Mayflowers: Max and Solas
Max was behind the counter.
There was a customer at the arrangement table, a woman planning a Valentine's Day party and going through options with Pam, the older woman that handled special orders. Otherwise, the shop was empty. Amanda was still in school, and there was no seven-year-old running between the rows of greens in black buckets. Corvus was gone, risking his life in another door, and Max was lost in thought. Worry, actually, because Max worried like it was her second profession these days. Silent Hill, Brandon's ninjas, whatever was going on with the mutants, her undefined non-relationship with a possibly gay gamer nerd that was too young for her, her brother's obsession with glitter and drunks, and the five children she needed to feed once the shop closed. The list was endless.
She barely noticed the jingle of bells that Amanda had affixed to the front door.
Her glance upward was distracted and, admittedly, she wasn't as shocked by the newcomer's appearance as she would've been if she lived anywhere but the Village. She looked past his shoulder, wondering if there was some cosplay (who even did that?) event happening, or if he'd wandered over from the comic book store across the way.
No collection of Ye Olden English garb. Single freak. Alright, maybe he wanted some geraniums to tuck behind his prosthetic ears.
"Can I help you?" She almost didn't grin. Almost.
Max was jeans and a black shirt, snug and long sleeves, lines around her mouth that proclaimed her age, and her hair loose. Her apron was green, and she had it folded down at her hips, and she rounded the counter and approached the man, all while trying not to stare at his bald head.