Drake/Riv |Mid-evening| complete
Did no one in this city know where to find a good florist? It seemed like most events had gaudy flower displays where the motif had been stick roses in it. Roses fix everything. Everyone loves roses! Which, Drake knew, was most emphatically not true. Ari, for one, didn’t like roses. Neither did he, really, but then, no one really expected men to like flowers.
Which, really, why not? Flowers were aesthetically and olfactorily pleasing to both sexes. Clearly, people who thought guys couldn’t like flowers - or know anything about them - were sexist. And didn’t know what they were talking about.
He sighed, staring at the mess someone called an arrangement. Who threw carnations, roses, tulips, and daisies into a vase and sent it to the king? Someone with bad taste, that was who.
Rivalen was not a florist, nor was he an expert when it came to flora or fauna. He was, however, a damn good person for criticising things and other people. He had been conducting himself very well this evening, polite exchanges and compliments to underserving folks.
However, he was not a saint and upon seeing the monstrous combination on the vase nearby (which seemed to be admired by some people, peasants who clearly had no taste).
“That is hideous.”
Drake looked up to find Rivalen and shook his head. “Worst arrangement I’ve seen so far,” he replied sadly. “And I’d thought nothing would beat the hideous arrangements my father’s first mate made.” Those had been true works of terrible art. Drake still dreamt about them sometimes; horrible nightmares that made him want to gather all of the flowers in the world just to keep them safe from that fate.
“Didn’t know you were much of a flower connoisseur,” he added. It wasn’t often that he ran into guys who were actually interested in flowers. It was something he was lacking in his life: male friends who could talk about arrangements intelligently.
Not that he was going bore Rivalen with his thoughts. Unless, of course, Rivalen wanted to hear them.