tigris let out a sigh, her gaze fixed on her plate, before expressing, "Grandma'ma, you cannot control what the heart wants to love."
"Tch, that's a lie. I controlled my heart into loving your grandfather, and look what it got me. Nice things," retorted Coriolanus's grandmother, her conviction evident as she continued to enjoy her meal.
Coriolanus, caught in the crossfire of the spirited exchange between his cousin and grandmother, focused on his plate, silently savoring the seared scallops and baby spinach with spiced pomegranate Glaze. The familial banter over matters of the heart played out around him, a lively backdrop to the simple yet exquisite flavors on his plate. The essence of love, in its various forms, lingered in the air, intertwined with the aromas of the delicious dishes on the dining table.