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@floralflorist-blog
Recent citizen of Riften and even more recent employee under Rumare, Maroc! Due to being an amputee (having lost most of his left leg; unable to afford a proper prosthetic so he uses a wooden peg), he struggled immensely with gaining work, and Rumare’s flower shop was one of the last places he went to seeking such. Mainly because he knows jack all about flowers. But he’s learning, thanks to Rumare accepting him under his wing.
“Listen, dear, if you’re going to have one of your first customers in this place, it may as well be me.” Sontaire laughed at her own notable infamy. Yes, she knew after this people would be talking, likely spreading rumours – they always spread a rumour if she so much as glanced at another person – but he would be the proud recipient of a lot of coin after this. “I’m very excited to see what you have to put together… Show me what you have.”
Noora tucked a curl of red hair behind her small, pointed ear and crouched, gathering all her rocks back in her pocket. She gave them a thorough examination and now it was time for them to be returned from whence they came. She dashed over, unnecessarily fast, bumping into Rumare’s leg and steadying herself with his shin. “Let’s go to the back. Let’s go.” Patience was a virtue the child did not yet possess.
“Noora, wait.” Hallandor scolded Noora, who growled back up at him and stomped her foot, making a tap.
Either she was routinely prone to aggrandising or he was about to secure patronage with a very prominent figure in Riften. He certainly had no qualms about the latter, especially so early into the dawn of his business, and it was more than enough to keep his smile swept across his lips.
“Sure, let me just pop out the back for a second—oh!” He froze, stare dropping, brows raised. The collision coupled with the small hands stabled against his shin brought all movement to a momentary standstill. Then, his smile turned towards Noora, neither small nor strained, “Stay here for just a moment; I assure you, it’ll be worth the wait.”
Rumare rounded the counter once more, disappearing behind the door some steps beyond it. It wasn’t long before he returned. Found in his hands was a bouquet comprised of orange calla lilies, orange roses and, interspersed amongst the posy, peach-hued hypericum berries; the green of their sprigs visible midst the rich, flame-like composition. They still had their leaves fanning out at the sides, and they were without wrapping or ribbon, but he presented it as confidently as one would a completed array.
“Still needs a bit of trimming and a splash or two with magick, but… here it is!”
Was she just browsing? Now that she was surrounded by so many gorgeous blooms, it was difficult to make a decision on whether or not she would take something home after all. Once a bright red bundle of peonies caught her eye, however, that indecision was dashed. Whilst Noora was meticulously laying her rocks out on the ground in some indecipherable pattern, her mother stepped quickly to the vibrant flowers, cupping the petals as if they were made of butterfly wings: delicate and precious. “I… yes. Today has been lovely. Especially lovely, now that I’ve seen… these. How many of these do you have?”
“Mommy,” Hal pleaded in a small, gravelly voice, chewing on his finger, “I want some too.”
“We’ll get some, dearest. I’ll get plenty of them.” Her lips met his forehead and left a red kiss, “I’ll take all of them. All of them that you have. But, a moment, I’m still browsing… what would you suggest to go with the peonies?”
She’d take them all? His eyes widened marginally at the claim. It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him; after all, her way of dress and presentation suggested she could buy that and much more on nothing more than simple whimsy.
“Oh, certainly! I’ve got more out the back, and I can get them when you’re ready for them.
“And if you want a bit more of a classic feeling, you can pair them with similarly hued blooms – like ranunculus,” Rumare circled around his counter, careful to circumvent the little girl and her stippling collection of rocks, so to gesture towards the blooms in question, “roses, and carnations. Sprigs, even some cedar, also go lovely with red – gives it just that bit more of a burst of colour. Same goes with wax flowers.”
At the sight of her vibrant choice, a thought jostled itself to the forefront of his mind. Rather than restrain it, he let it all out, smiling broadly throughout.
“If you like bright, warm colours, I’ve got a bouquet out the back that I haven’t quite finished yet, but you may like.” He thrust his thumb over his shoulder, directing it towards the posterior of the store. “Would you like to see it?”
A quick sketch as I still figure out how to draw Rumare’s face.
“Hello, flower man.” Noora remarked with shocking solemnity, giving a nod to the shopkeeper. Her hands thrust down into her pockets to rustle about in the small rocks. Sontaire chuckled dryly at her daughter’s manner and looked up to the shopkeeper, “Hello, sir. How are you doing, today?” Hal buried his face in his mother’s neck, shy and nervous.
There were flowers everywhere. Not a bunch of cheap ones, either, but vibrant and healthy ones. Her scrutinizing eye had her curiously examining the bigger blooms she saw, attempting to discern what made them so lovely. In Alinor, botanists would use Restoration, and even in some courts of High Rock, but if that was the case, it was seldom as skilled as this.
“You’re a new face in town. How lovely that the face owns a flower shop and not something sordid.” She laughed, rocking Hal gently.
“I’m doing quite alright, thank you!” The little girl’s dour greeting drew forth a chuckle that coloured his response. Rumare turned his attentions back upon the womer, eyes still creased from amusement. “It’s been a bit of a slow day, but what can you do? How about yourself?”
He considered making a corresponding inquiry to the boy perched atop the crook of her arm, but quickly thought twice. He seemed the nervous type, and he didn’t want to make him anymore agitated by needlessly engaging him in conversation.
“Ah – flowers are my passion. All plants, really, but flowers especially. I couldn’t think of owning any other sort of place.” He caught eye of her scrutiny. “Do you need assistance or are you just browsing?”
It was midday, and Sontaire decided to take a nice walk through Riften with her children. Hallandor was nervously perched in her arm at her hip, arms around her neck, cheek rested against her chest, whereas Noora was perfectly content to stomp along the ground. By now, her pockets had amassed quite the collection of “special” rocks (they were special to her, but they were quite simply pebbles) so they sagged at either side. She held onto her mother’s free hand rather loosely, entranced by all that went along around them, the crowds that moved through the streets about their business. Sometimes people stared, sometimes people sneered, sometimes people smiled. They knew who Sontaire was, and only recently had she been so willing to bring her children out in public, even if this excursion was out of necessity.
“Mama,” a sharp tug at Sontaire’s skirts from the side. “Mama.” The little girl insisted on her mother’s attention, and so Sontaire looked down at her daughter as they walked along, making sure that Hallandor was situated comfortably in her arms. “What is it, Noora?”
“Let’s go there.” She pointed right ahead at a shop they had never been in before; it wasn’t suspicious, especially not for Riften, but rather lovely indeed. All sorts of flowers were displayed out front, and a sign read: Benevolent Bloom. This was new. Was there a new florist, in Riften? What a treat. She was more than amicable towards her daughter’s idea and gave her palm a very gentle squeeze, “How lovely. Come on, then. Hal, we’re heading inside.”
“Mmmph..”
“Don’t be nervous. It’s a flower shop.”
“I have lurgies.”
“Allergies? No you don’t. It’s alright, dear.”
“Mmmmmmph.”
Noora reached up to push the door open, enjoying the ringing of the bell that signaled their entrance. “Excuse us, we’re coming in, watch out!”
“Noora…” A heavy sigh.
People? People! Rumare could discern them, no matter how obscured, through the glass fitted into the door. The very notion had a smile playing at the corners of his lips, ready flourish into a grin at any given moment. As the door was pushed to a yawning open, a chime followed – the sound gentle, melodious – and quickly did he brush his hands down the front of his floral patterned apron, hoping to shed any debris that had gathered from preparing the carnations.
“Hello!” The grin blossomed and buoyancy bloated his voice. First he took note of the most prominent figure – an Altmeri womer, with hair a brilliant red, and clothes that spoke of exuberant wealth. Then he caught sight of the two youngsters – one fastened to her hip while the other paraded forth with two swollen pockets weighing at her sides. It would hardly be appropriate if he omitted them from greetings, so, without missing a beat, he added, “Oh, and hello to you two, too!”
@sontaire
Gingerly, a vase bearing a fresh bouquet of carnations was set atop the counter. Its piquant aroma, not unlike the undertones of clove, seeped into his fingertips; a pleasant reminder of the work put into sustaining the vestiges of their beauty. The flowers would last for about three weeks, more if magick was involved, and he had to silently admire their transient splendour.
Moments passed, and Rumare’s eyes drifted away from the bouquet. The store was bright; a welcoming array of colours that melded together in gratifying consonance. One sweeping stare confirmed that no one else was in sight. Customer intake was slow. He was new, and many of the locals still treated him with rigid suspicion. It would take a while to solidify regular clientele.
Now it’s time to slowly start getting used to sketching Rumare’s face.
