Family Matters

Xanadu Weyr - Petals and Pots Garden Shop
Upon entering this rustic shop, the smell of flowers is the first thing that one notices as well as the subtle musty scent of fertilizer. Selling everything for your garden needs from flowers and plants to pots and tools, the whole shop is lined with shelving filled with various things, arranged neatly by type. On the back wall trowels, rakes, shovels and clippers hang from nails, while underneath them clay pots, glass vases and bowls are stacked on the floor. In the middle of the shop is a small table that is filled with tiny glass perfume bottles with glass stoppers, each bearing a label that says 'Handcrafted by Tsenik'. These contain different fragrances, depending on the shape of the bottle. A variety of hanging baskets dangle from the ceiling, tumbles of lush vibrant flowers or vine-type plants trailing from them with price tags on the pots.
A sign can be seen near the entrance that simply states "Woo your significant other, send a hint to your brother or say hello to your mother with a surprise delivery!"

A toss of blond hair precedes the delicate-sounding tones of demand, "Oh I must have *that* one," a girl of smallish proportions says to the shopkeeper. "Not that one, *that* one. Yes, yes," Harmony says, the dulcet tones of her demanding voice rise in a slightly petulant, spoiled sound of one who's used to the help being more… well, helpful. Dressed in frills, she is. With a frilly apron that's stained with various colors of sauces protects the bundle of pink that forms the shirt and skirt ensemble. "Let me see that," she finishes, yanking the flower out of the shopkeepers hand and examines it critically.

"Harmony?" comes the exasperated alto, a dragonhealer having appeared at the door of the shop: striding in with a firm step, the little woman beelines for the sound of petulance towards the back. "What are you doing?" It's demanded without the nicety of smalltalk, fists shifting to hips in the universal sign of Womanly Displeasure(tm).

"I think this one will—" Harmony is interrupted at the appearance of her sister. Eyes narrow just slightly, her fingers clench around the flower's stem while the shopkeeper inwardly groans at the possible breakage happening beneath that fist. "I'm picking out flowers for my presentation tonight. I've a large dinner project for my teachers and presentation is *the* most important." Her sister's displeasure is ignored as the red-orange flower is thrust in Circelyn's face. "What do you think?" Distraction! Distraction!

Unpeturbed, "I think he's going to make you pay for anything you break," pragamatic to the extreme, our Circelyn. "Additionally, I think you should be working on your /dinner/ instead of worrying about /flowers/." A brief apologetic glance to the shopkeeper at this point— "Sorry, not that I don't think flowers…" Circelyn has a vague wave of the wrist to encompass all the bright things about, "…are … pretty?" She's as bad as a man when it comes to some things. At the tail-end of this vague statement, a look of startlement crosses her features, and she sneezes directly into the flower thrust to her face.

"I intend to buy it and I have my dinner all planned out, but having the right skills to decorate a high-end course is something that will set me apart." Harmony, getting the reaction she intended, waves the flower twice under Circelyn's nose before yanking it back. "I'll take ten more just like this one. No, *better* than this one. It must be *perfect*." The warning that glints in Harmony's eyes accentuates the sharpness of tone this is said in. "Now, sister. What are *you* doing *here*?"

"One of your journeymen told me that you were off doing frippery nonsense rather than working on your soup course," Circelyn returns, eyes still watering from the succession of sneezes that followed that initial one. She has her nose stuffed in a hankerchief, green gaze starting to redden about the edges. "/I/ intend on you walking to journeyman, even if /you/ do not." And obviously, she's here to be a bother, to make sure Harmony doesn't lollygag about instead of getting what needs done, done. IE: an elder sister being nosy as hell.

Outrage gasps escapes Harmony's open, rosebud mouth. "He did NOT!" Her tones are strident and certainly no longer delicate. Higher pitched and angry, her green eyes fairly spark in anger. "/I/ heard from a little avian that presentation was nearly /seventy-five/ percent of the — and I fully intend to walk the tables, Circe!" Her foot stomps to punctuate this sudden interjection. Pause. "I am making my famous chili." Said like it's a secret weapon.

"You're making chili for a formal dinner?" Circelyn may not be a baker, but it doesn't stop an undertone of dubious nature from infiltrating her voice. "And you're serving it with FLOWERS?" Well. Serving it /around/ flowers. The incredulity continues to rise, as well as the faint, alarming tone of red coming into Circelyn's fair face - that has nothing to do with emotions and most everything to do with pollen.

"Well." Harmony pauses. "Yes." Her ego regarding her cooking talent sometimes handicaps her *actual* talent. She sniffs, "Everyone loves my chili. I've heard that Paulana is doing a rack of ovine. Chili is way, way different. It'll knock their socks off." For real. She peers at Circelyn, "You're… getting red."

"If you burn their tastebuds off, they won't be able to taste dessert," Circelyn objects, in the manner of a woman who finds dessert /most/ reinforcing. Good thing she has the metabolism for it… Alarm infiltrates her face. "Am I?" She thrusts an arm out, turning down her cuff to check her wrists for swelling.

"If I burn their tastebuds off," Harmony says a touch craftily, "They won't be able to taste anyone else's dishes. I am first." Alarm settles in when her sister starts checking for swelling. "Circe! Are you okay?" Now, the younger sister is trying to help the older look for — well she's not sure, but something. "You're really red…"

"That's not strategy, that's suicide," Circelyn faintly states, more to herself than to Harm. "Okay. I am /leaving/," she declaims, "But you better finish getting those damned flowers as quick as you can!" A Dark Look(tm) - more than watered down by her reddened gaze - is tossed at her sister before she makes for the exit with some little alacrity.

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