Flowering Egg

What they'd expected, upon making the acquaintance of and subsequently keeping the company of one Lady Flora, was a wildflower bouquet of trepidation and forgotten manners, stumbling over themselves to suit the parlor of a lord's mistress, ruler of the lot and the land.

Lora, in particular, with her mawkish gawkishness about authority and its figures, trembled, unfortunately, with the wrong kind of excitement to consider that her presence had been requested, by Addam's wife, for to entertain and serve.

Addam never would have sent a guard to summon it so, though Vez himself was not really very imperious or imposing.

Right? Wasn't that it? Maybe Addam didn't have airs, but somebody had to, around here. Even if Mythra said there was nothing so grand about the house, a safe of commonplaceness.

What neither of them expected, ever, through every turn of expression in carbon-copied face, was for Flora herself to be a little bit awkward, a little bit aimless, a little bit not arrogant at all.

Refreshing, right? Lora, without the finesse to toss a gaze to Haze and hide her flickering grin, just burst out with breathy laughter. "Oh, you're alright, aren't you? Just about like one of us!"

At Flora's concerned, almost-frowning face, Lora scrambled to recover, apologizing profusely about assumptions and classes and authorities which were absolutely, of course, never ever with which to be trifled, no ma'am, we promise, we might be bumpkins but we know our manners here, goodness!

But then Flora came out laughing herself, composure undressed. "No, no, Lora, you had the right of it from the first. The last thing I want is for you to talk to me as if I'm any different from any girl friend you've ever had. That goes for you too, Haze," she nodded along with the quick and graceful tag of addition.

Now Lora could exchange the ensuing nervous glance with her fairest Blade, unsure how to respond to that.

The Lady of Aletta, just any old traveler? So cozy as a girl friend ? And what, exactly, did such a term even mean? There was no possible way to act in accordance with that instruction if they knew not what was meant by it!

(See how Lora became outwardly stuttery but inwardly eloquent, to reflect in twain how she felt at these times.)

So Haze spoke for her: "I must offer our apologies, Lady Flora - Lady Lora has never had another girl friend! That is, aside from me."

It was simply true. After all, no mercenaries tough enough to win their dinner were unscarred enough to show themselves vulnerable and kitschy even among the most fairy-minded of fellows in skirts and corsets. Rather than be ashamed of the femininity itself, they buried its gleam at the cracks, for fear that they'd remember the society that had cast them out and down this far.

Reclamation inverse, or something like that.

Flora blinked, then narrowed her eyes in understanding. She curtsied herself, thoughts aglimmer even to the near point of mischievousness. "I'll be honored to show you both how. Do you fancy picking some flowers?"

"Oh, picking flowers, that we can do!" replied Lora in a wave of relief, at the same time as Haze gushed, "Oh, yes! Shall we make flower crowns?!"

Shepherd's Coronets, they searched madly for, oh-so-eager to please. And what should Flora herself return with but simple healer Angel's Sage?