Open Musebox Post

[ersatzdivinity]

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Perffff

[noheroics]

Truth be told, Morrison doesn't mind these trips so much. The paperwork, while complicated, is both necessary and satisfying to complete, and knowing it'll give his clients the results they're looking for helps make all the tedium of waiting in line feel like nearly nothing at all.

Of course, that doesn't make it any less frustrating when he makes it to the head of one line after half an hour or more of waiting, only to be told that he's in the wrong line and needs to join another in order to file the paperwork in his briefcase--and then to be told after another half an hour that he needs to wait for someone to be available to meet with him and file it. He's half convinced one of them has figured out who his father was and is doing this to spite him. The other half is sure they do know who his godfather is, and have no desire to be helpful for any part of that family. There is no winning.

However, one of the perks of having visited the Seventh innumerable times as both a teen and an adult is knowing where all the best nooks and crannies are to spend the next hour or so with a cup of coffee. It's a beautiful spring day, not a cloud in the sky, and so after fetching himself a cup of coffee, Morrison heads for the little-known gardens out back of the stately granite building.

Everything is in bloom, he marvels, even the things that maybe shouldn't be at this point in the season, but that's not all that surprising; after all, they must have a gardener with the touch, or a botanist or plant-based lifeform on staff. One never knows. Either way, he relaxes as his dress shoes crunch softly on the soil, taking a deep breath in and exhaling to take in the heady scent of lavender. After a moment, he starts down the path, humming a quiet tune as he ambles deeper into the greenery. Finally, he pauses to examine a stand of sunflowers, completely missing the woman standing within them.

"Well, aren't you gorgeous?" The sunflower he's speaking to has a head easily a foot across, yellow petals vibrant. He's always had a fondness for them.

[anacardiaceae]

The flower turns its face a little more in towards Morrison's direction; all of them are more aware of people now that Pamela is nearby. Speaking of, the good doctor takes a deep breath in, preparing to say something...what, exactly, is lost as she gets a lungful of thin air beneath faint fabric softener.

"They are flattered," is what she settles on after she gathers her wits about her again, voice rising from the center of the stems. "The sunflowers, that is. They think you're not too bad looking either."

The sunflowers all nod in the same graceful motion. Pamela doesn't leave her hiding place just yet, though. Instead she pops a piece of her muffin into her mouth.