The Universe's Mixer

As a single woman, Dinah wasn't a huge fan of Valentine's Day. It brought up memories of Valentine's past and how those had been spent with Ollie. It created a looming artificial deadline to figure out feelings, define relationships, etc. And despite the fact that her glimpse into Harry's soul was close to her thoughts at all times, Dinah wasn't ready to ask herself why. It was easy enough to write that off as just a side effect of the soulgaze.

As a crimefighter, Valentine's Day was even worse. It was the day with literally the largest number of domestic disturbances, and unfortunately those were hard to prevent, hard to intervene. Hard to see.

But as a florist, Valentine's Day was the best day of the year. Dinah arrived at the Sherwood Florist one hour before opening and relished the idea of losing herself in the flurry of order-filling, deliveries, floral arrangement. Of helping others celebrate love and show love. This was the day that she had always planned for year round in previous incarnations of the shop (and, of course, when it was her Mother's shop.)

Half an hour before opening, Dinah turned around to a counter that had previously been bare of anything to see a gigantic spread for the personal ads. She frowned and moved it aside for the counter space.

When her phone began to blink with voicemails, Dinah checked it without question. She made a face at the rather vulgar message from someone named Bob. And then there was another message. And another. All from men she didn't know.

"What in the..." Dinah began, and snatched up the paper, which had replaced itself on the counter when she wasn't looking. She scanned through the ads until her eyes fell on the one that had to be hers.

"What the hell?" she muttered to herself, blood rushing to her cheeks. "I would not settle for emotionally unavailable!" she exclaimed indignantly. "...again," she added in a quieter voice."

Dinah made a noise of disgust and shoved the paper aside again. She didn't have time for this.

She finished up her last-minute preparations as the rest of the staff arrived, and then flipped open the Open sign to signal that the shop was open for business.


( OOC )

It wasn’t until her third encounter with the special edition personal ads that Amy finally bothered to read them. She recognized one immediately, assuming he’d written it to find her and possibly even spread them around himself. The Doctor was always doing brilliant things like that. Sure it was silly, and he was probably going to get a lot of messages he hadn’t intended but he’d found a way to communicate with his companion.

It made perfect sense to her. There was another personal ad she hadn’t recognized, though she have. It’d been written for her. But as of yet no one had replied to it.

She wasted no time leaving the following message: “Doctor!? I really hope this is you and this is not some other Space Gandalf. If it isn't you just ignore this. Sorry. But if it is please, please, please call me back. 555-551-5527!”

The rest of the time was spent waiting. And waiting. And staring. ( An hour felt like several when you had nothing else to pass the time. )