23 July 1895 - Florist Potts

Emery was with her grandmother, leaving Zinnia some free time to spend inside the Florist Potts; she’d missed being in here, missed the smells and the colors and keeping her hands busy. She loved being a mother, but it was difficult to give up such a huge part of her life in order to do so.

She was crouched low near the front display, her hands fussing over a pale-pink rose that didn’t want to remain straight no matter how many times she twisted it into place. Every arrangement around her held the flower, but then again, they were always the most popular. The July heat was brutal already this morning, settling over the shop like a damp cloth. It was causing the petals to droop faster than normal, and it wasn’t something Zin could fix with water and apologies. Maybe if she cast a cooling spell…

She stood slowly, brushing her palms on her apron and stepping back to take stock.

And paused, her head tipping like she’d heard something. But no, she hadn’t heard anything, but she had smelled something. Something smelled wrong. No, not wrong. Just... foreign.

She sniffed again, brow furrowing. “Do you smell that?” Zinnia asked, her attention shifting toward the other person in the shop with her.

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Open to someone who would reasonably be at the Florist Potts.
For the Scenario Challenge Stamp: #10: smell something and find the cause of it & August Writing Stamp. Based on this or this DYK

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   Charley Goode

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Bee made this beauty<3

Zinnia Gallagher was a neversweat, and Charley had decided that from almost as soon as they met.

The urchin wound up doing most of the tasks around the flower shop, pointed this way and that, while Mrs. Gallagher rested on her laurels. She might have thought about doing the same, too, if she was Mrs. Potts' daughter and could spend her time on making tea or art instead of work.

Charley thought her tea tasted awful, but even she had to admit the woman had an eye for arrangements. So long as she kept teaching Charley how to make them, and they were turning out much prettier than Mrs. Mann's ever did, Charley could begrudgingly agree there might be some good reason she got paid so much for doing so little.

The urchin was trying to do very little for her part today, and only a fool would call her a neversweat for it —and she was no fool. Nor were either of them, not on a day as hot as this. All the windows and doors open couldn't keep the sweltering heat from soaking the undersides of her shirt sleeves or the back of her neck. Even rolling up her sleeves or moving her braid only helped for a little bit, then it was all dripping and gross again with nothing left to help it. Charley wrapped arrangements as quick as she could, and already her box of finished bouquets had grown bigger than all the cuts left out to do.

Maybe the sun would go down faster if the work was done.

"Smell what?" Charley asked, after the second time the woman said something. Her freckles all came together, wrinkling her nose against the smells she was getting. All the flowers in the world weren't enough for the hot box of the shop today. Nearby bags of fertilizer clogged her nose with decay, and the odors reeking off their bodies was sure to send her straight to the lake after work. The urchin was only glad for the lack of customers so she didn't have to smell them, too. "En't smellin' a thing I'd wanna be smellin', 'cept if I stick my head in this box."

She almost did, but Mrs. Gallagher was onto something, as much as Charley wished it wasn't so. Her nose could smell it now, or she thought as much. It didn't reek, not exactly, nor did it clear her mind like a deep sniff of the flowers could. "Might've some fellow conjured up a new factory next door or summat?"

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The following 1 user Likes Charley Goode's post:1 user Likes Charley Goode's post
   Zinnia Gallagher

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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.

Ma had wanted Toby to help with the potions yet again. And, as was often the case, Toby was avoiding her. Instead he had decided to sneak into de Montfault Theater. Typically this wouldn't be a problem but lately Uncle Arthur had decided that if Toby couldn't realize he wasn't there to be on the stage then he ought not to be in the theater. Which left Toby with the task of breaking and entering. After all, he only wanted to see so he could get practice while he was home for the summer.

Which is how he found himself in the side alley off High Street, crouched under the open windows of a shop, arms full of stinkweed he'd found growing next to a greenhouse. It would be perfect. He'd decided. Except of course Ma was roaming High Street looking for him. And the small fact that the weeds in his arms apparently made him want to sneeze.

Toby sniffled, burying his nose into his sleeve. Merlin, he ought to have thought to cover his nose. But if he could just get these to Uncle Arthur and distract him with them (how he hadn't quite decided yet) it would be fine.

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   Charley Goode

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Zinnia’s hands paused against her apron as Mama’s newest hire, Charley, finally spoke. She almost jumped because she forgot the other had been here at all, but then again it wasn’t like they were having robust conversations. Instead of answering her, because Zin wasn’t standing next to fertilizer to mess with her senses, her gaze flickered to the open doorway, as though staring might draw the scent closer for inspection. She gave another deliberate sniff, the kind that drew the air deep enough to almost taste it.

“No. Not a factory.” She murmured, because it smelled a lot more pleasant than smog… until it didn’t. Instantly the lingering smell of coffee rolled into something else entirely, which nearly made the young witch gag. But she didn’t. Instead Zinnia stepped into the doorway, the heat outside hitting her like a damp quilt, and scanned the narrow strip of alley beside the shop.

The source of the smell wasn’t difficult to find, as she spotted a boy crouched low, clutching an armful of ragged green stems that drooped over his elbows. Even from here, the smell curled toward her, sharp and acrid, catching in the back of her throat.

“Can I help you?” Zinnia called out, her nose wrinkling. Maybe she’d send the Potts’ newest helper to shoo him away.

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   Charley Goode

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Bee made this beauty<3

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."

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   Zinnia Gallagher

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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.

Zinnia had every intention of scolding the boy for daring to parade stinkweed anywhere near the shop, but as soon as she stepped outside into the heat, another spell, one that wasn’t quite so foul or skunky, filled her nose. It was warmer, better. She blinked, startled at how clearly it announced itself, cutting through the stench as if it meant to remind her of itself.

Her eyes dropped to the armful of weeds the boy clutched, and then darted to the street beyond, nose lifting slightly as though she could follow the richer scent to its source. “If you help me find what smells good,” Zinnia started, her hands curling on her hips, “We can forget about the stink you’ve already brought to my door.” Her nose twitched again, following that ghost of a scent that clung stubbornly under the weed’s stink.

“Charley,” Zin turned just enough to face her. “Make sure he doesn’t slip away, please?” Because although Zinnia doubted the boy was going to cause a ruckus with the stinkweed, she didn’t want him leaving it near the shop for whatever reason – they’d never get the stench out of the flowers.

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   Charley Goode

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Bee made this beauty<3

The urchin didn't ordinarily appreciate getting told what to do, particularly from the boss's daughter. And if Mrs. Gallagher had been keeping up her neversweat ways, she would have simply refused. It wasn't like it was the lady's work inside the store that was set to be ruined, not after Charley had spent all morning on those arrangements alone. She must have caught Charley in a good mood, or it was just that the boy stunk that bad.

Raising her chin, Charley looked the boy square in the eye, giving him a narrowed glare. He was not going to cross this threshold, not if there was anything she could do about it. "Oh, he's stayin' right where I can see him." She jerked her chin to the side, farther from the shop walls. Into the street if he had to, the urchin would hardly blink if he got run into, or over. "Be a good lad an' follow the nice Potts lady, lest ya wanna smell my boot."

Just a week before, it would have felt wrong for Charley to stand at the door of the Potts shop in guard. They'd been her enemies as the only competitor to Montague's in Hogsmeade. But give her a new job, and a reason to keep it, and the urchin could be its newest, most vicious, defender. She had a wand up her sleeve and didn't even need it.

She raised her arms, fingers in claws, and stepped toward the boy with every ounce of menace in her body. Sometimes the streets were like a stage, only far more entertaining for an urchin as well. She'd growl if she had to, whatever it took to make the stinky boy back off or fall in line. Whichever he chose made little difference to Charley, he'd been doomed from the moment he walked up with a weed in his arms. "Go on then an' shift yerself, Stinky. Don't get clever, neither, 'cause I'm gonna be yer shadow."

Charley would move when he did, following him and his stinky offering the source of the woman's good smell. Whatever it was better be worth it for all the gagging she'd have to put up with on the 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.

Merlin's saggiest drawers! Toby startled at the apperance of a woman and started to talk but then another girl showed up and the whole thing just got out of hand.

At the suggestion of the lady's to forget his stinkweeds and help her he immediately jumped up, dropping his weeds unceremoniously about him. "Aye, my lady." He bowed to her. He was caught, best to make the most of the situation. "I am at your service." He ignored the awful girl behind him and followed the lady.

"The great quest of the scent." He declared, "Shall I set about to find this smell?" The only thing he could smell was the weeds but that was entirely beyond the point.

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   Charley Goode, Zinnia Gallagher

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Zinnia wasn’t sure how she found herself in the company of two children today, although she supposed there was worse company that could be had. “The great quest indeed.” She echoed, her lips curling into an amused smile as he bowed. At least he was a kind little boy and not a monster – Zinnia had had her fair share of run-ins with those recently.

“Please do. This scent is wonderful. Much better than your stinkweed.” She turned toward Charley to see if the girl might agree with her before she began walking. Oh, she hoped it was something that should consume, like a new chocolate or even a loaf of bread. Rhys wouldn’t show it, but he’d be thrilled with a little surprise like too, after a long day at the office.

“Let’s hope it’s a happy ending for a noble quest.” Zinnia said. The smell was getting stronger, so they were definitely going in the right direction.

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The following 1 user Likes Zinnia Gallagher's post:1 user Likes Zinnia Gallagher's post
   Charley Goode

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Bee made this beauty<3

Charley's eyes rolled all the way to the back of her head when he bowed. The little show-off was going for theatrics, and that was her trick! Her face set into a scowl, aimed right at the taller boy's backside when he sidled up right in line with Mrs. Gallagher's adventurous pace. She grumbled in a low voice to herself, "Thinks he's a knight or summat."

While she fell into step behind them, the urchin couldn't keep herself from stepping up closer to the boy. Enough to set her feet down just behind his, nearly touching the back of his shoes. The boy might have dropped his stinky delivery behind them, but Charley was sure he was still up to something. She planned to be right there, nipping at his heels, ready to catch him before he could assault any more of their senses today.

"What sort of questin' can ya do in town, anyhow?" Charley scuffed at the cobblestone street, still close —but not quite touching— at the boy's heels. "En't seen a dragon here for years, leastwise any shiny cups."

She sniffed, and not for any smell. There was one still, beyond the boy's lingering stench and the musty sort that came along on the highland breezes. The woman seemed to have little clue where it might be, but Charley didn't feel like fighting the direction for the moment. Searching it out would give her time to float more sinister ideas into the boy's nearby ears. "Mebbe spy a werewolf or summat, if we're lucky afore the moonlight. Kill him dead, take his pelt to the ministry, y'know? Prolly be a reward for it, s'pose that's a quest."

"If ya live to tell the tale..." Charley grinned to herself, thinking of all the many stories she could spin for the wanna-be knightly boy.

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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.