(1312-06-20) It's A Lot Of Daisies
Summary: What it says on the tin.
RL Date: 20/06/2020
Related: Daisy Chains
sido philomene 

Maison aux Herbes — Rue du Port


Sido has been dallying with her summer wardrobes, packing up some of her heavier wear and having her summery garb refreshed for her. It might be a little soon, in fact… she's set out from the Salon with every intention of presenting a cool and breezy self to the late spring morning, only to find that this spring morning is looking less forward to summer than back to winter. So the asymmetrical, lace-dotted hem of a sweet linen sundress, bright yellow at the shoulders and fading to a dark mustardy hue where it transitions into lace, well— it less wafts about her pale, winter-kept legs as it does whip about them with that chill breeze. Easy sandals with a mid-brown leather strap up her legs aren't helping her toes, either, but she's got a bounce in her step, anyhow, not letting this contrary weather get her down— or else the bouncing is keeping her warm. She has a guard of the house with her, but she's holding the handles of an absolutely adorable white wheelbarrow her own self, a pair of fingerless gloves saving the palms of her hands from being calloused by them. Her fingernails and toenails have been painted with a pale baby blue lacquer that would gleam a great deal more if the sun were out. Her guardian goes ahead of her to knock at the door and announce the Siz.

The knock at the door and the announced name to the maid prompts the traditional dulcet greeting of the lady of the house from somewhere within its depths. "Who the fuck is Sido-Zinnifre no Coquelicot? Tell her I'm not interested!" To her credit, the maid doesn't lose her polite smile, even as this wafts through to the front door, and once she calls back to clarify that the courtesan is here to pick up flowers, there's a further grumbling, a string of startlingly inventive and original blue language, and finally Philomene appears in person, tall, formidable, and still pulling on her jacket so she's only got one arm in the sleeve as she limps heavily - barefoot, the limp is significantly more pronounced - to the door.

Sido doesn't mind the blue streak. It can't catch her all the way out here. She does feel a little poorly for the maid, and she leans a little bit to one side, lifting a foot off of the ground and just a little bit behind her. When the Lady Philomene comes to the door, she breaks into a big grin and releases one of her wheelbarrow handles to wiggle a set of fingers hello. From her summery garb and sunny disposition Phil could be fooled, briefly, into thinking it's much nicer out than it is, but the open door will soon prove the reality of the situation. "Hello!" she chimes.

Philomène struggles a little more with her sleeve, then finally gives up, decides to brazen it out as a fashion statement, and lets the jacket hang from one shoulder instead. What's irritating is that she has the confidence enough to pull it off, too. She gestures widely to invite the woman into what is usually a very spartan home but is, at present, absolutely covered with bunches and pots of yellow daisies, from dainty little nosegays of tiny, delicate flowers, to bold arrangements of giant daisies with associated greenery and foliage. There is barely a surface left uncovered, with some of the pots even gathered against walls on the floor when tables, mantels and shelves were already full. There's even an admittedly slightly bedraggled and sad looking bunch resting along the top of the framed sketch beside the door, which has deposited a dying bloom neatly into the top of the tall riding boots stashed there.

"Alienor with you?" she asks, peering through the door afterwards, in case of lurking friends. "Hm. Well, go on, take as many as you can carry. They're no damn use to me cluttering up the place."

"Just me, Lady Philomene!" Siz answers, returning her hnd to its post on the wheelbarrow handle and lifting its heels to wheel it along with her into the place. "Oh, wow, you weren't even kidding," she notes, eyes wide at the actual, true and non-hyperbolic mass of daisies in the place. She thought, for true, there may have been a bit of facetiousness in her showing up with the wheelbarrow. Now the poor little garden implement is simply dwarfed in comparison to what she might put into it. "Where did they all come from?" she wonders, lifting a hand to caress with a gentle thumbstroke a drooping blossom near the door, as if to encourage it to hang in there.

"From what I can gather, an ardent admirer," Philomene responds drily, leaning back against the doorframe and folding her arms to supervise. "An ardent admirer who failed to get or leave a forwarding address, and so I find myself inundated with the bloody things and with no recourse to stop them."

"OOooohh," Siz bounces a little. "Well, that's exciting. And mysterious," she gives a little wiggle… a secret admirer situation is just one of those things that can touch each one of her most Heliotropic pressure points at once. "They keep coming? Have you set out someone to spy on the delivery? You might get a clue," she raves, wide-eyed, possibly more invested in the situation by now than Philomene has ever been. No less, she takes the sad droopers from by the door and lays them at the bottom of the wheelbarrow. She's not going to leave them just because the others are prettier. That would be mean. And they can… shelter the fresh ones from the hard bottom down there… but really, she'll think of something nice to do with them.

Philomène half turns to straighten the picture they were hanging from, the only hint of decoration in the place, flowers notwithstanding. Of course it's a picture of horses. What else would it be. "Well, not usually in this quantity," she admits, pursing her lips for a moment. "I don't object to the occasional bunch of flowers finding its way here, but really, this is beyond reasonable. If more arrive I'll redirect them your way and you can deal with them."

Sido browses, doing a little bit of triage and a little bit of planning. "You know, all these petals could make a fantastic batch of dye," she notes. "Maybe Alienor will be able to make some of her white gowns yellow." Though all she really wants to do at this point is just to make a whole pile of daisy petals and lounge in them, oh, man. "Are you going to find out who's sending them? Well, hopefully they'll make themselves known in time," she supposes, taking up another bunch and laying them up against the back slant of the wheelbarrow, conserving space and trying to plan out how to get as many flowers in here as she can.

"I had no intention of wasting my time on it, no," Philomene admits, claiming a pot from the closest shelf and offering it over regardless of any of Siz's tetrising plans, if only to clear more of a path where she can limp back to her comfortable chair and, importantly, her half-filled glass of something that is almost certainly not water, and the small box of what are almost certainly not cigars on the table beside it. "I imagine it's not the same gentleman every time. Leda is renowned for her generosity in claiming new lovers."

"If not, isn't it a little bit of a coincidence? The… they're all the same?" Siz looks around at the collection. "Unless they're a professed favorite or something," she supposes, just sort of talking through it out loud as she loads things up, taking the pot as she's handed it and looking around one way and the other before just setting it on the floor and moving the flowers out of it by hand, then lifting it again to tuck it someplace out of the way on her own way to gather further blossoms.

Philomène stoops to pick up her drink, face freezing in expression for a moment or two as she bends, a well practiced mask to hide any sort of flinch or wince. "Well, I'm assuming this set is all from the one, very keen, very profligate admirer, yes. But this is hardly the first time she's helpfully failed to update her latest new lover that she actually doesn't live here any more. At least it's flowers this time. There was a very expensive hamper of cheese at one point, delivered while I was out of the city, and you can imagine the joy that was to return to several weeks later."

"Ohhh my gosshhhh, noooo," Siz seems almost to palpably suffer the effects of that particular discovery as though she were making it on her own, pausing in her flower recovery efforts in order to fan herself with one hand in a sort of flutter of panic. "I'm glad you didn't call on us to relieve you of that one." Though, who knows, maybe Niobe might have made something of the mold.

Philomène knocks back a gulp from her drink, switches the glass to her other hand, and shrugs once more out of her jacket, leaving it on the seat of the chair by the hearth. Well, it's not as though she needs to be presentable for actual company and it's her house. She might as well be comfortable. "Well, help yourself to anything floral and not nailed down. You're doing me a favour," she insists gruffly.

Sido does help herself, as it stands. Capable at favor-doing and pleasant about the task, even if it feels somewhat awry to be off with so many gifts. She ends up, in the course of her circuit, near Philomene's chair. "Would you like someone to see whether they can find out who these are from?" she presses on it again, then, as though to moderate the impact of the question, "If they're being sent to the wrong address, the sender could be corrected."

"If I'm perfectly honest with you," Philomene insists, pausing to ease herself down into her seat with that same practiced blank expression, "I… couldn't really give two shits. If it's not this one it'll be the next. But if it would satisfy your curiosity, go ahead."

<FS3> Sido rolls Empathy+1: Amazing Success. (8 1 4 4 6 7 8 8 1 1 2 4 8 2 7)

Sido stands still and straight with both hands on her wheelbarrow, brows aloft as the Lady Philomene purports an intention toward honestly, then puts the blank look up again. "Mmh," Siz only nods in affirmation of this troth, "I may; only if you're sure you don't mind it. It's a lot of daisies," she marvels, as though that might be the sole end of her interest. And she resumes her shopping, though her barrow is nearly filled already.

"If you're expecting a new patron out of the end of it, remember this is one of Leda's," Philomene points out drily, exhaling briefly before draining her glass and leaning forward for the bottle to top it up. "I will never get one or two of her memento stains out of the carpet, and don't get me started on the donkey and the midget."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Siz pledges, offering up her right hand, digits in some thematic oath-taking configuration as she unbends from laying another bunch of daisies into the 'barrow. She's unburdening another vase of likely candidates when she looks back. "Ah— I think that counts as getting started," she laughs.

"Orchis," Philomene explains succinctly. Which, given her known antipathy for courtesans as a whole, is an intriguing thought. Not, perhaps, the first choice of house guest that might come to mind for this woman whose smile is so rare as to be the subject of a pointedly wicked rhyme going around the small children of the area.

"Orchis," Siz repeats… more of an explanation of cause than an expounding of events, but she supposes that's really more or less enough. She glimpses down to her barrow and deposits her most recent handful there. "I'm not sure it can hold much more than this. I guess Alienor hasn't been by, yet?" since Philomene asked whether Alienor was with her. "I'll let her know to bring something substantial with her," she smiles.

"Mm. And if you do happen to find out who's sending them, do let me know?" Philomene requests, despite having decided she didn't care. She flicks a quick half smile and a shrug. "It could be rather fun to go and demand to know why they're coming to me, and how very dare he."

Sido squeezes her eyes almost shut, nose wrinkling with the force of a joyous grin. "Of course— it's your home, you should be the first to know. I'll see what I can find out," she tempers expectations, somewhat, in her phrasing.

"Better yet, if you can find where the fuck Leda is now, we can get them sent on," Philomene suggests drily, leaning forward again but this time to take up one of the rolled contents of her cigar box. Settling back, she props her right foot on the table, then grasps the leg of her breeches with thumb and forefinger, physically dragging her left leg up to rest on its sister. When she strikes a light and sets it to the end of her own particular herbal remedy, the distinctive, pungent smell begins to fill the room. With her free hand, Philomene flickers the fingers vaguely. "Thank you, Caroline will see you out."

"Better yet," Siz will agree, since there's seldom something sadder than to send a gift to a loved one and not have it arrive to them. "Until next time, Lady Philomene," she goes to find Caroline and the door, letting Phil to her medications

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