Work Text:
(English is not my native language, so I work with a translator. Sorry for the mistakes)
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Frederick tiredly rubbed his eyes, only to curse in annoyance later - his hands were still dirty after painting, and he didn't want to leave a stain on himself. But everything seemed to be all right - he exhaled heavily, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his palms.
The day was not exactly dull. Customers came to him - unlucky guys, unfaithful husbands, charming girls and women. A delivery of flowers arrived in the morning, which he had recently finally sorted out, interrupted by people wanting to either put together a bouquet from scratch or buy a ready-made one.
It wasn't exactly hard. It was just a bit tedious - sort out the flowers, change the water, cut the ends, put some to be painted. It would be desirable to also keep order in the workplace somewhere along the way. True, he had already gotten used to the fact that it was clean only when you arrived or left.
The rest of the time, a florist's workplace was chaos; these are chopped stems, torn leaves and cut flower buds, broken during transportation. This is a cacophony of ribbons, paper and tools.
There was a certain charm in this. Its own elegance, and at the same time its own coziness.
When the bell above the front door rang, Frederick opened his eyes, not even really trying to look at least somewhat friendly. Alice, of course, tried to scold him for this, that with his cold expression on his face he frightened gentle, trembling ladies and scared away clients.
The man himself only gracefully rolled his eyes, collecting another bouquet in order to put it neatly on the counter later.
And this time, with his usual calm, albeit somewhat tired expression on his face, he looked at the client who had arrived. A new one - he definitely hadn't visited them before. Well, not during his shift, at least.
Broad-shouldered, slightly dark, with dark, casually combed hair, in light gray jeans, a light turtleneck and a leather jacket over it. With a gloomy expression on his face, on which there was just... Oh.
What... Okay, paying too much attention to other people's appearance features, even in your thoughts, is bad form. Frederick won't do that.
«Good day, girl. I need some modest bouquet,» he says, walking closer to the counter. His voice is rough, as if slightly hoarse in the depths - not noticeable to an ordinary person, but Frederick heard it well. He felt almost physically this barely noticeable vibration, distorting the sound.
He smiled coldly, slightly raising his thin eyebrows in some surprise.
Well. It's the first time he's been mistaken for a girl in broad daylight, looking straight into her face. Charming.
«Good afternoon. Who do you need a bouquet for? For what occasion? Are there any special requests, or is everything limited by the budget?» the florist lists quite peacefully, nevertheless looking at the dumbfounded client with cold gray eyes.
He looked a little confused, however, very quickly looking away, coughing slightly.
«For a close friend. We had a fight and I need to apologize. Just pick me some cheap, cute broom, that's all».
Frederick raised his elegant eyebrows a little higher. Still within the bounds of polite bewilderment, but already on the border with frank surprise at someone else's carelessness.
Nevertheless, he nodded briefly and smoothly, coming out from behind the counter and approaching the vases with flowers.
«So you'll trust me to pick you a bouquet? Then... Would a total of up to $40 suit you?» he asks, glancing slightly over his shoulder, while noting that this careless customer is slightly shorter than him. A minor detail, but still.
The client winced slightly, folding his arms across his chest and snorting contemptuously to the side. And Frederick was already expecting a battle and indignation at the cost of the flowers, but surprisingly this man simply nodded with displeasure. The florist had actually named a fair price, and coming to apologize with a bouquet of wild daisies was a frankly pathetic idea.
«The main thing is that there are no roses there. Or at least no thorns,» he notes, and Frederick chuckles faintly.
It’s awful to think so, of course, but a couple of scratches from roses on this face wouldn’t have spoiled anything.
He couldn’t fully understand why this man was causing him such thoughts. Maybe because of his attitude towards flowers. Maybe towards his friend, to whom he wants something “cheaper”.
Maybe Frederick had just had a long, tedious day, and he was still a little tired.
He nods silently, picking up different flowers from a vase and thinking through the overall composition in his head, along with a small detail. Important, of course, but hardly anyone will understand it.
Yellow carnations, basil, orange lilies, laurel, thistle. Exotic, but bright. And eloquent.
He shows this bouquet to the client, who nods his head indifferently, and then goes back to his counter to assemble it completely. Paper, thin paper ribbon and a beautiful fabric ribbon - a standard set.
«Do you need a card?» he asks just as politely, although in his gray eyes, he is sure, devils are dancing. «You can choose, it is attached to the paper»
The man turns his gaze to the outstretched stack of small cardboard. He wants to leave this to the florist, whom he initially mistook for a girl (... what kind of man would work with flowers?), but still reluctantly, as if cautiously, he takes the stack from someone else's neat hands in thin gloves, sorting through the pictures. They all look the same to him, and yet he fishes out the one that looks most like his girlfriend's home garden.
«This one. How much do I owe you?»
Frederick nods understandingly, taking both the selected unscrew and the rest of the stack, so he can attach the flower image with the wishes to the wrapping paper on the front.
«$40. Card, cash?»
The man pays quickly, and then takes the bouquet from someone else's hands, awkwardly pressing it to his chest, however, hiding his awkwardness with a contemptuous snort and grumbling.
Frederick sees him off to the exit with a polite smile, taking this grumbling for a kind of farewell, and then chuckles mockingly.
***
Norton honestly does not understand what he did wrong again. And he feels like a complete idiot - this is unpleasant, especially because he does not understand shit. He brought flowers, thinking that this would be a good gift. He came himself.
And they do not let him past the threshold. And Melly looks at this bouquet so skeptically and coldly that it seems to him that he will still get slapped in the face.
«...What were your wishes for the florist? I can't believe you put this together yourself?» she asks incredulously, still looking rather menacing, with a sullen look that looked as if it was already being dissected.
Norton was taller than her and twice as wide. It didn't help her feel more confident right now.
«I asked for a bouquet to apologize. I had no other wishes»
Melly drawls a hesitant "umm", finally accepting the bouquet from someone else's hands, which accidentally crushed the stems from nerves. I'll have to cut it.
«And nothing more? None of your favorite "cheaper?"»
When Norton irritably looks away to the wall, reluctantly nodding, he suddenly grins. No longer cold and merciless, but a little warmer.
«Campbell, what did you do to the poor florist that he suggested I spank you with a bouquet?» She finally laughs fully, slightly covering her mouth with her free hand, and Norton finally allows himself to relax, realizing that it seems he has been forgiven.
Then her question dawns on him.
«Eh?.. Nothing?.. Just came, just bought. What do you mean, offered? Did he write something on the card?» the man frowns, finally unbuttoning his leather jacket and taking off his shoes, walking into the stranger's house, following his friend.
«Yellow carnations, basil, orange lilies, laurel, thistle», she lists, trimming the stems and straightening the bouquet, slightly crumpled by strangers' hands. «I don't think you know the meaning. And I don't think the florist thought that they would understand».
She smiles slightly again, turning to give Norton a friendly flick.
«I was so angry with you after that conversation, but you know, the way you literally pissed off the florist with one visit, it's funny»
Norton waves his hand irritably, sitting down at the table and laying his head on it, looking up at his friend's actions.
«I don't get the point. Be so kind as to explain it to the dumb workers who don't know anything beyond roses and daisies in flowers. How did he tell you anything?»
«In the language of flowers, which you don't know, naturally, this bouquet called you a greedy, avaricious person. Contempt, hatred, falsehood, indifference and hypocrisy. Such a person, according to the description, can be whipped not only with a bouquet, but with something heavier»
Norton frowned - to tell the truth, he always seemed to have a gloomy face, but when he did this, he became even more sullen.
«...He was offended because I confused him with a girl? Seriously?»
«God, Norton!»
«Well, so what?! Skinny, pale, with long shaggy hair. I never thought that some guy would go to work in a flower shop, so I confused him! Well, who doesn't happen to?»
«It doesn't happen to anyone, you idiot»
***
In general, Norton worked relatively close to that flower shop - he just never went inside before this situation, and didn't even pay attention. And now, every time he passed it, first on his way to work in the workshop, and then from work home, his gaze involuntarily caught the display case with lush bouquets and neat compositions. Usually, as he noticed from behind the large window, Alice, Orpheus's friend, worked there.
So much of a friend that she was more like a younger sister, whom he looked after, rather than sometimes pissing her off. It wasn't that they communicated closely with her, they just knew about each other's existence.
That pale toadstool who sold him a bouquet also flashed there - he guessed that they had 2/2 shifts. While there were no visitors, as the window allowed, he looked like a cold, emotionless statue, methodically trimming stems, making bouquets and cleaning.
He looked like a man who had never held anything heavier than flowers. Skinny and pale, with cold grey eyes and a completely uninterested face.
Well, he was a toadstool. A real one.
No, even better - a piece of dolomite. Just as nasty and ungrateful.
One day, when he is just passing by again, Norton still looks inside - the same chaos behind the florist's counter, bouquets in vases on the display case - and in buckets behind the counter. Torn off leaves, cut off "broken" flowers.
And the same pale florist in the middle of this variety, smiling again in the same subtle way.
«Good afternoon»
«A good joke, genius. Be glad that my friend liked it, otherwise I would have written you such a complaint», Norton grins grimly, leaning his hands on the counter on his side, until on the other side the polite thin smile becomes... Mocking.
What a bastard.
«Glad that she liked it. I am always ready to put together another bouquet for you»
And he smiles.
B*tch. Infuriates.
It's annoying that you can't get to the bottom of it - they don't treat him rudely or tell him to go to hell, but they give him a mocking smile... Well, the cameras don't show that she's like that, he has no doubt about it.
«Sure. Good job, girly».
He chuckles rudely, turning around and walking back out into the street, literally feeling someone else's cold gaze on his back.