Chapter Text
The rattling of a carriage arrived on the petalclad paths of Florarium in such a haste.
Opening the mansion door was a rosy haired man, elegant in his tailored suit and drapey tailcoat. Not even a child of the villages on the mountains would be mistaken, that this buoyant man was a figure of the high. He was no other the Young Master of the household, offering such rare hospitality for an aristocrat on the day he will be promoting his butler to a far more prestigious role of a detective assistant for the sake of a stolen rare seed.
“Finally! Sir Finch ? I've been expecting you.” He tipped his hat, getting a bow in respect. “Allow me to guide your way, sir.”
In this age, flowers are the absolute of fortune. No ballrooms and meetings and offices are left without a feat of these delicate decor. Blossoms and bells and chrysanthemums of one's choice, are bought in extravagant amounts from this very industrial empire. “The City of Violets” they say of Rhinebeck, perhance an insider knows, that this massive greenhouse is owned by the Violettes, as one would say this is too much of a coincidence.
A coincidence is nothing in contrast to a distress call from the Violettes, a rare hybrid of a blossom seed—without trace— has been reported missing according to their testimonies. A rare blooming blossom seed meant to debut at a ball a finger’s length away on the calendar, to perform and shine its charm and grant the family a crown for their excellent performance. Hence, through the telegram Detective Gideon Finch was called, to thoroughly assess the situation and secure the unfortunate seed.
Thus, the roseate young man—nicknamed Baablu—led them into the conservatory of the estate. Bows were given from the hallway-dwelling personnels along the way. There, adjacent to the imported wood railing of the couches patiently stood a prickly-faced man, or rather, an axolotl-man, in a duffle coat, hat, and equipped with a trunk packed to the brim with his needs for the investigation days.
Baablu sat down on the wooden couch, gesturing towards the cushion of the piece of furniture in front of him. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“This is my butler, Mr. Brooks.” He started. “Here and there we call him Fantst.”
Fantst showed a slight bow. “My pleasure.”
What a peculiar attitude does this man possessed. A handshake would've been appropriate, wouldn't it?
“I figured out he'd be the perfect candidate to assist you with our crisis.” Baablu continued. “He had shown excellence in the assisting of various affairs, he had proven himself to be trusted. Such excellence couldn't go to waste.”
Detective Finch placed his gaze upon Fantst. The salamander-being had sharp, keen eyes. His gills exhibited traces of work, scarring on his sapphire skin apparent. That could only mean two, a clumsy one of a servant or a hard-working man of dedication, although the latter seemed more evident.
“—He had told me he was in search of a new career and I believe having him assist you by your side is a promotion so worth considering.”
Detective Finch observed the rigid salamander.
“Do you have anything of your own to say, Mr. Brooks? Your master seems to have placed his trust upon yourself.”
“In retrospect, I will not disappoint with my performance — as your assistant.”
That was all he needed to hear. Detective Finch was in need of an inside person to deal with such a case, especially one capable butler that have had the leadership of a grand manor in his palms. He nodded, officially establishing the ex-butler as his very own assistant.
“My pleasure, sir.”
Baablu looked delightful as he clasped both of his hands together, following them back to the carriage he personally had called for the meeting.
“Please treat him how you'd want to be treated.” He joined his hands with the detective's, in which he acknowledged with a reassuring shake.
The rattles of the carriage wheels were the last thing heard in the grasslands of Florarium while Fantst shared one last eye contact with his master.