wildflowers

» “You’re welcome. Sorry they’re a bit big…”

» He shoved his hands back into his pockets. The body heat emanating from there would keep his hands warm, as would the sleeves from his coat should he choose to pull his hands up into the fabric. If she didn’t have to suffer from the cold, all the better.

» The florist watched her a moment, then adverted his gaze. It was rather impolite to stare. After a moment, he glanced back at her again, emeralds questioning.

» “Have you had breakfast or lunch yet? If not, I insist you come with me. My treat.”

» His question caught her off guard. "Actually, I--"

» She faltered. Thinking back on it, she had, indeed, skipped breakfast that morning. It was one of her worst habits; she became so involved in her work that she would simply forget to eat. The emptiness of her stomach was much more apparent now that attention had been brought to it. Plus, if it would get him out of the cold...

» Cam raised a brow, watching her inspect her hands. He knew the look and feel all too well. Gloves generally got in his way whenever handling the thin reedy stems of flowers. He had already lost his weight in winter days how many times someone had laughed at his handiness for such a thing.

» “It’s my day off from the shop,” he replied, easing back into a casual manner. “I usually just go from the outskirts on these days, but thought I’d explore a bit more. I needed it, too. Everyone’s going stir-crazy because of the weather…”

» The florist paused a moment, regarding his tone. He wasn’t much to talk outwardly, let alone talk at all. Perhaps it was just talking with someone with a like mind? He blinked; perhaps best not to put too much in it.

» Emerald eyes trailed back to her hands, a frown creasing his lips. While he understood working freely with no borders, the cold elicited frostbite amid other dangers. Such a notion wasn’t appealing at all and he soon found himself pulling his hands out of his pockets to inspect his own. 

» “… Not to sound rude, but have you ever tried something like mittens instead of bulky gloves?” He wriggled his fingers, hands encased in a pair of light purple yarn material. “It’s not much, but it’s an extra layer of protection from the cold, at least, and it’s still easy to feel about…”

» Admittedly, though she had indeed considered the use of thinner gloves, the idea was almost immediately dismissed in her mind. How much difference could a thin piece of fabric make? had always been her though process when contemplating. Surely, it would be a waste of time.

» Before she could voice any of this, however, her eyes widened as he pulled off his own mittens and held them out to her. Surprise coloured her expression. She debated insisting that he keep them, not wanting for him to suffer due to her own stupidity, but she'd always been taught it was impolite to refuse a gift.

» "Thank you." 

» Accepting the offer, she pulled the garments onto her cracked, frostbitten hands. She noted that his hands were bigger than hers, so the material extended slightly past the tips of her fingers. Still, she marvelled at how much better it felt to have an additional layer between her skin and the wind. 

» “…Reina?”

» So it was her. He nodded in response to her query, touching the tip of his houndstooth cap in greeting. The florist should have figured to see her out and about; why such a thing surprised him now was beyond him. Still, it made for useful chatter.

» "I come to the mountain most days -- even in winter." She sighed at the last part, examining her freezing hands. Mako tried to insist that she take gloves on her excursions, but she couldn't properly examine anything with stiff fabric separating the contact.

» Cam hadn’t been one for the weather as of late. The chill in the air penetrated skin deep to the bone, enveloping his lean frame in a whirlwind of icy intrigue. It only worsened physically when he was forced to wear a coat and scarf in conjunction to the violet hat perched atop honeyed strands — how was he to move in the damn wear? At that, did the goddess herself even -think- about how he were to sell flowers looking like a complete fool (his stylish business attire flanked by the warmth of sheep’s wool)? … Oh, of course not!

» Lucky for everyone involved currently (or, perhaps, not) the florist had happened upon another day off from his tedious duties at the flower stand. Catlike (or with the intent of), he traversed the mountainside, quite happy to be away from Bluebell and most of its people — not to say he didn’t love the quaint little country town; a change in scenery was all he really needed from time to time and it just so happened such a measure was the day for that. Purple bestowed him, of course; he quite liked the color, from the alpaca down coat with its violet exterior to the tartan scarf interweave of like color. Moving in it with ease was a different story altogether.

» “Hmm…?”

» Adjusting the scarf around his face, green eyes scanned the grounds before him as he halted. Cam had traveled the mountains dozens of times during his stay in Bluebell and each expedition held something different for him. It looked like this excursion would be no different.

» “…Is that?”

» The changing seasons from fall to winter had already started to affect the flora on the mountainside. Plants that had been rigid and green a week prior were already beginning to wilt. Reina would often take dying plants back to her study to determine why they were drooping, but although she could deal with diseased roots or blocked stomata, there was no way of protecting them from the harsh weather.

» Finally, she reached the higher area of Bluebell's mountainside, her chosen field of study that day. A patch of wildflowers had sprouted by the bridge, despite the cold weather, and Reina got to work on why that might be.

» Minutes, or perhaps hours later -- time-keeping became difficult when she was absorbed in her work -- Reina was distracted by the sound of crunching footsteps in the decaying leaves. She looked up in surprise, squinting at the figure.