Flora Factoids

Human societies have always had to divide left from right, wrangling and categorizing this-habit-here that-custom-there, accorded to one side or the other. Inhabitants of Alrest didn't know that Klaus pressed the button with his right hand, but they did, down to the Blades, experience the usual rate of dimorphism in handedness, owing to the very same humans within the datasets the Trinity Processor Cores were trained on.

If Flora had to pick, she'd probably skew right, purely for convenience compounded in numbers, but left-handedness was fine, too - with enough ingenuity, in a right-handed society, it was almost like being ambidextrous!

Do you know someone with cold hands? Everyone in Aletta did, as had all the schoolhouse students in Heblin.

Flora couldn't help it! Though her natural predisposition was a personable indifference to temperature, as concerned modes of dress for the dawning day, her hands, the little lady's immediate interface, remained chilly.

Perhaps it was down to the ice-elemental knife Addam had gifted her, or perhaps it was a constant open invitation to come, hold her hands, warm her up, but whatever the case, she could be found chattering, blue-nailed, and ever-so-slightly irritated, on even the most mildly brisk of days.

Flora's calm, well-ordered tendency lent itself well to her early advancement through the final year of secondary school. This wasn't difficult nor particularly out of place, of course, given that the boarding school in Auresco only graduated, what, some twenty students each year? If that.

Where another girl might have balked at the idea that she was losing out on the penultimate year of her childhood, thrusting directly into the future, Flora simply reframed it as an opportunity: that's five or ten more subjects to synthesize into broader knowledge, and one year closer to just getting on with it all.

While Flora does enjoy warm drinks and all the associated mocha palettes rich in alkaloids, she doesn't best prefer the muddling of all sorts of coffee, milk and cream, ice, syrups, whatnot...

Instead, she loves raspeberry tea, hot or cold. Or just plain water! She's quite the water appreciator. There are few nasty moods or spells that a tall glass can't help with. And the same for tea, even if uncaffeinated: a clean, fruity flavor, just lightly sweet (maybe a dash of sugar), with a bit of bitter undertone that heals what ails the young woman's frame - what better treat?

Flora loves loves loves sour, briny, pickled things. From Energy Pickles to olives of every shape, size, and color, if it's been preserved, it's precious, to Flora.

Her experiments with canning haven't always been the most successful, but that's one of the perks of living on a farm and in a manor with plenty of staff around. Those more adventurous, eager to please, will try her vinegary cocktail of Creeping Starpepper and Deviled Onion, or a spread of Sour Avocado on homemade sourdough with a sprinkling of pepper flakes, and those who aren't will just leave more for the lady.

Among the dishes that the Tornan party cook, Flora's favorite is undeniably Pickled Purses. Aegaeon's fine culinary skill ensures that the bright, vegetal, nearly heart-shaped purses don't wilt when exposed to the Vinegar Leaves, instead turning crunchy and retaining their peppery snap.

If she can't curry Jin's favor to replicate them, though, Flora has instead found herself an avid enjoyer of broccoli and radicchio, which take well to roasting but also do wonderfully in a big salad full of vegetables, wildflowers, seeds, and croutons, all dressed in a sweet-and-sour vinaigrette just light enough not to weigh the plentiful contents down.

Just as Flora isn't overly strict with which types of foods she'll enjoy at which times of day, she's not a prescriptivist when it comes to lunchtime. Still, her favorite meal is lunch. Sitting at the counter with the sunlight streaming in from outside, resting a while from the work of the morning and looking forward to the activities of the evening, enjoying the heartiest course of the day...

It's just a nice way to spend time - with nice company, too. Her favorite fine friends.

Not luncheon, necessarily, but lunch. Ladies who lunch! Only, not so stuffy as all that.

Sweet and simple though Flora herself might be, she's found over the years that she simply cannot handle cloying sweetness. Butter Choclit, in particular, is the worst. Maybe she's particularly sensitive to the acids present as a preservative in some of the cheaper brands Argentum sources, or maybe she just likes bitter things, but whatever the case, Flora swears she doesn't just prefer the darker taste of Bitter Choclit for the maturity points it might bring her and her brownies.

Is Flora herself, perhaps, cloyingly sweet? Is she lacking in dimension and strength?

Maybe, but milk chocolate has many fans.

Flora may wish herself to be impervious to all flights of human folly, but she doesn't tangle with spicy food just for the challenge of it.

A Hot Orange is your basic element of heat, and some drink it by the teaspoon in the mornings as an anti-inflammatory. Flora had tried it, when freshly graduated from secondary school and determined to be the cleanest, fittest, brightest young teacher in all the land, but eventually abandoned the habit.

When she accidentally consumes something not quite middle-of-the-road enough for her tolerance, she'll sit nursing a glass of water, pretending it didn't happen.

Of course, being the wife of a farmer and the grown-up version of a countryside village gal, Flora makes do with hospitality toward whichever animals may decide to grace her and their fair moor, and the Armus are perfectly sweet for the petting. But, if she were to dream just a bit bigger, she might imagine one day a trip to a dustless Mor Ardain, where she might become acquainted with a Ponio of varying temperament, and offer it Dance Apples and sugar, and put herself to the test of taming something that doesn't just walk on two lanky legs.

Flora has long abandoned the concept of special pajama outfits, matching sets with silk hems and ribbons and frills. She has a pair or two somewhere in the back of her wardrobe, lingering from when Addam had thought it might be a nice idea, but eventually she just began employing old, worn versions of her favorite dress silhouette for the task.

And, then, she stopped going for a look even that twee (though it's not all that affected, she knows), and now just throws on a big shirt borrowed from...whomever, to go with an unassuming pair of undershorts. Comfy!

Though Flora is in all things quite ordinary, sometimes to the point of being a caricature, she can be a bit of a weird girl sometimes, too - you'd see if it you ever had the opportunity to watch her fall asleep, or alternatively to wake up.

She sleeps on her back, most often, but never flat like a mummy. One arm will end up bent behind her back, or there'll be a pillow between her legs, or her legs will become, mutually, complete strangers (leaving no easily navigable room for anyone else to join on even the spacious of beds).

While Flora has never been one for a stodgy early turn-in, she has no particular yen for staying up into the wee hours of the night, as they tend toward morning. She is susceptible to her own poor choices, at times, but she's never one for laying about until noon. To her, it's an icky feeling, no matter how tired she might think she is. No, ten o'clock, latest, should do it.

Of course, when she's got work to get on with - teaching work, on-site - she's up at a bright seven, and naturally wakes half an hour earlier than that.

Is Flora a deep sleeper? Well, it depends if someone is there with her.

If she's being cuddled, she goes right out, breathing peacefully, and she doesn't like to be woken up for nonsense reasons! A bicep or tricep to cling onto will do her quite nicely, as will a chin slotted over her shoulder or a chest to burrow into.

But otherwise, left by her lonesome, Flora tosses and turns somewhat mightily. She might not be up, conscious, the whole night, but it's rare that she enjoys a night of being properly well rested. Not that you'd ever know!

If left in solitary silence for a spell, and if lacking of anything else more pressing to do (managing the farm is a big one), Flora likes doing jigsaw puzzles or setting herself to the repetitive task of darning up holes. Yes, a little bit stereotypical, for a woman-about-house, but she likes the feeling of completion, of setting things to rights.

As for knitting, she usually reserves that hobby for a social interface, or for when something else is going on that occupies the whole room (most often, a movie, though occasionally if one of Minoth's plays promises to drag...).

Just like any other silly mother, Flora loves to talk about the scent of snow. It's part of why she loves Winterwind Perfume so much! That crisp, clean scent... And in Heblin, the snow smelled like trees, tight with odor, but in Aletta, it's earthy, open.

The petrichor of rain doesn't so much capture Flora's interest, because the rain doesn't swirl about gathering clues from its environment the same way the snow does. She just loves breathing in the chilly air and feeling the interplay of so much natural force far beyond her control - she, just an animal on ground.

It's a bit silly, how Flora worries about the way she might smell, to anyone close enough to judge (and most people she meets do end up close enough to judge, because she's so welcoming, and doesn't care for yelling over far distances for too long). Yes, it's one thing if she applies Winterwind because that's the impression she wants to give off, because its mist truly is her favorite scent, but doesn't she know...?

She smells like strawberries, when unadorned. Not volatile or intense, nor overly saccharine, just delicate and pleasant. A bouquet of gentle esters. Because she can!

Flora has her ablutions down to a science. Though she knows she's not really saving much water, if any, by taking a fifteen-minute shower versus a bath of any length, there's a rhythm to showers that she finds wakes her up and gets her feeling cleaner than even the most relaxing bath can ever promise.

When she's got to wash her hair, it could be up to thirty minutes, but she's businesslike about it. No loitering, no nattering (though she allows herself warm water), just in and out. There are better ways to relax, Flora feels, than wrinkling your fingers.

If we're making a direct comparison to the skills of the likes of Jin and Aegaeon, no, Flora's prowess in the kitchen is nothing special. Sure, everything she makes is tasty, she's got a talent for tossing together leftovers, and she can bake just about anything (with much experience in the way of bread recipe testing), but she's no chef.

And neither does she need to be! It's not about flair, but about making something simple, with love. Flora is just good, not spectacular, in general, and that's fine by her. So long as she's always improving, just a bit!

No, Flora doesn't quite care for freezing. She loves breezes that whip color into your cheeks and the wonder of a still world just waking up. Early spring (of course, the time of her birthday) is her favorite season, when it's no longer dead cold and bitter, but it still feels a little bit like winter. Has the vibes, as the kids might say.

When things are just waking up...when the world's starting anew...

Some may say autumn is the loveliest time, and Flora can certainly appreciate falling leaves and warm fall flowers covering a porch, but...ah, springtime!

Favorite holiday...well, the holidays upon Alrest are a little vague, scattered few and far between, owing to the lack of a widespread organized religion to foster saints or of a world to be explored and, unfortunately, colonized, leading to meetings of peoples that hadn't, yet.

But, culture aside, once Flora's reminded herself that favorite things can be favorite just because you enjoy them, no matter how frivolous that enjoyment may be, she immediately knows that her favorite special day is Valentine's Day, because (predictably) it's pink, and because she gets extra kisses.

Because it's a lovely day for love.

When it comes to gifts, Flora definitely prefers to receive. She knows it's not quite right, but, well, someone's got to do it! She's good at deciding what odd trinket a certain person might like, on occasion - for instance, if she sees something striking in a thrift shop and knows exactly who would love it, snatching it up and offering it to them upon next meeting - but the presentation, the grandeur of giving a gift, eludes her.

No one really seems to mind when the only thing she brings to a gathering is herself (and something for the hosts, always).

Flora owns (in Imperial Earth measurement of antiquity) just five feet and two inches (roughly equivalent to the same given by peds), which, generally, is alright with her. Once upon a time, it wasn't, because it's a height in that range of being short but not very short, nor even average female height; it's neither distinctive nor not.

But, she's come around to liking it just fine. With friends and family so tall, does it really matter if she's three inches shorter or taller? And usually her shoes have some sort of modest two-inch heel anyway, so she can't care!