won't you shake a poor sinner's hand?

 “HEY! Hey! You home, bokor boy?” A lilting snake’s hiss traced over the air, as the carnation skulked about the area. 

She had a hand firmly planted against her cheek, and a scowl marring her so-called sweet face. Agnes eventually settled down, her other hand against her metaphorical hip; If anyone knew anything about her teeth, by now, it was the voodoo man of Inkwell Isle.

 Pulling away from the counter, he gave himself a moment to ponder what he could use for a predicament such as hers. Agnes was always a special case... one of a few. What was it with him and flowers?

 The cabinet drew open with ease, his hand absently fingering through the mismatch group of bottles, all filled with something or another and labelled haphazardly. He knew she would come back again, so he’d prepared just a bit in advance. 

 A pink vial was held in his hand, along with a few carnation stems. His arm cradled a mass of vials close to his person, and, with a high-pitched whistle, there were a few nonnies at his sides, carrying the things he could not. Among them, a medium-sized cauldron, a mass of even more vials, and a bag that jingled and clacked as they moved along. 

 The door creaked open as he approached, though not he nor nonnie had pushed it. A sigh escaped him as he set all his things down, though he knew this was hardly necessary... but perhaps it was.

Let’s Go // Stuck in the Sound

   “If we were made of cellophane we’d all get stinking                                          drunk but FASTER!!”