au: blood makes the flowers grow Who: Dahlia and Gilman When: Present day Where: Crow's Landing, Dahlia's house What: AU. Gilman, being the creeper that he is, decides to creep on poor, blind Dahlia. There will be blood. Warning: Blood. Death. Gore. Etc.
Much to Dahlia's approval, the grocery store was fairly quiet and still when she arrived, her cane's steady tap, tap, taps leading the way. The manager greeted her as usual, and Dahlia spent a minute or two chatting about his wife and her new job. It was out of town, apparently, but it paid more than anything she could have found in Crow's Landing. When they were finished discussing his son's most recent academic achievements, he knowingly put out his hand. "What's on the list today, Ms. Palmer?" Normally, Dahlia hated the idea of letting someone else baby her, but he was always so insistent. Besides, it was difficult to shop for groceries, so she handed him the list with a slightly embarrassed smile. "You go on ahead and take a seat, and I'll be just a minute."
As promised, the manager rounded up the items for her. He had it down to a science by now and was ringing her up in just a little over ten minutes. "That'll be forty dollars and twenty-six cents, Ms. Palmer," he announced, ever cheerful. She could imagine him with bright eyes and rosy cheeks; he just seemed that type. She paid and took her groceries after thanking him more times than she probably should have. "You're a saint, George. And remember what I told you about calling me Ms. Palmer? That's my father." It occurred to Dahlia only after the fact that he probably couldn't see the wink, since her eyes were hidden behind the large designer sunglasses. "See you next week."
The walk home was a long one, especially with a large bag of groceries tucked beneath one arm, but she didn't mind. It must have been around noon by the time she made it to her street. She didn't bother asking Siri; she could feel the sun, its rays warm and direct. Somewhere to her right, the neighbor's little girl laughed and squealed, and the round of barks let Dahlia know that their dog, Muffin, was somewhere in the mix. "Hey, Jeanie," Dahlia called, and since she was unable to wave, she beamed at the giggling girl. "Tell your mom that I said thank you for the cookies, alright? And be sure not to go near the street. You know that cars come speeding through here."
Just two dozen steps or so later and the brunette was turning into her own driveway. Unfortunately for Dahlia, the grocery bag could no longer hold the weight it had been forced to carry during the walk home, and it ripped down the middle, spilling the contents all across the pavement. "Shoot!" she murmured, still aware of Jeanie's young ears. Though she couldn't be sure, it sounded as though the jar of pickles had shattered, so she was wary to start picking everything up, lest she slice her hand open on a shard of glass.