This one's for the sake of descriptions. Pull from this list of messes and ground them in situations. Most messes are the sorts of stains and so on that you might see on the Florbo themself; a few might involve the store or work area of the store.

Green fingers: certain stems and leaves stain, especially when you strip the leaves off by wrapping fingers around the stem and just running them down. Snapdragon stems are the worst for this in my experience; most others aren't too bad.

Yellow stains: some lilies have a very orange-yellow pollen. The stamens on these get plucked out so that they don't drop that pollen all over the flowers and, later, some poor recipient's tablecloth. You need to wipe the pollen off with a dry rag; using a wet rag or water only sets the stain into your skin further. Even then, enough contact = yellow stained fingertips, as well as yellow streaks and stains on any clothing or skin those fingertips happen to touch or brush up against. They'll fade or wash out eventually but can be noticeable for a bit, in a dingy sort of way.

Paint Flecks: Florbo might've used some florist spray paint to tint some flowers, or normal spray paint to alter a vase or basket or other container. This can mean speckles, streaks, or smudges on hands, arms, etc.

Glitter: Christmas and Valentine's Day can sometimes involve glittery picks and ornaments added to arrangements. The place I work at glitters everything for Prom. Glitter is always an option even outside of these special occasions. Florbo might well go home with stray flecks of glitter in various places, such as on the face.

Dirt: If the florist has live house plants on offer, they might also have to repot some plants, which can mean dirt on hands/under fingernails.

Sticky fingers: corsage glue is the worst. Tacky, slow to set, easy to spread. Create enough corsages and the fingers will come in contact with it. It's hard to pick off them even when dry. On a similar but less extreme note: there's this stretchy florist's wrap tape, usually green or brown, used to wrap the stems of boutonnieres. It's papery but there's just a bit of tackiness to it when stretched, which is how it sticks to itself. Use it enough, and that faint tackiness is left behind. Also also: pine sap. More of a hazard in the winter when that kind of greenery tends to be used, and can be mitigated by using hand sanitizer rather than trying to wash with water and soap, but it can persist even so.

Leaves n stuff in hair: less common in my experience but occasionally a possibility, especially with certain kinds of houseplants (ferns) or if working with dried moss (tangly, esp. spanish moss) around the bases of said plants.

Leaf and Stem mess all over work floor: Florbo perhaps has had a very very busy day to have scattered so much and not had time to sweep. I usually don't see this except around Mother's Day and V-Day, but that might be down to shop differences; some shops might allow clippings to accumulate on the floor and only sweep them up at the end. Even if big trash cans are available, not all trimmings go where aimed; some ricochet, bounce, or drop at a time not expected.

Blood: very uncommon very bad day, but always technically a possibility in a profession that involves a fair few sharp objects (stem clippers, trimming knives, boxcutters, broken vases, once or twice a really evil rose thorn that catches you just wrong). Severity will vary greatly. There'll be bandaids/a first aid kit in a cupboard in the back of the shop for sure.

Water on floor/soaked Florbo: could be anything from a spilled vase to a full on plumbing issue or leaky roof. A florist has to have access to water, probably some kind of work sink or other - something could've gone very wrong with pipes or nozzle. I've also worked in a place with a leaky roof and, when there was construction going on up there, a badly timed and very heavy storm resulted in an unplanned indoor water feature coming down from the ceiling. : )

Use any of these to describe a Florbo who is (or has been) hard at work recently. Mix n match if you like - maybe the length of their index finger and thumb are stained green from stripping leaves, but the tips are yellow from picking out pollen-laden stamens from lilies. Perhaps they've got flecks of red and gold glitter on their face and pine sap stickiness on their hands because xmas is coming and the people want their table centerpieces. Maybe they're slightly damp and frazzled because they had to move a bunch of display stuff in the store and set out half a dozen buckets to catch the drips and oh my god the landlord heard about this one.

there's a voice in the back of avery's head that tells her she can comb out her own hair. she's three days post-appendectomy, not dying. and that voice actually isn't in the back, it's more in the middle, but really she's gonna be okay with not listening to it in exchange for getting fed the fanciest broccoli cheddar soup she's ever had in her life while max braids her hair. " well, you're pulling my — ow ! "

Two Birds On A Wire…

chapter 1 is here 

Lance & Hunk & Pidge (Voltron), Pidge & Hunk (Voltron), Fluff and Humour, 2.2k Words

Summary: Nothing is more frustrating than someone quickly finding something you’ve been looking for forever. Moms are excellent at this skill. Funnily enough, so is Lance. 

---

Hunk jumps out of his skin as Pidge bursts into his room, looking rather panicked.

“Hunk you have got to help me,” she says desperately, before Hunk could even open his mouth to ask her what was wrong.

Hunk is vaguely worried she might pass out. Her face is concerningly red, and she has her hands braced on her knees, panting. “How about you take a deep breath,” he suggests.

“No time,” she wheezes. Hunk looks at her in alarm, but can’t stop himself from being a smartass.

“I’m actually going to go ahead and insist that there is always time to breathe. You know, the thing that guarantees our continued survival?” 

Pidge gathers enough of her breath to shoot Hunk a dirty look, but to her credit she does pause and try and regulate her breathing. After a moment, she looks up at Hunk and repeats herself, more emphatic than before: “Hunk, dude, you have got to help me. It is more urgent than you could possibly imagine.”

Hunk sits straight up at this, alarmed. “Holy shit, are we being attacked? Fuck, Pidge, you should’ve lead with that!” He gets up hurriedly, starting to pull on his armour. 

“No, dude, chill,” Pidge says, reaching out a hand to stop him. “Sorry. Probably shouldn’t have said that — it’s not that kind of urgent. I just need your help to find something before Lance comes to check on me.”

Hunk sits back down, looking at her warily. “And you want to do this because…?” 

Pidge huffs, looking up at the ceiling. She mumbles something Hunk can’t hear.

“...What?”

She mumbles again, but not really any louder. 

“What?” he repeats.

“I lost the Turmingifiver bolt!” she yells, finally.  

Hunk gasped. He stares at her for a second, searching her face for a twitch of a smile or a twinkle in her eye, but he can’t find any.

“No!” he exclaims. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Pidge bites her lip guiltily. “I put it in my room instead of the workshop and now I can’t find it.”

“Pidge, that is the only one we have, and Turming is hundreds of lightyears away! We won’t be going that direction for months!” 

“I know!” she wails. “I don’t know what to do! I’ve torn my room apart looking for it — I even cleaned most of it! It’s like it disappeared!”

Hunk slaps a hand to his head, groaning. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He takes a breath, not wanting to blow up on Pidge. The situation sucks, and she’s at fault, but it’s a solvable situation. It isn’t worth getting that angry over. “Shit. What are we going to do, we — wait.” He sits straight up, looking at Pidge strangely. “Why did you come to me for help? Lance is the one with eagle eyes. If you ask him, he’ll find it in two minutes flat. Didn’t you say he was coming to check on you?”

“That’s the problem!” Pidge insists. “I could be looking for something for ten straight years, tearing a place apart from top to bottom, but you ask Lance for help and he finds it immediately. It makes me feel like an idiot — how does he even find things that fast? It doesn’t make sense!”

Hunk pats her back sympathetically. “I’m well aware it’s humbling, trust me. Once, at the Garrison, I had to do this research paper for my Aviation History class, right? And it was assigned by Illean.”

Pidge winces at the name. “God, fuck, Illean? That sucks, he’s such a hardass. I bet it was, like, fifteen pages at least.”

Hunk nods. “Yeah! It was eighteen pages, which I firmly believe he chose just to be a dick. Who the hell assigns eighteen pages? Anyway. The day before it was due, I went to go do some last minute editing, and I could not find the file. It was nowhere, and I looked. And I knew damn well I saved it, I even backed it up to the cloud, but I could not find it for the life of me. Obviously I panicked, but I was with another friend at the time and she offered to look, but she couldn’t find it either, which just made me panic more. Both of us looked for like twenty minutes, doing everything we could on my laptop. We employed every trick in the book, we must have hit ‘recover file’ like, 200 times. But the fucking paper had apparently never existed.”

Pidge looks at him with wide eyes. “God, that must have been horrifying! I never took his class, but Matt did, and once he asked for an extension and Illean yelled at him, in front of the whole damn class, until he cried. Fuck. Did you have to hand it in late?”

“I was in tears too, dude, I was so panicked, because if anyone raises their voice at me even a little I will immediately cry, and Illean yelling at me would probably have me hyperventilating. But after a half hour of panic, Lance came in from his programming class. He looked at the laptop for, and I am not exaggerating, twelve motherfucking seconds, and found it. I was so consumed by rage that the anxiety literally fled my body, it was wild. To this day I get a little scowly when I think about it.”

Despite herself and her situation, Pidge smiles. Hunk certainly has a way with words.

“So, yeah. I get the frustration,” Hunk continues. He looks at her pityingly. “But that bolt is really, really important, Pidge.” He puts a gentle hand on her shoulder. “If Lance can find it, it’s worth your pride. And you know he will.”

Pidge sighs, already resigned to her fate. She should have known what Hunk would say. She gets up slowly, trying to postpone the inevitable, looking forlornly at the door.

“Should I wait for him to come check on me and bring it up in casual conversation, or beat my remaining dignity to the ground and go find him now?” she ponders.

Hunk grimaces. “I cannot overstate how important that bolt is. I think you should kiss your dignity goodbye and bite the bullet.”

Pidge sighs again. “Yeah, okay.” She makes for the door, opening it with far less fervour than she had just a few minutes ago. “Goodbye, pride and dignity,” she announcs, dragging her feet. She pauses, looking back at Hunk, who had already gotten up to follow her. She gives him a look, playfully annoyed.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to witness my impending humiliation, but I should’ve known your drama-obsessed ass was coming already.” 

Hunk shrugs, unrepentant. “Sorry, dude, I love it when you get humbled. It’s funny and I refuse to apologise for that.”

The two of them make their way down the hallway, Pidge nodding her head, conceding. 

“Yeah, fair, it would be. I mean, it’s funny whenever it happens to you guys, at least –”

“Pidgey!” 

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. 

“Hey, Lance,” Hunk greets, disproportionately excited. Pidge narrows her eyes at him but eventually sighs, turning to Lance. 

“Hi, Lance,” she says dejectedly. 

Lance looks hurt. Alarmed  – there is literally nothing in the universe more depressing than Lance’s big brown doe eyes when he gets sad – Pidge rushes to correct her tone.

“No no no! I’m not upset to see you! I mean, I am a little –” 

Lance’s face falls further. Hunk blinks at her. 

“Dude,” he says incredulously. 

Pidge throws her hands up, frazzled and a little panicked. “Sorry! Lance! I need your help to find something!”

“...Okay,” Lance says slowly. The hurt hasn’t quite faded from his expression, but at least now he looks more confused than anything. “What did you lose?” 

Pidge sighs again, resigned. “The Turmingfiver bolt.”

Lance’s eyebrows reach his hairline. “The desperately important one that can’t currently be replaced?”

“That would be the bolt, yes.”

“Oh, well, at least you lost it just recently, right? Should be easier to find.”

There is a very loud silence from the Green Paladin. 

“Pidge,” Lance says, tone flat, “please tell me you came for help the second you lost it.”

‘That’s not fair!” Pidge argues. “I freaked, okay? I tried looking for it first! I even cleaned my room! But it’s been three days, and I can’t find it, and I know if I ask you you’ll find it in like two minutes and I’ll look like an idiot! I am stressed, okay? I’m allowed to make one or two poor decisions!”

Lance softens immediately, wry grin up the corner of his mouth. The hurt has finally disappeared from his face, which is beyond relieving for everyone in the room. A hurt and sad Lance is depressing, but being the cause of that hurt is like cutting off your own hand – hurting him feels like a betrayal of yourself. Keith likes to joke that all they had to do to win the war was have Lance befriend Zarkon, then Zarkon would stop doing horrible things because Lance would be sad every time he did them. They all laugh, but Hunk is pretty sure he saw that plan written out as a last resort in Shiro’s ‘Alternate Plans If Everything Continues To Go To Shit’ binder.

“I’m not a superhero, Pidge,” Lance teases, “although I’m flattered you see me in that light.”

Pidge harrumphs, but doesn’t argue, which makes Lance grin more.

“I’m sure it will take me a couple hours to find it. You’ve been looking for days, right? And it’s a tiny little bolt?”

Pidge nods, hesitantly placated. 

“Exactly! I’m sure I’ll have to look pretty hard. Let’s head to your room and look around a bit, okay?”

The three of them walk to Pidge’s room, Pidge explaining in detail the last time she had the bolt, what she was doing, and what it looked like. As they enter the room in question, Hunk raises his eyebrows, exchanging a glance with Lance. If this is Pidge’s room clean… yeesh. He doesn’t want to imagine what dirty looks like. There’s shit everywhere.

“Pidge, you can’t see the floor,” Hunk says, bewildered. 

“I have a lot of important things!” she defends. 

“Okay, damn. I was thinking that we were gonna find this bolt easily earlier, because you made it sound like your room was actually organised by, like, real standards, but I think even Lance might have trouble finding something in this mess. It’s not even like finding a needle in a haystack. It’s like finding a needle in a pile of needles. It’s like –”

“Found it!” chirps Lance, leaning over to pluck something from the ground. He holds out his hands, and – yep. A small, octagonal-headed neon green bolt, barely a centimetre long. 

Pidge screams. Just a loud, wordless yell. Hunk bites his cheek harshly, doing everything he can to keep his laughter in check, but eventually he can hold it no longer and doubles over, losing it. He shakily turns over his wrist, and what he sees set him off again. 

“Forty-two seconds,” he wheezes. 

Pidge yells again, and Lance smirks a little. He was trying to hold it back, maybe to spare Pidge’s feelings, but seriously. It must be physically impossible not to feel a little gratified when you easily find something someone else has been looking for for days. 

“This is ridiculous!” Pidge screeches. “I have been tearing my room apart for days! It, admittedly, is still cluttered beyond belief! The bolt is ridiculously small! How the fuck did you find it so quickly? I used a metal detector!”

Hunk, who had just started to calm himself down, loses it again. 

“A fucking metal detector! I literally did everything that was possible to find the damn thing! And you waltz in here in under a minute, barely glance around, and you find it! Witchcraft! Sorcery! Black fucking magic! You are not of this realm!”

Lance snorts, walking over to Pidge and ruffing her hair before tucking the bolt in her clenched fist. “I just have a good eye, Pigeon. Don’t lose it this time.” He walks gracefully out of the room, presumably to go continue his rounds and check on the rest of the team. 

Pidge shakes her head, huffing. She nudges Hunk with her foot, who had collapsed onto the ground at some point during his wheezefest. 

“Are you done,” she demands. 

Hunk sits up shakily, grinning at her. “That was the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. You got clowned. He found that so fucking fast.”

Pidge crosses her arms, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. It happens. Lance’s abilities are beyond the mortal scope of reality. That was unnatural.”

“Can’t deny you’re relieved, though,” Hunk points out, getting to his feet. 

“God, yeah, you have no idea. Humiliating or not, holy shit. Feels like a huge weight is off my shoulders. My dignity was unfortunately worth it. You were right.”

Hunk slings an arm around her shoulders, leading her to the workshops. “Yep! Usually am. Now, let’s go finish that project, huh? We better use that bolt before you lose it again and I have to watch you get humbled again. Actually, you know what? Maybe you should lose it again. It was pretty funny. I wouldn’t mind a rerun.”