and when i go to sleep

There was absolutely, positively no way that the eccentric child that just acquired her attention were on the same page. But that was their best feat, she’d realized.

   Bath bombs? Something she was familiar with. Were miracles packed into small compact globes of heaven, that smelled of infinitely better than some potpourri, far beyond her time but -- she had figured them out. The same concept as filling your tub with flower petals, but why go through that trouble now?

   “I don’t know, but it sounds like something we have to keep away from the good people of the street.” Her voice gives away to a giggle, as she took the top of the sign and flipped it around, feigning flustered when the exact same text printed was on the other side.

“We need to keep this a secret.” Daisy takes down the sign, draping it around the child’s neck. “Are you good with secrets? We’ll buy every one of them. -- Test them out in the fountain over there, and if we deem them dangerous, we have to find a way to hide them.”

“Would you like to try one out?” She whispers excitedly under her breath, “Look,” she points at a higher shelf, ushering the child to the corner where they were all on display. “That one says birthday cake. I wonder.” 

It’s just spots of rain that drizzle the unwary; it’s been thundering for the entire standstill of the morning and pent up inside she’s had enough. Naturally, coat, flats, and hat, and a spacious clear umbrella that has enough room for two -- or three, if they’re so inclined to squeeze. 

She hears not the scramble of the city square, not the brakes screeching prematurely when the first few drops turn into a merciless pitter patter that she props her umbrella open to counter. It’s whining.  

“Get on under. It’s just a little bit of rain.” She taps the sidewalk with a pronounced clack of her heel, “If you’re scared of getting rained on then might as well hold it yourself.” 

“Haven’t you a hat on your person? Your nice hair will get drenched.” Daisy remarks, “There’s a boutique that sells large brimmed ones if you’re interested.” 

“Dear, if there were any fairer flower in the garden than the one that waltzed in at the moment, perhaps they’d grow themselves.” The woman tuts under her breath, carrying her watering can with her -- a packet of seeds in her other palm. “If they all looked like you, I’m sure they’d never feel neglected.”

“But I’m glad that at least one of these has more luster than the rest?” She muses, her voice betraying the dulce quality to her exasperated thank you, it is what it is. 

“What’s your name? Perhaps if you’re not in a rush you can help me restore life to some of these fading ones. Sunlight, water, fresh air,” she shakes her head, “doesn’t do no good if there’s no one to look fondly upon them, tell them how well they’re doing. How pretty each of them are.”

She shrugs dismissively, expecting the girl to get bored or better yet leave. 

“They’re ruthless if they can be.” Daisy nods, sugarcoating it for the vigilant would be easier but that’s what she does around the clock. She doesn’t advocate heartbreak trending so early, for singles, this month meant getting clipped out of deals -- they had the whole week of brooding, and post-disaster ahead to look forward to.

But then again, that’s where most of their sales go. “I assume you’re trying to surprise your certain someone, how thoughtful.” She muses, sticking with a script to guarantee the knight leeway.

“Come on in.” Daisy beckons the girl into the shop, “Everything’s going fast.” She lies. As she keeps the door open, the scent of molten chocolate pouring out the entrance. 

   “We’re sampling to our favored customers until the end of the day.” 

   The lady whisks a few skewered strawberries off the stand and waves them like a wand at the rigid girl in the doorway, “One of each is our policy, but how will you know what to get if you don’t try?”

[ Text ] To: ???

[ Text ]: Why do you want me to play piano for someone else as a gift??

She hasn’t entirely figured out how people are so dexterous with the series of keys, no matter how small her hands are. -- So she scrawls out her greetings in ink instead.

{Image sent}

Handwritten: Being able to play an instrument is a gift? 

She scrunches up her nose, pointing her camera out the window at a tuning specialized shop.

{Voice message sent} 

???: Do you see that button to the right of where your words appear? Tap it once, start playing! Then tap it again when you’re done.

We’ll see if you have what it takes to give it away as a gift. 

{Image sent}

Handwritten: I’m not free the fourteenth! Second to last busiest day of the year. -D.B.

It reminded him of a few charity events his parents had him attend throughout the years, the atmosphere did. And while several others were alone and bored out of their minds like him, Warren honed in on one out of them all.

Staring up at the sky as if it had some answer, the older woman was dressed up in the finest clothes and her posture was well-kept. She must be used to this sort of event, he mused.

He’s poised, he has manners, and that’s all that matters. 

It’s not as if she means it, unlike her demeanor suggests -- she’s just been doing for this too long. 

He’s hardly made his way over, yet she’s already giving him marks. He may not have dressed himself, who knew -- but he’s clad in modesty: inviting, polite, the welcome type.

She’s very fair, she knows, that’s why she knows when to bother. Like now. Now is a good time to remind herself, she’s not better than this. She’s not above living a little. And she’s not. As bad as people make her out to be.

Regretfully, she thinks, If she were younger - if she didn’t know how to spot people, she’d see things through a rose-lensed filter. 

Taking the young man in on his best behavior, she sips inconscpicuously to settle her nerves -- that is, until she recognizes that glass is probably for her. An uncharacteristic look of sternness dashing her face, cheeks still full with her drink as she looks for where to empty the rest of it.

The white wine unassumingly climbs the sides of her glass, clinking with the one he’s offering her. She nearly misses his entrance, fanning herself as she coughs behind her wrist.

Graceful.

She’d be dense to refuse the amicable guest, as he tides her attention to him she notices the reason her lips are pressed thinly together aren’t because she thinks he’ll ask anything of her. Not here to impress her. Not like how it usually is.

Because she’s definitely not in her element tonight. 

For the time it takes her to blink, her bright gaze falters as she quizzically searches for evidence he saw her little blunder. Exhaling with a botched laugh, she clinks his drink one more time. 

“I’m afraid I started celebrating before anyone told me I could.” 

   “Red for a woman you just met sends intense committment, I’m not sure you’re aware ...lest you’re intending to wine and dine her.” She offers him a simper, “Have you ever tried rosé mixed properly? That’s a notch behind red.” Daisy nods, gesturing towards the bar, “We should try, I’ve heard it gets the tight-lipped to speak. It’ll make us look a little less trying, as guests.”

   “The ...problematically educated people of this city, usually have a say in that kind of thing.” Daisy mentions, “Venus fly traps, perhaps? Those are handy in the home.” She mutters and tilts her head, “Things that drink up sunshine? Need to be sang to?”

“Do they speak?” With a flick of her hand she notes all the imaginary draw backs, deeds that a rogue plant could do, “Why,” circling at her wrist. She pauses, “It’s nothing you can put on display at your quaint little shop?”

Baxter tipped the glass in his hand back and forth on the table. It was a slow motion, left little crescents of moisture on the polished wood in front of him. He watched them, eyes trailing over the drops that glinted in the dim light. He could hear the ceiling fan above him creaking, just a little.

It was hard to remember the last time he had a drink. It was even harder to remember the last time a beer was everything it was cracked up to be. Maybe he was buying something too cheap, but the thought of blowing hard cash on liquor made him nauseous without even taking a sip…

… oh. Somebody sat down in the empty stool beside him, huh? Might as well thank them for pulling him out of melancholy land.

There’s a careful offchance he might want something more, but she’s ...known to get herself out of unwelcome situations. She’s going to overcome the worst, which sits at the glance of loneliness that this stranger seemingly has no problem partaking in. 

Her eye lids pull half shut, watching him in this dazed lull that defines him as the attraction of the evening. That’s what she is --entranced. 

“If I can see you finish your drink first? 

I think that’s only fair.” She clinks her glass against his, “They conned me in for limoncello and gave me fresh-pressed lemonade. Can you believe that?” 

She adjusts her dress of volume to show just enough bare ankle, complete with an anklet with a locket on it. Which just seals the deal, as she gasps feign surprise to pat down her full skirts and pulls a pout. 

@ritchassbaxterd

“Buchanan?” She pines, “I’ll only share a drink with someone who’ll take the name Buchanan. It’s mine.” Daisy keels over in a fit of girlish giggles, “I”m joking. That’s absolutely a joke.” She reaches over and clutches at his wrist with her right hand, pinky finger ringed with one ring.

“And this is ...outdated.” Daisy gives a thin smile, “But it sure wards away the customers. No one wants to talk to a woman who might be engaged.”

"All that heavy jewelry.” dignified or not, it sure seems like a mislocated splurge. Daisy quietly keeps to herself, making blind guesses at how heavily the headpiece weighs on the ruler-type. 

...she imagines it makes it hard to think. 

“How do you do it?” The speaksoftly indulges the astute figure, “You have to allow them at least one day to not be themselves.”

Must be why it’s ‘okay’ to speak such novel things aloud.  Daisy keeps her reservations to herself. “Why, isn’t there anyone you ever wanted to be? Someone not important?” she puts the words into the matriarch’s mouth, Someone every one doesn’t know your name? 

          dag, upon entering the park and drawing close to           her makeshit, questionably-legal garden, noticed           a smattering of color among the green sprouts.

“It takes a true beauty to catch life before its cue,” Daisy reaches over the garden wall, skimming the sprouts with her palm, “seeing them before it’s their turn, climbing out the cracks. A novel endeavor.”

“Would you look at that.” Inconspicuously, Daisy tugs the pair of white clovers out from behind her, dusting off the roots. She cuts off the stem over her knee, passing it on over into the garden and hovers it in front of the dag’s face. 

   Wading in without a great sweep of prelude, Daisy tugs the shrine door behind her shut as it slams on its hinges, announcing her rude self-invitation in. 

She doesn’t let herself in normally, but for someone charged with watching the entrance of a summer amicable gate, she furthers the process along. 

“You look busy. Why don’t I scope this place, if it’s a coming attraction? 

A bit early for the morning flyer, don’t you think? Your best bets are the working kind setting out for their morning shift.

And then you’ve got me.” She tugs out a small offering from her purse, hanging from a chain she’d borrowed from a former shrine. Every thing rises and falls so quickly again, in this city. 

“Part time? I hope it pays well.” 

   “If you’re starting out, you’re doing very well. Keep it up with that customer smile, This summer stay will gain guests in no time.”

“Why don’t you show me around? Since they have to have some one watching the gate, I’m guessing they put you here.” Daisy turns, carving a semi-circle with her slipper in the courtyard. 

“Hey… anyone know a good place to have a drink around here?”

“I know a place you can wind down if you’re interested.” 

“Not that harsh for the charge, gives you a wind for your money, if you want to run your luck at the the beginning of the week for your buck.” 

“...you should come with me.” 

   Daisy flattens the edge of her clutch, pensively taking in the man that looks like a 7, forget grading by looks - Daisy grades by a hunch, and today the forecast is feeling a scale from 1-10 how much he wants to cry.

She’s guessing it’s a woman, and if they don’t put their umbrellas out, it’s going to pour.

“They know my name down there, they’re very good with names. Can even forget yours, if you like. Next time you look for a venue to take a nice girl, they’re sure to know yours.”

TO: D. BUCHANAN FROM: RASPBEL PRESERVES [1 / 4]: Oh it’s very simple to pick me out of a crowd. [2 / 4]: Pink hair with the shape of wings and snow white skin. [3 / 4]: It’s good to keep myself occupied while in this city. [4 / 4]: You know how boring it can be.

when daisy settles down in front of her, shoving the slack that needs to be picked up for the last two that dined here -- half empty glasses, dishes scraped drizzled with garnish but uninspired, some left entirely untouched. 

she raises her arm without a sound, flagging a waiter that looks busy with his new orders with her hand. he has time for them. hurrying him away with drink orders more complicated with a hint of demanding, but grateful -- she turns to her 

“a tad sketchy to send out a mass invite?--am i the only one showing up, i feel so special.”

she’s just as bored as the pitches sound. if you’re trying to entice someone, this simply isn’t the way to do it.

it all checks out. 

“granted, you could be meeting up with anyone. “do i fit the cut?” her hands draw to her hair, fluffing it up for more volume. 

   Whether he showed up as a sulk, and that dismal hunch was in character, arrived looking for spirits and all the thieving attractions of the hour -- Daisy picked out the ones that made any party look less of a hoot than it was. 

“Would you look at them stuff their faces. I know this is all charity, - for whatever reason, but holidays are a spectacle. For the rest of us.” 

...If you let them. “Gives the rest of us such a bad rep! No fun to be had, when they’re making it look merry for the rest of us. 

Why don’t you and I.” she takes him by the hand, tossing the contents of her drink over her shoulder. “Go show them who’s best dressed?” 

“I, for one, know that they couldn’t pull off your figure.” 

“You look smashing. Do you sip? Need a little boost for confidence?” She tilts her head, squinting to try and locate where she should be staring. He can breathe through that phenomenal mask, yes? 

“Or do you want to go straight in. They won’t even know what hit them. Here, take me by the arm.”