smell the flowers;

When Milori asked him if he thought he should acquire a human wardrobe, Mu-yeol had said 'it'd help you blend in as much as a fairy can with our ears as the giveaway. Might make you more approachable to humans.'

He had a point there. So Milori, with his limited human money, was at the thrift store looking through the clothes..

It'd been nearly a century since he dressed for the human world. No-- over a century.

His hand lingered over a flannel shirt that looked like something Mu-yeol's husband would wear; nothing screamed 'Generic Human Man' like him, so perhaps Milori should use him as the blueprint.

"What does say 'I'm almost like a human person?'" He thought to himself under his breath, painfully out of his depth.

Winston was dropping a few bags of clothing at the thrift, collected from the office in NTO and brought over.

He was lugging the last of them into the storefront, talking quietly with the manager, when a distinctly...odd man went past on his right, muttering to himself under his breath.

However, when Winston turns to look he realizes the man isn't a human at all but a fairy!

"Mm, always does," he murmurs, shaking his head with a rueful little grin. "But that's alright. Age gives you experience, or so the saying goes. Wouldn't be here without it."

And he wouldn't. There were times Winston had been brought down low, had had hard times, but age had taught him to lift his chin a little higher and carry on.

The next question, however, pauses him. His take away mug halfway to his mouth, Winston lowers it and tilts his head to the side.

Nick had asked mostly out of sheer curiosity. He hadn't been sure if Winston would be the type to casually brush him off in the name of business secrets or keeping his mind open or whatever other casual statement might be used.

Instead, he opened up in a way that aroused Nick's curiosity again.

"Congratulations on that. Deals like that are huge, I'm sure it's exciting to move forward on that finally. But I'm sure the Board would be interested in hearing your ideas there. Security is usually a topic of concern for everyone."

A hint of a grin curls around Winston's mouth at the congratulations, and he dips his head in acknowledgement. He doesn't want to be rude, doesn't want to interrupt, so he says nothing. Not until the other is done.

"I certainly hope so. I've been trying to keep tabs on everyone on the Board – smart to, after all, being in business in town; who is who and whatnot – and I've the data at the company to use. So, I suppose, I'll have to see where that takes me."

Phillip lapses into a quiet, as they walk, and Winston knows he's just thinking. That he does a lot of that, at times. That Phil, regardless of his mannerisms or his dress or the way he looked, was really rather intelligent. That he, more often than not, used hia good humor and his charming personality to hide behind.

Winston knows it because, when he was younger, he'd done the same. For different reasons, perhaps, but he had.

So at Phil's suggestion, Winston hums, nods his head. "Think that'd be perfect. I've got some old copies of my folks, my mum. Could offer those up, if you'd want them. She grew up here. 'S why I came back. An' my da an' stepmum were both teachers at th' secondary."

No, no it wasn't corny. It made Phil, well, Phil. Winston says exactly that, a grin touching the edges of his eyes.

His family home definitely had. Well, till it burned down. But his mum was always donating some old works of art or some old chaise lounge that she didn’t want anymore. 

He took a deep breath, looking over at the plot of land, the charred skeleton of what the Deer once was. It was just like his old family home, now. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, or whatever. A legacy burnt to the ground.

And Phillip had a chance to rise from those ashes. Build something new. For Swynlake. For the Knightley name. For himself.

He smiled, turning to Winston.

“This is going to happen,” he said. “I’m going to make this happen.” 

A nod preceded his words, an almost thoughtful look on his face. "Mm, I'm sure they would. Petition the board, too, for the use of old schematics, even. Places important to Swynlake. Make it all bloodg matter."

And it would. Winston believed that. And he believed, deeply, that Phil could do it. Was it just a pub? Yes. But, for Phil, it was...more than that. And Winston was able and willing to help him bring that to life.

So, when Phil turns to him and smiles, walking across that lot, Winston's laughter rolls through him as he nods, bumping his shoulder against Phil's as they walk, and says through his grin: "I know you will."

Winston's grin grows a fraction. He nods, lips at his drink again.

"I was stuck at 'someone' for a good year, I think, until he finally nudged me into it. Told me I might as well try, even if it didn't work out."

Winston thinks about it and shakes his head. Even though they were no longer together, even though it had been years, he still thanked Simon every year in his speeches.

"I think, sometimes, what's even more odd is I'm no longer twenty something with a notebook, ideas, and a plan. I have a company, our technology is used worldwide. And here I am: just wanting to help someone I care about now, with his own ideas "

He did chuckle at that. "Time gets us once again, doesn't it?"

It certainly caught up to Nick sometimes. Months slid one into the next as he moved around, and suddenly he's realizing that the memory he's toying with belongs to a place he hasn't seen in a decade, and the people who were part of it would no longer recognize him.

"So, do you have plans for what comes next after you get the pub up and running? What new horizons are you looking towards?"

"Mm, always does," he murmurs, shaking his head with a rueful little grin. "But that's alright. Age gives you experience, or so the saying goes. Wouldn't be here without it."

And he wouldn't. There were times Winston had been brought down low, had had hard times, but age had taught him to lift his chin a little higher and carry on.

The next question, however, pauses him. His take away mug halfway to his mouth, Winston lowers it and tilts his head to the side.

Winston waits, lets the words sink in and for the other man to really consider what he's asking, what he wants the younger man to think about. Because yes, this pub was for other people, but it was for Phil, most of all.

And Winston wants to make sure he gets that.

He listens. Then, he nods, simple, and a grin stretches, slow and soft and easy, across his face. "We can do that. All of that. Still got some of your roses in th' green house, if yah want them."

Because they were Phil's, in every sense of the meaning Winston just kept them, bred them, but they were officially licensed as the Knightly Rose. They were planted at Phil's home. They could - should - be at his pub, too.

"Pictures could be anythin' but if you're wanting to tie it to the town," he says, shifting tone easily as he steps forward, nudges Phil to walk with him, "I'm fairly certain town hall would have some, or copies. No crests, jus'...history. Could get Si to give you some stuff, too, if you'd like."

He’d spent so much of his life thinking that in order to be someone strong, he needed violence. He needed to fight, to defend, to protect.

That had never been where Phillip’s heart was.

Phillip liked to make people happy. He liked to bring them together. He liked to make sure they were all having a good time, that they had what they needed, that just for a moment they could put aside their problems and have fun. 

And it was in Swynlake that he was able to make that happen.

So it was Swynlake that Phillip would dedicate this pub to. Swynlake and Rosie.

“That sounds fantastic,” said Phil. “Archival pictures — maybe I can put out a call and see if anyone wants to donate some old photos or paintings? Have the people of Swynlake put a piece of themselves in the pub, y’know.” He let out a little laugh, self-consciously raking a hand through his hair. “Or is that too corny?” 

Phillip lapses into a quiet, as they walk, and Winston knows he's just thinking. That he does a lot of that, at times. That Phil, regardless of his mannerisms or his dress or the way he looked, was really rather intelligent. That he, more often than not, used hia good humor and his charming personality to hide behind.

Winston knows it because, when he was younger, he'd done the same. For different reasons, perhaps, but he had.

So at Phil's suggestion, Winston hums, nods his head. "Think that'd be perfect. I've got some old copies of my folks, my mum. Could offer those up, if you'd want them. She grew up here. 'S why I came back. An' my da an' stepmum were both teachers at th' secondary."

No, no it wasn't corny. It made Phil, well, Phil. Winston says exactly that, a grin touching the edges of his eyes.

At Nick's, he assumed, good natured teasing, Winston grins, snorts, and shakes his head with his own chuckle. "Eh, more like someone fueled by term deadlines and backer agreements falling through last minute."

Yes, he thinks back, it'd been fun. Fun and stressful.

Shifting in his seat, Winston takes a drink of his take away cup, then shrugs a shoulder, thinking back. It wasn't an unusual question, and one that he'd answered plenty of times before.

"A few different things, really: I grew up here, from the time I was about ten. My mum was a native before she moved, met my da. We came back after she passed. But, uh, seeing all the weird shite that happens here leaves a mark, and I'd seen time and again how badly some of our townspeople were effected bt errant Magick. Not that, mind, it's purposeful," he adds, giving a little smile and a shake of his head, "but it happens. And th' last was my boyfriend. Talked me into it; he was my best friend, still is, actually. He was one of the first backers I had."

Winston looks at the other man, then, full in the face and arches a brow, as though to say 'is that enough, or do you have more questions?'

Just as many people left. Maybe the town was too small for the dreams they were chasing. Maybe the magic was too unsettling or they finally found the magical disaster that lived at their limit.

It kept the town stable in its own way, while continuing to hve continuous moments of change.

"It's amazing what happens when the right person believes in us at the right time, isn't it? Still, it takes a lot of gumption to jump from 'this is an idea someone should do' to 'this is an idea that I should do'. Most people get stuck at the stage of 'someone'."

Winston's grin grows a fraction. He nods, lips at his drink again.

"I was stuck at 'someone' for a good year, I think, until he finally nudged me into it. Told me I might as well try, even if it didn't work out."

Winston thinks about it and shakes his head. Even though they were no longer together, even though it had been years, he still thanked Simon every year in his speeches.

"I think, sometimes, what's even more odd is I'm no longer twenty something with a notebook, ideas, and a plan. I have a company, our technology is used worldwide. And here I am: just wanting to help someone I care about now, with his own ideas "

Nick nods, and Winston doesn't think much of it. Why should he? It was a nod. But it had been a push back, if not a big one, and he's glad the man doesn't keep poking. He's also not worried or surprised the other man knows about his company. It was open to the public, so it made sense, though he's always a touch surprised.

Winston forgets, sometimes, that he's not technically considered regular anymore.

"What inspired you to make your start up? Uni is pretty young for that sort of thing."

It was habit to ask questions, to tug at the thread of stories to see what he could learn. Partially because Nick was just genuinely interested in people. What were the pieces that made up Winston? What had brought him here? Where might it take him next?

At Nick's, he assumed, good natured teasing, Winston grins, snorts, and shakes his head with his own chuckle. "Eh, more like someone fueled by term deadlines and backer agreements falling through last minute."

Yes, he thinks back, it'd been fun. Fun and stressful.

Shifting in his seat, Winston takes a drink of his take away cup, then shrugs a shoulder, thinking back. It wasn't an unusual question, and one that he'd answered plenty of times before.

"A few different things, really: I grew up here, from the time I was about ten. My mum was a native before she moved, met my da. We came back after she passed. But, uh, seeing all the weird shite that happens here leaves a mark, and I'd seen time and again how badly some of our townspeople were effected bt errant Magick. Not that, mind, it's purposeful," he adds, giving a little smile and a shake of his head, "but it happens. And th' last was my boyfriend. Talked me into it; he was my best friend, still is, actually. He was one of the first backers I had."

Winston looks at the other man, then, full in the face and arches a brow, as though to say 'is that enough, or do you have more questions?'

The younger man - one of the Moreys, though Winston hadn't the foggiest idea which one, right now - wipes the sawdust off his hands and comes closer. It's almost endearing, in a way, that painful looking smile on his face as he tries to be friendly and clearly doesn't succeed at it.

It makes Winston want to laugh, but he feels like that just wouldn't go well if he did. So, he doesn't.

This man, whoever he was, didn't seemed deterred by his presence and hands being on this project. It was nice, good that he didn't have to worry about being shooed away, but he also wondered if this customer knew who he really was given that he'd referred to him only as Mr. Morey.

"Good to hear," Griffin grunted, the awkwardness rising again. "Cabinets are simple enough but the curio might take a bit more time depending on design, detailing, and if you want glass in it as well." Griffin would have to order that, he wasn't going to make glass here at the shop.

Winston doesn't lean any closer on the counter. In fact, he waits for the younger man – to talk or move, anything that would indicate interaction – until he continues the conversation.

And while the other's gruff demeanor was probably off-putting to most, Winston wasn't deterred. His sister was bad when she didn't have sleep, after all. This was about as bad, maybe a touch worse.

And Mads did not have time for situations today.

"See what, mate? That old bird jus' knick the last of the mallow fluff I was gonna get for my sister's monthly crashout," Winston deadpans, eyeing the man across from him in amusement, trolley cart between them, "or the fact that she gave me a dirty look when I was reaching for it?"

He’d said floorplan, after all. So Phil had to lock in and visualize. 

“A fireplace,” said Phillip. When he pictured his pub — his pub — there was always a fireplace. “Some chairs and tables around it. Dark wood for the bar. Loads of pictures. Not sure of what. Maybe ol’ Swynlake town photographs? I don’t wanna do any of that heraldry and crest nonsense that some places do.”

Phillip had enough of looking at old family emblems for an entire lifetime. 

“Oh and roses out front.”

This was a surprise, even to himself. He almost laughed after he said it.

“I know that’s not part of the floorplan but… I’d like that.” 

Winston waits, lets the words sink in and for the other man to really consider what he's asking, what he wants the younger man to think about. Because yes, this pub was for other people, but it was for Phil, most of all.

And Winston wants to make sure he gets that.

He listens. Then, he nods, simple, and a grin stretches, slow and soft and easy, across his face. "We can do that. All of that. Still got some of your roses in th' green house, if yah want them."

Because they were Phil's, in every sense of the meaning Winston just kept them, bred them, but they were officially licensed as the Knightly Rose. They were planted at Phil's home. They could - should - be at his pub, too.

"Pictures could be anythin' but if you're wanting to tie it to the town," he says, shifting tone easily as he steps forward, nudges Phil to walk with him, "I'm fairly certain town hall would have some, or copies. No crests, jus'...history. Could get Si to give you some stuff, too, if you'd like."

"Custom? Well, I would have to start it tomorrow morning but I can jot an order down." He tried to put on a customer service smile but it came across a little pained so he dropped it entirely. Probably best that he keep his neutral-to-mildly-inconvenienced expression instead.

He grabbed the clipboard with the blank order sheets, sliding it across the nearest workbench toward the gentleman. "My dad will probably pop in a bit tomorrow too but I'm mainly the one working on the custom pieces right now." His teeth practically itched with nervous static. "What were we thinking?"

The younger man - one of the Moreys, though Winston hadn't the foggiest idea which one, right now - wipes the sawdust off his hands and comes closer. It's almost endearing, in a way, that painful looking smile on his face as he tries to be friendly and clearly doesn't succeed at it.

It makes Winston want to laugh, but he feels like that just wouldn't go well if he did. So, he doesn't.

It did make sense, didn't it? The plays were a commonality in the town that drew people together, people who, otherwise, might never even meet. It was rather nice, and one of the things he had found himself missing as a far younger man off on his own at uni.

Winston is a little bit surprised, though, when Nick says he's heard of his company. Many people here have not and, if they have, they don't always view it favorably - regardless of what they actually know about what he does.

Winston pauses and lets the comment wash over him before he nods and grins slightly, shrugging wide shoulders easily. "Well, I s'pose. Mainly this was just to help a friend. I've no reason to connect my company to the pub. Not unless Phil decides he wants infrastructure reinforcement with some of our tech, and that would be treated like any other client."

That was the thing he'd learned early on: even if a client was a friend first, they were still a client. If you treated them differently, better even, than others, it eventually got out. It always did, and it had hurt good companies.

The real reason he knew the company as well as he did was Riley, of course. But he wasn't going to mention them now. No need to make things complicated.

Nick nodded at the gentle push back on his other statement. Touchy it appeared.

He did laugh at that statement. "I doubt I could teach you much about taking a gamble. From what I've seen of businesses, they're constantly gambling in one way or another."

Nick nods, and Winston doesn't think much of it. Why should he? It was a nod. But it had been a push back, if not a big one, and he's glad the man doesn't keep poking. He's also not worried or surprised the other man knows about his company. It was open to the public, so it made sense, though he's always a touch surprised.

Winston forgets, sometimes, that he's not technically considered regular anymore.

He was trying to get the drill bit out of his electric drill when he heard the door swing open. He turned, brow furrowing. It was close to closing time which usually kept most of the customers away for him to have time to clean up. Plus Papa had left for the day, leaving Griffin to actually have to deal with customers one-on-one.

Let's see how this goes...

Winston hadn't been able to come into the Mill earlier than just before closing. Normally, he didn't do this; he was cognizant of the time people put into things and the effort it took to do them.

But, he had a few questions. He hoped they weren't busy and, well, if they were? He could simply return another day, when he didn't have a number of client meetings.

That said, however, he walks into the shoppe, a little bell dinging overhead, and offers the man in the place a friendly, though tired, grin.

Phil's nodding along, understanding what Winston is saying. It makes sense, after all. He's got the experience. He's got the business acumen.

Then, Phil frowns. The question stumps him. Winston snorts a bit and shakes his head.

"No, not particularly. I just didn't know if yoh had anything fancier in mind. An English pub is perfectly fine, an' sorely missed, I'd say, from older patrons."

Be that as it may, Winston had seen Poiret ( he thinks that's the name? ) It was fancy, showy, flashy. Not something this little town needed two of.

What kind of English town didn’t have a proper pub? Phillip wondered how Swynlake had lasted this long. 

“Yeah, I want it to be a nice place,” Phillip agreed. “Not too fancy that it’s intimidating, but I don’t want sticky floors or worn chairs or piss-covered toilets. A bit leveled up. I want it to be comfortable, for everyone.”

That was another thing too, wasn’t it? He did want it to be comfortable for everyone — blokes and birds, gays and straights, Magicks and Mundus. He knew Gaston’s reputation hung over this empty lot, just as his own Order ties would follow him in this town no matter what he did. He knew that there was gonna be a certain group of people convinced that he could never ever reform. 

Truth be told, at this point in his life, Phillip didn’t give a flying rat’s ass about whether or not someone was Magick or Mundus or whatever. Sure, he wasn’t about to go holding hands with demons and vampires. But if they were all out to have a good time, who was he to judge?

He just had to prove to the town that he was true to his word. His pub would be a place for everyone: comfortable, inviting, and inclusive. 

“I definitely want a pool table,” he added, with a laugh. 

"It can still look nice an' be comfortable," Winston murmurs, nodding. He agrees wholeheartedly. A place like this needed to be a far cry from what the Deer had been, even if a pub was a staple for a town like their's.

The comment makes him snort, then laughing, and Winston smiles as he shakes his head. "Could get you a pool table, too. But so long as you know all that, it helps plan out the floorplan, what you want for the space."

He knew well the reputation that had hung over the lot. The way people hadn't felt welcome. And Phil was trying to change that, maybe, in his own way.

If he wanted to, he could sit there and analyze his life and choices and how that made it challenging for him to bond the way humans did and blah blah blah. He wasn't in the mood for introspection like that. It was enough that he'd recognized the phenomenon and it provided him with an answer to the question. It was a very Swynlake answer in its way.

"I've heard of Dev Tech. You all have a lot of fingers in interesting pies. Town businesses are another step."

With a careless shrug and a smile, Nick said, "Me, I'm a gambler and I like a good pub. I'm happy to throw some cash at an idea that has a chance to gain some traction."

It did make sense, didn't it? The plays were a commonality in the town that drew people together, people who, otherwise, might never even meet. It was rather nice, and one of the things he had found himself missing as a far younger man off on his own at uni.

Winston is a little bit surprised, though, when Nick says he's heard of his company. Many people here have not and, if they have, they don't always view it favorably - regardless of what they actually know about what he does.

Winston pauses and lets the comment wash over him before he nods and grins slightly, shrugging wide shoulders easily. "Well, I s'pose. Mainly this was just to help a friend. I've no reason to connect my company to the pub. Not unless Phil decides he wants infrastructure reinforcement with some of our tech, and that would be treated like any other client."

That was the thing he'd learned early on: even if a client was a friend first, they were still a client. If you treated them differently, better even, than others, it eventually got out. It always did, and it had hurt good companies.

After all, Phil had given him the pitch already. He had a good story and good ideas to go along with it. It might still fail in spectacular style, but the risk was half the fun. Nick had the money to indulge that kind of risk after all. Better to be entertained along the way.

It wasn't like Phil had any measurable experience running a business. A smidge of worrying about money was probably good for him. But first, better to get to know his new business partner in this whole venture.

The question receives a nod and a small grin. "I like to think so, yes. Met a few years ago, doing one of the town plays."

And, really, sometimes Winston wondered how they had still stayed friends, their ages being as far apart as they were, but he also supposes that was just the way of things, sometimes. He liked Phil and Phil, as far as he knew, liked him well enough. That was what really mattered.

And this? It's an investment, not something he sees as a poor move. A pub was a staple in English towns, small or not, and the fact that they didn't have one was hard for some people to wrap their brains around. Swynlake received income from the tourism as much as they did the regular townspeople and university students.

And, hell, it wasn't like he didn't have the money to help on start up, and even that was well-protected.