No Uncertain Terms (narrative)
Who: Elias & Cat's doorstep What: Stealth Flower Drop Where: Um. Cat's doorstep When: 5:22 p.m. Wednesday last Warnings: none
Unsatisfied with a plebian fruit basket or an unimaginative vase of generic flowers, the taciturn man in his eloquently severe suit and tie demanded no less from the florist than five potted orchids in the deepest violet available; five potted orchids in rich creamy white; one set of twelve yellow roses, punctuated with broad green leaves and settled in a crystal vase; one blue and violet sweet pea / hydrangea arrangement, settled in a blue glass vase; and one set of twelve long-stemmed roses in a great vase he himself brought to the shop -- black glass, but enhanced in its making by some unnamed artisan who chose by order or whim to include flecks of shining silver and chunks of cobalt in its making, and to adorn the vase with twists of looping silver, both delicate and demanding. This deep-pocketed man also demanded that the whole of the order be delivered to the hallway of the 10th floor at Pax Letale, apartment 1007, at 5:30 p.m. exactly.
The delivery was 8 minutes early.
As Elias finished arranging the concierge to meet Ms. St. Giles at her door this evening, the parade of delivery men started up the elevator with their flower-laden carts and quiet steps. Elias followed quickly once the concierge was paid up. Together, he and the delivery men lined Ms. St. Giles' side of the hallway with alternating cream and violet orchids. At door 1007 itself, he positioned the vases. And then, once the delivery was paid and the men were gone again, he double-checked the notes.
The yellow roses were meant for apology, and their note correctly said only "I am sorry." He was, indeed -- sorry that he had inconvenienced her at all, sorry that he had given her nothing like a good first impression, sorry that he hadn't even the first idea of what she truly looked like. He was sorry for all of it.
The sweet peas and hydrangeas were meant for gratitude, but it seemed the notes had been reversed. With no small amount of irritation, he glared at the note pinned in its holder in the roses. But his hands were very careful as they pulled the correct note out of the roses and opened its envelope to review the note: "Thank you." Yes, he had much to thank Ms. St. Giles for as well. She'd been more than kind. She'd seen him safely to the emergency room, and filled out his paperwork, and ensured he made it to the small emergency room stall without incident. And then, true to her word, she left him there. He could not have endured her presence at the hospital. (And yet, once she was gone, he felt her absence acutely.)
The last note belonging with the deeply red roses was as straight forward as the others:
Dinner. Saturday. 8 p.m.
Elias very carefully set this notecard in its holder with the red roses, then stood from where he had been kneeling. It was perhaps rash. Perhaps too forward. But Elias had decided. He wanted this woman in his life. He knew so little about her, but the night of the blackout had told him enough to know that she was a very fine woman, a very good hearted lady. And there was something else about her, too. Something... He could only call it alluring, but there was far more to it than that. He wanted to know everything about her. And he intended to do whatever he must to learn it from her.
Squelching the whispering nervousness in his stomach, Elias headed back toward the elevator. He was certain he had plenty of time before Ms. St. Giles returned for the evening, but he didn't want to be loitering up here when she did.