Warning: Flowers Suffering From Temporary Insanity

[Deirdre Irons]

If one were to walk by an unassuming flower shop tucked into Diagon Alley, they wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. If one were to walk in to said flower shop, however…

It was chaos, to put it simply. Flowers, by their nature, are very gentle, very quiet, and very obedient—the Muggle ones, that is. And even they, after spending some time in the magically infused air of her shop, were starting to act up. As it was, the magical varieties were hopping around, upset, over an innocent remark that Deirdre wasn’t even there to hear and so had come back from Gringott’s to the utter cacophony that used to be her home.

The amaryllis were too proud, they said, to be stuck on the shelves, and were currently trying to make their way to the windows—rather hard when one has no hands or feet and is stuck in a pot to encourage one's growth. The Comet Orchids, however, were not going to give up their window spots because they, of course, thought they were royalty and royalty did not give anything to anyone they didn't want to.

Deirdre let out a sigh and went out about rounding up the wayward flowers that’d gotten lost—happily so—and the plants that had decided to wait for her before doing anything. The roses were fine, and unfortunately, they knew it, and the ivy were, as expected, dependable as they were still creeping up the walls in lovely patterns and slowly making their way across the ceiling in even lovelier ones.

Having finally gotten to sit down, Deirdre let her hair down and kicked off her boots, shrugged off her over robe and went about making some tea—courtesy of the ever helpful balm leaves provided—when the camellia japonica, otherwise known as the ‘rose of winter’, decided to make a break for it, declaring that its unpretentious excellence had to be shared with the world. It had actually made it out the door when she’d snapped out of her shock and raced after it, feet slapping on the marble, to catch the door mid-close, completely unaware of anyone or anything but catching that bloody plant as it went bouncing, and laughing, down the street.

[Deleted]

THESE TOWNIES, THEY NEVER SPEAK TO YOU

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just stick together so they never get lonely
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A groan of pure annoyance escaped the mouth of one Nathaniel Creed. He rubbed at his temples, in frustration, agitated at the fact he had picked up all of the necessary supplies for his Potions lessons for the coming weeks, aside for one ingredient. A vital one, as luck would have it. A rare plant that he could only pick up from Veneficus Vige in Diagon Alley, the shop owner was a mutual acquaintance of his as he'd visited before for rare magical plants for use in lesson. However on this particular occasion, it was not something he could continue his classes without. Heaving a great sigh at his idiocy for forgetting such an important element, he grabbed his overcoat from the wall of his office and swept out through the creaky dungeon door.

It hadn't taken him long to reach Diagon Alley, the Knight Bus was nothing short of a God-send. Lady luck did seem to shine upon Nathaniel at least a little that day, for the sun was still out. Though it didn't appear to make much of a difference, as the bitter cold of the English winter seemed to eradicate any warming effects the sun would have had. It could have been worse... It could have been pouring with rain. Nathaniel kept reminding himself of this fact as he uncomfortably squeezed passed various flustered-looking witches and wizards. Looking ahead he realised he was only a few blocks away from his destination. Picking up the pace, Nathaniel pulled his coat tighter about his waist in a vain attempt to keep out the chill. Damnit. He thought to himself, forgot the gloves.

Rounding a sharp corner, Nathaniel was suddenly met with the most bizarre experience of his life. He was moving with such haste that he'd failed to anticipate the arrival of a large plant that came hurtling towards him. He collided with said plant head on, knocking both he and the vegetation to the ground. Dazed for a moment, the Professor just lay there, staring up at the sky. He felt a warm liquid trickle down his neck from the back of his head where he'd hit the ground with such heavy force; the pain hadn't reached him yet. Turning his head slightly, his silvery-blue gaze shifted towards the enormous plant that had tackled him to the floor, it too was lying there motionless. Apparently, Nathaniel guessed, just as startled and confused as he was.
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[Deirdre Irons]

It happened in slow motion, regardless of the fact that she had yet to slow down and was, in fact, going to need to do very quickly to avoid either tripping over her plant or crashing into Nathaniel Creed—a man she knew well enough to know that he was polite and loved his craft dearly—as her wayward plant had done. Said plant was now rocking side to side slowly, still dazed and wondering if this counted as ‘sharing its excellence’.

Breathlessly chanting ’ohmygodohmygodohmygod’ under her breath, Deirdre did slow down, just in time to be able to slide to a stop and land, rather harshly, on her knees beside Nathaniel. Her plant would be fine but she was pretty sure landing that hard on cobblestone was not conducive to a healthy body, or mind. Plus, it was cold and she was already starting to shiver, having forgotten her robe and boots.

“Nathaniel?” she asked him softly, unsure if he had a headache now because he probably would later. “Are you alright? No, no, you’re not, never mind that. It’s freezing… I’m going to…” She pulled her wand out of the holster she stored it in on her hip and murmured a small healing spell to encourage blood coagulation and another to help minimize whatever swelling was bound to occur. A quick warming charm later and they were both fairly unaffected by the season and Deirdre already had her arm under him, slowly helping to ease him to his feet.

“We’ll go back to my shop, okay?” she murmured, leading them closer to it. “It’s warm and the rest of the plants aren’t insane and I’ve got some of that nice balm tea to wash away the rest of the shock… and bandages.” She stealthily—well not stealthily, she sucked at stealth when she was trying—eyed his head. The bleeding had stopped and she was going to get a clean wash rag to help get rid of the rest of it because this is was her—and that bloody plant’s—fault and magic was probably going to be too rough on it.

Said plant was hopping along quickly after them, perfectly fine and cheery and wanting to be warm again to watch its ‘excellence’ in action….

[Deleted]

FEELING LEAD, FEELING QUITE LIGHT-HEADED

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had to sit down and have some sugary tea
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Only a few short seconds had passed, but time crawled by in such a surreal fashion that it felt like hours. The sky overhead swirled and pulsated, which could have been mistaken for the clouds themselves, were it not for Nathaniel's dizziness and his practically ruptured head. He lay, blinking continually as he tried to make sense of what had just happened, and why he was on the floor. Before long he heard footsteps - frantic footsteps hurrying towards him. A woman dropped into Nathaniel's peripheral vision, her face contorted into an expression of intense worry and concern as she breathed softly; 'Nathaniel?' So she knew his name... Confused, her blurred features began to creep into focus, and realisation soon hit him. Not literally of course, another strike to the head would potentially knock him out.

It was Deirdre Irons - shop owner of Veneficus Vige. A feeling of solace swept over him as she waved a spell that warmed his body, blocking out the bitter cold that had troubled him so much - not leaving the dungeons often and with a permanent illness had made him especially vulnerable to such climates. It also became apparent that the trickling of blood seeping from his head had come to a halt, making the Professor grateful that he'd been discovered by an acquaintance. Before he knew it, he felt himself being hoisted up on to his feet, where he wobbled precariously for a moment as he attempted to regain his footing. He soon began to shuffle along up the cobbled pavement towards Deirdre's shop, faltering on the odd occasion, but with Deirdre's help he didn't fall again.

After what felt like one of the longest walks of his life, Nathaniel was relieved to finally reach the shop. Once inside, it was almost as if there was a sudden shift in climate. The humidity mixed with various sweet scents of plant life made it seem like they were no longer in London, a feeling Nathaniel was both accustomed to and thankful for every time he paid a visit. He flopped into a chair towards the back of the shop, rubbing at the back of his head with one pale hand. He winced slightly, the area was still sensitive, but upon removing his hand he realised that the blood was dry - the wound had been healed. He turned towards his 'rescuer' as it were; 'Thank you, Miss Irons. I do apologise for my rude interruption, I tend to leave chaos in my wake. Or at least, it seems misfortune favours me.' Despite the fact that the runaway plant wasn't his fault, he couldn't help but feel like a burden. His eyes scanned the room, landing on the runaway shrub as it danced merrily about the shop.
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[Deirdre Irons]

Busy as she was making that tea she’d promised him and making sure to glare her wayward flora back into its place—it ignored her of course—Deirdre couldn’t help but blush. Nathaniel Creed was always well-mannered and respectful in her shop. She didn’t know if it was because some of the plants certain potions required could be found her and upsetting the proprietress was generally a bad idea or if he was like this all the time and just liked the shop. She hoped it was the latter because, while courteousness was all well and good, a sincere like of something always made things better. "I don’t understand why you’re apologizing, you did nothing wrong,” she told him, speaking softly and handing him the tea.

She flitted back to one of the back rooms to grab a clean towel and damped it with warm water before returning and setting it near him with clear instructions to put that over his wound to help remove the dried blood. Dried blood, she had a feeling, was as uncomfortable to feel as it was to see and she certainly didn’t want him to come to more distress on her account.

“Misfortune favors you?[/size]” That was a curious thing to say, and slightly ominous as well if she was to be honest. Still, it couldn’t be all bad… “I don’t know. You seem to have turned out alright,” she teased lightly, a small smile darting across her lips and vanishing when one of the ivy tendrils dropped from the ceiling and landed on both of them, draping across both their shoulders. Another blush settled across her cheeks as she tried to gently untangle it from around them, knowing that while ivy meant dependence, it also meant endurance and so could be stubborn as a mule sometimes.

After several moments of failing to straighten out the ivy and detach it, she blow a puff of air up in frustration and slight embarrassment. “It likes you?[/size]” she offered, unsure as to how to explain this.


((Sorry for the wait.))