#flora 01

Come to think of it; the goose has gotten a fabulous bow on its arrival; even if that doesn't fix the fact that it still has no residence. The only issue is that it cannot take the bow on by their own, now just holding it in its beak. Oh wait— This particular stranger got a similar red bow tying her hair! Surely this bowfessional could help the goose.

With that said, it placed the bow right before the strangers' feet. Hopefully, they'll understand.

Klavier takes Vongole for a walk every day in the park, and there’s always something new to see. That’s one of the things he likes most about this place-- it’s never boring in the slightest.

For instance, today there’s a girl in the park keeping watch over a robot. She looks happy watching it color and pick flowers, and it’s not until he meets her eyes that he realizes he’s been standing there an awfully long time.

The door creaks and groans. Its louder now than it had once been, but still ignites a smile that just reaches a dark blue battle worn gaze. Dry, ill taken care of leather, shifts and cracks as he sits down and hands run along the tarnished steering wheel. Hardly paying mind to the car salesman that's jabbering on about why he would want a piece of junk like this. That they were selling it for parts not whole sale.

A mixture of smells assault him all at once. Stale cigarettes, old leather and metal, and the faintest scent of something sweeter. Something he knows no one would notice but him. The creak and groan of the door again, as he slams it shut echos in the early morning, and he slides the key into the ignition. Eyes fall shut as the key is rotated and the engine turns over in complaint several times. A boot clad foot gives the gas pedal the slightest pressure, and the old heart catches. Another hitching sort of smile graces his lips, at the breathed "I'll be damned" that slips from the salesman.

He pulls out of the lot, rolling the window down as he goes. It felt a little odd re-paying for the K10 Chevy, but he couldn't control the things that had gone wrong while he'd been gone. Only try to fix them.  And this truck is his first attempt to put things right again.

He lights a smoke, settling back into an ever so familiar position. An unconscious glance to his right, and the smile that had been growing on his face falls away. The stark reminder that the rest of the cab is empty washes over him. A deep drag is pulled from the cigarette, and forced out in thick clouds from his nose. Jaw working hard against itself as the grip on the steer wheel shifts and flexes.                 {Those things are goin' to kill you one day yea know...}

He snorts quietly, chin ducking a moment before returning his gaze to the road. The soft chastising voice, that really isn't there, just audible over the engine and the wind whipping by. Maybe he is a glutton for punishment. Maybe he just can't let go of the good times. The small moments in his life that had been happy. Beacons that gave him respite from a life time of pain and grief. And most of the those small moments had been in or around this truck. When a tiny blonde thing had been hanging out the passenger window yelling at him to speed up. Or snuggling up against him, under the blanket in the back, talking about her dreams and who she wanted to be.