Private Tales In the memory of the fallen

[Demise]

Demise scrunched her nose up at the idea it was the 'sweetest' thing Yarrow had ever heard. Sweet was not a word she wanted associated with her, nor her family. Images were important. She gave a soft snort at her reassurance and mentally made a note to remember that should she hear a whisper of her childhood story she would make the orcs life a living hell.

Let it go, Demi. It's hardly the worst thing someone could know about us, Prevail had finished her flower crown now and had set it about her ghostly curls. Death had made her sister even more beautiful. The type of beauty a poet would weep to write about. She slid through the closed door ahead of the two assassins.

This time, Demise's snort was far less delicate.

"Some kind of weed would probably be more apt," she pushed open the door and a tiny bell rang out into the crowded space. Flowers crowded nearly every free surface, corner of the floor, or spot on the shelves. Demise had to duck under one particularly large Monstera deliciosa to get to the small neatly arranged desk. Spools of ribbon and pretty paper were stacked to one side and discarded cuttings to the other. There was no sign of the shop keep however, not until a small voice from the back called.

"Be with you in a minute!"

 

[Yarrow]

Stepping in to the flower shop after Demise, Yarrow made to close the door behind her. 'Now I know why we never used to hang out,' she said, scanning the street outside for signs of a tail. A feminine voice called out to the two assassins from the shop's interior, begging patience. Yarrow detected the slightest hint of an accent, though, she couldn't quite place it.

Definitely not local, Root said, clambering over the countertop to sniff out the backrooms.

Clay went with her, only to appear a moment later as the shopkeeper arrived, a potted night orchid in hand. A good thing, that. Had she brought another flower out instead, it would have meant the place was compromised, and if that happened...

'Thank you for waiting,' the shopkeeper smiled gracefully as she put the pot down on the counter, adjusted her apron. 'What can I help you with? Are you two here for the para-' Yarrow watched the shopkeeper's expression curdle. A second passed as she studied Demise's features, then, Yarrow's. 'N-no, it can't be... not today.' Brushing the soil from her hands, the shopkeeper rounded the counter, headed for the door.

Is she... running? Root asked, half a beat after Yarrow thought it.

Flipping the sign from "open" to "closed", the shopkeeper rounded on them, chest heaving. Her fair skin had an ashen cast to it, now, and her hands... 'Quickly!' She slid the deadbolt home. 'Into the back before someone spots you!'

Sharing a somewhat worried look with Demise, the she-orc did as told, unhurriedly making her way behind the counter ahead of the woman. Clay and Root regarded them, one sat on the countertop, the other stretched out beneath it.

What's got her knickers in a twist? Yarrow heard her sister ask.

Don't know, she replied, but something stinks in here.

 

[Demise]

Demise slowly peeled her fingers off the throwing knife she could access through the pocket of her dress. Killing the florist would have been an inconvenience but preferrable to her running. The Assassin was still not convinced whoever had let slip the location of their home was not somehow tangled up with their mission, whether by coincidence or intention. Coming to an informant she had never met before had been a gamble on her family and their loyalty to one another. A larger part of her than she would have admitted was relieved that the shop keep was merely cautious.

"From your look, I take it you are the one who knows my sister," Demise said by way of conversation as they followed her into the back room. The woman darted around the room closing the curtains to the two small windows that had been letting in light. From what she had glimpsed they had looked out onto a quiet side street but their hostess was taking no chances. Once she seemed sure she had made the place as secure as possible she turned to the two assassins with lips pressed into a thin, worried line.

"You all look remarkably similar. The eyes," the woman suppressed a shudder. "I could never forget her eyes."

After an awkward silence Demise slid into a chair and motioned for the girl to do the same.

"We are not here to cause you trouble, we are just looking for information."