“I’m not saying you don’t get invited to parties cause you look like a narc.” Oggy took a long drag from his cigarette. He was a ‘super senior’, older than Améla but somehow still in a number of her classes. His cigarette pinched between his lips Oggy held up the camera around his neck and flashed it at Améla’s slightly irked and disappointed face. He had ever changing interests, this week's medium was photography.
“I’m saying you don’t get invited to parties ‘cause your boyfriend, Preston Avenforth whatever his name is, Seaworth the 4th, looks like a narc.” He spoke out of the side of his mouth before pulling out the cigarette and blowing a cloud of smoke toward Améla. “Just come alone this time, or bring your cute friend. The girl with the nickname that sounds like she’s a fifty-year-old plumber. Summit, like Frank, or Jim, wasn’t it?”
He smirked. For reasons, subtle and obvious, despite his obvious shortcomings in tact and connections. There was a rumor Améla heard about him always having the best sort of drugs at parties; that he was a drug dealer or he was shagging one. Functionally it made little difference.
He laid down on the concrete bench to snap another pic of Améla as she adjusted the heavy easel and canvas. Adding more grit to the already grimey jean jacket that was by now mostly made of patches anyway.
“Professor Cressida says we’re supposed to be practicing our en plein air painting.”
“Yeah, well. I’m doing independent work study, aren’t I?” Oggy snapped another picture. “ ‘Sides, Cressida loves me. Speaking of, her star pupil is having a show tonight. Nora, you know her, she likes you. Forget your boyfriend and come to the afterparty.”
“He’s not my boyfriend…” Améla tried to concentrate on her painting, the way the light played against the leaves of the tree. Ignoring the snap of Oggy’s camera, and avoiding delving into what exactly her relationship with Seaworth was.
“Even better.” Oggy rolled to sit up on the bench again. “I’ve got a sort of friend who just had a row with his own trustfund-tryst you two can commiserate while I chat up less miserable people.”
Améla stilled her paint brush to glare at him angrily, having set up her palette while he was droning on. “I’m not miser-” Oggy, infuriatingly, snapped another picture right in her face. “Ugh! Oggy what are you even doing?”
“No, sorry love. Didn’t mean you were miserable. Just Kiri’s being a right ass to be around and I need him to meet some new people just to lighten up. As for what I’m doing, I am taking photos of a soon to be famous artist. Photos like this are sure to be in demand one day.”
“Right” Améla set back to work rolling her eyes and paused, teeth biting into her bottom lip. “Do you really think so?”
“Know so. Showed some of my pictures to Riza--art agent-- brilliant lady.” He said by way of explanation. “Your paintings in the photos were the only things she was interested in.” Smiling Oggy was just about to launch into some other spiel when Professor Cressida crested the hill, walking down the campus path toward them.
“Oggy, class time is for class work. Not for bothering other students.”
“Course ma’am, only just took a break. Easel must’ve fallen.” Oggy rolled off the bench reaching for the easel he abandoned to the side. Cressida, smirking, went to Améla’s side to give her notes.
Améla was perusing the nursery of her favorite garden center when her afternoon was so rudely interrupted by a man barreling into her.
“ ‘Scuse, sorry, sorry.” Oggy peeked up over the heavy load of fertilizer he carried in his arms. Hardly able to see over the bags it was no wonder he almost ran her over. Before she could really set into him Oggy nodded quickly and took his leave without a shred of embarrassment.
It left a bitter taste in Améla’s mouth, and the more she saw him around the more bitter it became. She’d been on the gardening circuit for a while, won awards for it, helped out with the community garden, and before that moment she hadn’t seen him once. Now she was seeing him constantly.
It was a small town, it was hard to avoid him. Still, when he showed up he was cagey, listening around the edges of conversations for tips concerning growth and cultivation. That was suspicious alone, but the fact that no one had seen his actual garden had Améla’s even more intrigued. It was really all out of neighborhood friendliness that she followed him home one day from the garden center.
She wasn’t expecting the cute little cottage at the edge of town with the rough-shod but well cared for garden up front. In truth she was expecting a rundown shack with a hidden grow-house in the back for his less than lega crop. She slowed down to a stop, hand resting on the weather-worn fence around the cottage hearing the faint and familiar annoying voice singing, actually singing to his plants.
“ ‘Ello, ‘ello my lovelies and how are you today. Looking nice and flush your gorgeous little things. Going to make such a spash-”
The more Améla looked around the garden the greater her blush became. Many of the plants were very off in their shape--vulgar even. Looking more like ‘garden of earthly delights’ than anything Améla had seen before. She leaned up to get a closer look at one very yonic looking slit of a flower, scarcely believing her eyes, when the pickets Améla was leaning on snapped.
“Who’s there?” Oggy’s head popped up again, his body following as he trudged to the source of the sound. “Oi, Améla!” He smiled brightly. “Thought you’d take a gander at my garden did you? Like what you see.” Oggy waggled his eyebrows. His hands were full of some fruit as he gestured. Améla’s eyes turned down to them, smirking herself.
“What on earth is that?”
“What?” His brows drew together as he looked down, “Oh dammit. I spoiled the surprise. This are my prick peppers. I was hoping to get them a little more turgid looking before I pickled them for the fair. They just keep growing out limp, though. Must be doing something wrong. What d’you think?” He held them out to Améla so she could better examine them.
She shook her head laughing to look at them. “I’m sorry Oggy, but I have to say I’m relieved. I half thought you were growing something like marijuana with all the supplies you’ve been buying up.”
“Hah!” Oggy joined in Améla’s laughter. Eyes occasionally darting to the shed in the back, hoping Améla wouldn’t see the plastic sheeting through the window. “Now that is funny.”
Alek had been out with some of his guards, brushing up on his own swordsmanship. The sparring match grew intense, causing him to of course getting a small cut on his arm. When he’d gotten back from the match, he hadn’t expected to run into Amela before he’d had a moment to clean up the blood. “Oh...yes...I over estimated my skills today and underestimated that of my guards. No need to worry, I’m told scars will make me much more appealing to women,” he joked, trying to distract her from worrying about him and the blood.
