During the past week that Laurel had employed Charley Goode she was quite glad she had approached the girl. It wasn’t like her to cause issues with other shop owners on the street, or at all, but she’d seen Charley around and her work with the plants was wonderful but her look was dour and sad. And, to be quite honest, with her daughters’ various endeavors Laurel did need the help. Business was booming and it was more than she can Thistle could keep up with most days. So she’d approached Charley and now she was quite glad she did.

Until now she had given Charley rather small tasks, errands, bringing new plants in from the greenhouses, letting her mind the counter until a customer came in. This morning though Laurel had something up her sleeve. Charley was sweeping up the shop as Laurel came in to the front room. “Charley dear, did you notice the trumpet daffodils in a huff this morning?” She asked, thinking of the bossy flowers that had to be kept well away from the snapping snapdragons in the greenhouses.

Charley Goode

  

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Mama Potts' is a joy thanks to Bee <3

She should have expected it to be this way. Of course her new boss was skeptical of her abilities, Charley was now working for her mortal enemy. Or the shop that had been her mortal enemy until recently. It was fundamental, a simple Law of Nature; any other flower shop was her enemy and enemies had to be taken down. Charley knew it in her heart, and yet she'd taken the new job anyway. There was better pay to be had, and no tsk-tsking from Mrs. Mann all flustered by her anymore, but working for Mrs. Potts hadn't been all sunshine and roses.

The shop had plenty of roses itself, all taunting with their petals open and fragrant, but Charley wasn't one of them.

Put her in a pot and she could grow, too, if anyone gave her half a chance. There was so much more that she could do besides what Mrs. Potts had asked of her. Running errands, moving pots around, Charley could do all that with her eyes closed. She could do much more than that, so much more, if only Mrs. Potts wasn't keeping her around like a spare vase. Charley knew how to care for the sickly plants in quarantine, and she'd always pay extra attention to the new grafts, too. She'd learned plenty at her old shop, but here Mrs. Potts only wanted her to mind the front until the shop door opened and the bell rang. And only so Charley could run quick to summon Mrs. Potts from the greenhouse to attend to the customer herself.

Charley wasn't going to go near the greenhouses today, and even Mrs. Potts seemed to know why. She should, anyway. The urchin's nose wrinkled until all the freckles there were scrunched together, and the sound might have still rattled around terribly in her ears for as sharp as she remembered. "Did I! En't heard a chorus like that since a buncha Fanged Geraniums were teethin', and me in the thick of it all jes tendin' to 'em," she put in, leaving out the part where it had been her trumpeting that filled the greenhouse that day. She tossed her braid end in the right direction down High Street, adding in the obvious, "Back at the other shop, mind."

Not like Mrs. Potts needed reminding of her mortal enemy, neither. If she didn't notice the fretting looks by the Montague's shop manager every time Mrs. Mann passed this way, Charley sure did. She only felt a little bad about it, too. Stick around too long, and her roots would rot. Flowers didn't bloom that way. And all girls had to bloom sometime, that's what people said. It was fundamental. A simple Law of Nature.

Charley'd been a weed for this long. Maybe she just liked it better that way.

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Writer Notes: Charley is a street urchin in both appearance and behavior, unless written otherwise here.
Interactions may reflect Victorian-era morals rather than modern sensibilities; this is allowed and acceptable to this writer.

Laurel chuckled at the girl's description of the cacophony happening in the greenhouse. Fanged geraniums weren't precisely loud, but nonetheless Laurel could picture the scene of the young girl dealing with their temperaments while teething. "The little mites do tend to be a handful during teething times." She admitted, a laugh lilting in her words.

"But none the less," She waved the conversation away, "I'd like you're help with the daffodils. We won't use earmuffs as I want to hear any questions you might have, but before we do that - what do you think the best way to calm them would be?" Oh Laurel knew the answer, but she wanted to see how much Charley knew. She had wanted to let the girl get adjusted before she started letting her do the bigger things.

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   Charley Goode

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Mama Potts' is a joy thanks to Bee <3

Fanged Geraniums were the worst! Not that she was going to let Mrs. Potts know she thought so, in case the clever lady was of the opposite mind. Or she might toss Charley on duty with them anyway. The urchin was her newest, and youngest, worker and that one always got the worst jobs in every shop. She wasn't about to buy that she had a way with them, not for the second shop in a row.

Charley might be slow to learn, but she did learn.

"Toss 'em a new director? One a wee bit slower on the wavin' or summat?" Her hands came up as if she, Charley Goode, was not a mere flower girl but a concert maestro herself! She waved them as she might a wand, one in each hand, if she had music and not spells to conduct. A smile erupted as the urchin stopped herself, shaking her head a bit so her boss knew it was all a farce. A joke, one that even a former mortal enemy should be able to get.

"Reckon they might be gettin' ready to go to seed? Jes be clearin' their throats, yeah?" In reality, Charley had little clue what the daffodils might need. The old shop never had them, perhaps because the Florist Potts already did it better. Or perhaps it was that neither could, and Mrs. Potts was the only one barmy enough to try. "En't got the faintest what I'd do, 'sides a bit of what I did for the Geraniums. See, sometimes they just need a good, gentle rub in the leaf, good ol' fashioned nurturin'."

It calmed her enough at those times, anyway.

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Writer Notes: Charley is a street urchin in both appearance and behavior, unless written otherwise here.
Interactions may reflect Victorian-era morals rather than modern sensibilities; this is allowed and acceptable to this writer.

Laurel chuckled at the girl's suggestion. It reminded her of her daughters when they had been younger. Dahlia had often placed one in daffodil away from the rest for the very same reason although as far as Laurel could tell it hadn't done anything.

"Perhaps they are about to go to seed." Laurel humored her but allowed the girl to continue. "Ah, you do know what to do. Yes, a gentle rub of the leaf. It'll be a good start. Come, you can show me." With that Laurel turned and led Charley to the greenhouses out back.

When they reached the cacophony of the daffodils she stepped aside and nodded, "Go ahead."

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   Charley Goode

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Mama Potts' is a joy thanks to Bee <3

Once, she had dreamed of it. In a nightmare, really, deep in the lair of her enemy, where a garden of evil grew. Charley wasn't one to give nightmares much thought, particularly in the daytime. There was no evil here, she could have already guessed as much from the annual flower show that bore no ill will to its visitors. Not that it made her first time stepping into the greenhouse a little more underwhelming than the urchin had been hoping for.

Right now, she'd welcome an evil garden lair for the noise that filled the greenhouse instead.

"Ya sure we don't need earmuffs?" Charley spared a quick glance at them in the entrance, before venturing deeper inside. It wasn't hard to pinpoint the daffodils, tooting their slightly-furled petals like a horn. In a street with flashy uniforms and confetti, the flowers could have put on a show better than any band. In here, all she wanted them to do was shut their petals, for good.

The urchin resisted the temptation to help them do just that. Her job was to offer a kinder sort of help, and with the boss's eyes fixed on her back, Charley wasn't about to step out of line. Getting closer to the flowers took every ounce of her courage. She reached out to the closest leaf when her arms were close enough, rubbing it mindlessly while giving the plant a look over its parts. "Don't seem all that different, ya wouldn't know 'em from any not carryin', 'cept that they're busy tryna blow out our ears."

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Writer Notes: Charley is a street urchin in both appearance and behavior, unless written otherwise here.
Interactions may reflect Victorian-era morals rather than modern sensibilities; this is allowed and acceptable to this writer.