#piccolacara

    "...So, do tell me-- and please, spare no detail-- whatever did she have to say to that?" Mistel asked, continuing along a previous subject, a sterling locket bracelet and silver cleaning cloth in hand. The shop had been relatively quiet in the days following Christmas; the upcoming New Year's not a significant gift-giving holiday either, unless one was being particularly cliché about proposing.

    (Which, do not mistake him, was not a bad thing, necessarily. Clichés sold expensive pieces, after all.)

    So he was surprised, and slightly disappointed, when their gossiping conversation was interrupted by a sharp ring of the bell above the door, announcing the arrival of a pretty young woman. Alas, work beckoned, and his commission would unfortunately not make itself.

    Prying his attention from Elise with no small amount of reluctance, Mistel gave a convincingly winning smile-- taking discreet stock of the jewelry, or lack thereof, their guest was wearing as he did-- and greeted her with the appropriate appellation. "Welcome to Charde Jewelers, Miss. May my partner and I have the pleasure of assisting you with finding anything in particular, today?"

    Although he offered their services in tandem, she only seemed interested in speaking to Mistel, which he admittedly took little notice of. It wasn't uncommon for their customer base to seek the opinions of an employee of the opposite sex, much as it irked him when his coworker was the recipient. After several gently probing questions to ascertain her personal taste, he retrieved the very bracelet he had just set aside, laying it out across his palm-- bare of its usual silk glove-- for her to admire.

    Of course, the only means by which to see if it was truly suitable-- and almost assuredly make a sale-- was to have her try it on; and so he courteously assisted her, fingers brushing gently against her slender wrist in a manner that was completely impersonal for the jeweler, but his patron took obvious delight in.

    She cast a few quick, flustered glances at Elise, as if hopeful the fellow woman would have some expression of encouragement or congratulation for her.

    [ Text Message: Elise ]     9:17 AM [ my place (◕‿◕) , 2pm, bring sandwiches ( o˘◡˘o) ┌iii┐]     9:19 AM [ Please     (=^･ｪ･^=) ]

    Mistel took a final, fondly bemused look at the messages he received from Elise that morning, inviting him-- if one were to use the term rather lightly-- on what he could only assume was a picnic. To be thoroughly prepared, just in case, he packed a quaint vintage basket he had recently acquired with the sandwiches requested, some cake from KitTea, and a thermos of coffee, nestled within several heavy blankets. An outing such as this, in the dead of winter, may not have been the most conventional of dates-- and a date, it surely was-- but little about either of them was conventional, and he found quite easily, upon reflection, that he would not have it any other way.

    Before he turned his phone off and boarded the ferry to Arcadia, where he would lose service, Mistel quickly thumbed through several menus, making a change he had contemplated with tentative delight for the past few, dreamlike days.

    [ Edit successful! ]     [ Contact saved as: Dearest ]

    When finally he arrived at Margaret Farm, the snowfall blessedly light, he stood in the shadow of the ghastly pink manor as he had a month before-- with considerably less trepidation in his heart, and a slightly smaller box tucked into his pocket.

    “My sister and I… we moved, back to the islands.”

    “Ah, well, let’s see… I believe I am a Libra, but beyond its historical value as a primitive science, I’m afraid I haven’t any interest in astrology. My apologies!”