The smell might not have been a factory conjured from nothing, but the heady scent had sprouted up so quickly. Here in the flower shop, Charley was surrounded by smells, that sometimes her nose couldn't quite sniff out which was where until she put it right on a petal. This odor was different, leaking right through all the others until it was all her nose could smell. Not even if she wrinkled it this way or that, or shook her head to clear the air in front of her, would her nose let go of that cloying smell.
Now she knew how a poor bloodhound might feel on the hunt.
"Then why'd ya gotta go openin' the door?" Charley asked, to an empty shop, apparently. Mrs. Gallagher was quick as a fly on the window, never twitching until she was noticed. She'd flown right out the open door, that banged against the outer wall and let the heat and smells of High Street roll right inside in her place. The urchin got up to follow, and would have been faster had her shoe not tried to wrestle with the legs of the chair. "Oi, this whole bleedin' shop!"
Charley saw a few of the flowers staring back at her, but her oath hadn't reached any real ears that mattered. Not like the budding daffodils were going to start gossiping about the new hire's language. And if they did, the urchin was going to make sure they were the first ones sold one their petals opened.
More curious than a neversweat, the urchin was only a few seconds behind Zinnia anyway. And she was far enough ahead of the woman's judgement, backing up to throw her arms across the shop's threshold. "Don't think yer comin' to poison my whole lot with that," Charley tossed her chin at the bounty of stinkweed in the boy's arms. "That sort stinks fouler than yer boots."
Now she knew how a poor bloodhound might feel on the hunt.
"Then why'd ya gotta go openin' the door?" Charley asked, to an empty shop, apparently. Mrs. Gallagher was quick as a fly on the window, never twitching until she was noticed. She'd flown right out the open door, that banged against the outer wall and let the heat and smells of High Street roll right inside in her place. The urchin got up to follow, and would have been faster had her shoe not tried to wrestle with the legs of the chair. "Oi, this whole bleedin' shop!"
Charley saw a few of the flowers staring back at her, but her oath hadn't reached any real ears that mattered. Not like the budding daffodils were going to start gossiping about the new hire's language. And if they did, the urchin was going to make sure they were the first ones sold one their petals opened.
More curious than a neversweat, the urchin was only a few seconds behind Zinnia anyway. And she was far enough ahead of the woman's judgement, backing up to throw her arms across the shop's threshold. "Don't think yer comin' to poison my whole lot with that," Charley tossed her chin at the bounty of stinkweed in the boy's arms. "That sort stinks fouler than yer boots."
![[Image: UNpj1yr.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/bwXcVqtF/UNpj1yr.png)
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.