Viola & Lachlan | Town Circle | Midmorning
The festival was... certainly not what Viola had been expecting. She'd thought, for reasons that seemed rather stupid now, that it would be a rather more quiet affair, just a few steps into the town square (or circle, she supposed it was called) proved how very wrong she was. She had to admit that the flowers everywhere were lovely (although she couldn't help but think about how long they must have taken to assemble and set up), and despite the fact that her purple spring dress, lace shrug and matching shoes and jewelry seemed to more or less complement the general style of the festival, she couldn't help but feel out of place as she watched throngs of happy Aurellians chattering on in their native language, flowers wound delicately into their hair. She push a hand nervously through a stray lock of her own, which she'd had done up sweetly but rather simply for the occasion, immediately wishing that there was a way to blend a little better.
But, nearly as soon as Beau ducked away, having promised to meet up with her later, she hit upon a solution -- one of those little tables with all the necessary materials laid out to construct a crown of flowers. That would make her look a bit more like she belonged wouldn't it? Even if she didn't necessarily feel that way.
She drifted over to one of the tables, following the kind Aurellian woman's instructions in broken Clovennian to begin making a crown of her own. Rather than follow the much simpler pattern the woman advised, however, Viola opted for something much more complex, and even once it became clear that she'd bitten off a bit more than she could chew, she stubbornly stuck to her task, adding more flowers instead taking any out and tuning out anyone else nearby. "Clove's nose," she muttered in annoyance as one of the sprigs of baby's breath meant to hold half the crown together loosened for what felt like the tenth time. "Come on."