I won't worry now Who: Luke and Lillian What: Backstory vignettes! When: Various points over the past five years Where: Many places! Starting with Canwyn Turning 1922 Content Warnings: None yet!
Luke wandered through the through the stalls at Turning, his fiddle case slung over one shoulder, his cup, though it was just before noon, half-full of sweet wine. As usual, his clothes were simple, a billowing white tunic and light linen shorts, a drab enough uniform for a servant at Belmont. Except, as usual, Luke had ornamented his Turning uniform with all kinds of wildflowers. There was a striking ring of poppies on his head, nestled between his curls, a garland of forget-me-nots around his neck, and his pockets were stuffed with so many violets, primroses, and marigolds that his pants nearly sagged. His shoulders were covered in pollen, which occasionally made him sneeze, and everywhere he went, he left a trail of errant petals behind him (not to mention the flowers his fished out of his pockets to give to nearly everyone that granted him as much as a smile).
It was nearing noon, and so Luke made a lazy curve in the general direction of the dais where the Danu would soon give his homily. On his way there, though, he nearly collided with a young woman who'd been gazing up at the garlands of flowers adoring the buildings above them. Someone new in town, maybe. "Sorry, Miss!" he chirped in Clovennian, and then plucked a dusty pink and white primrose from his pocket and offered it to her, switching to Aurellian for the traditional greeting/blessing of the day. "Canwyn's Peace."