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Cellulose & Steel	By : Not-Taylor Category: Misc Books > FemmeSlash Views: 1028 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own HDG or its characters and I don't make money from this work.

Chapter List
- 31
- 32
- 33
It can’t breathe. It drowns. It wakes up. Olivia’s dying! It sits up rapidly, somehow knowing that’s possible. What is sitting, anyway? What, ontologically, does it mean to sit? How is it even possible to “sit” if one is a shi- shit! Olivia’s bowels contract, jolting open its mouth. It prefers not to contemplate what comes out, or where it lands. It’s better out than in, at least, and now Olivia’s once again able to breathe. Stars, finally. It looks around to see just what happened. Where did Ginger- No, that’s a bad thought. It’d better not think about that any more. It feels the back of its head. There’s no wound, thank God. Wait, who’s that? It remembers something… but what’s that. Something about Rising from the depths of hell at God’s call to illuminate the xenos or purge them in righteous fire? It shakes its head. Wow… What a crazy dream. That has to be just a dream. That can’t be real. That can’t be… God isn’t real. He’s just a bronze age fairy tale. That must be it. Good. It’s not real. None of that was real. Nobody’s lurking at the gates of Death to murder any who dare to cross uninitiated. Divinity is a dumb meme. Glory is not one of Pain’s daughters… What does that even mean? Olivia must’ve hit its head really really really hard in order to have weird thoughts like that. Was she on drugs? Xenodrugs, surely.
“You’re awake.” A flat and familiar voice echoes off the bare walls of wherever Olivia’s lying. It isn’t tied down? That’s a nice change, especially after… Stars no.
“Did they make it?” The words come crudely from its mouth, a side effect of maintaining the interface for so long at a stretch.
“Who?”
“The people I saved.”
“Oh? Yes, they’re all alive. Mr. Salvadore hates everything about you, but I’m sure he’ll get over that. You did save his life, after all, despite his every effort to make you not do so.”
“Wait… You know about what happened when the intercom was off?”
Olivia spits out some of the vile taste in its mouth, trying not to think too much about anything but Verda.
“Yes, darling. I was treated to a lovely rendition of every objectionable thing you did on the entire trip. It seems that some of those you were carrying were more attuned to the fact that you didn’t want to deal with them than others. The former were quite happy to be brought somewhere safe in good time.”
“Good… Why were they telling you?”
“I’ll be happy to answer that if you answer something first, hm? Could you tell me your name and my name?”
“Oh. What?”
“Names. I know you know what those are.” Verda said that gently. She’s stating a fact, not even teasing. How does Olivia know that, again? It’s not in her face. Everything that “face” does is artificial and intentional. That’s how the weeds work. How does Olivia know that? Its head hurts.
“You’re Verda, the weed who thinks she owns me. I’m Olivia Donnoly, pilot second class in the Cosmic Navy.”
“Why do you get the longer name?” Verda’s smirking enough to compensate for her lack of a mock indignant tone. She must be really tired…
“Because I’m the Fleet Marshal, probably. I more than outrank you, Admiral.” It’s not sure why that joke makes sense, but it’s funny in Olivia’s head. Verda smiles back. A lot of tension exits her vines, that’s obvious enough for even a dazed Terran to see.
“You promised to answer. Why were they talking about me behind my back?”
“Because I went to check on them, since you were incapacitated. I’m pleased to find you’re getting back to your old self. You fainted, you know. What do you remember from before?”
“I remember we were on the Ides of November. Flying that was a lot of fun.”
“No, I’m not going to let you fly that thing again today. Especially not after your attempt at kidnapping and murder.”
“Murder?”
“Remember when you attempted to flush me out of one of the airlocks the instant we left Ruby Trunk?”
Olivia does remember that. “No?”
Verda chuckles. She’s not buying it. At least she doesn’t seem especially mad.
“Come now. I’m not going to hold a grudge. I knew you would do that before we even boarded. It’s your style, pet. I made sure I’d be able to survive just fine regardless.”
“But… when we didn’t come back.”
“What about it?”
“You couldn’t know I wouldn’t kill you then.”
“I seem to recall that you could have done that only by killing yourself too, and that you didn’t feel especially motivated to do that.”
“But you didn’t know I wouldn’t.”
“No. I didn’t know you wouldn’t have an epileptic fit and crash us into something by pure accident either. Such are the risks of domestication, Olivia. Sometimes I can’t have perfect safety because your happiness is a priority for me. It’s a small price for such a delightful floret.”
It’s obvious from the way her tendrils move she’s restraining herself from running one under Olivia’s chin.
“Why didn’t you just fill me with xenodrugs? That would be easier than this, wouldn’t it? I know you can and that I can’t stop you, but you’re not doing that.”
“Because I didn’t want to.” She’s not going to elaborate, Olivia’s sure of that much.
“You still didn’t know I’d come back.”
“I had faith that you’d make the responsible decision, darling. And I was right, wasn’t I?”
“But you couldn’t have known we’d run into those Terrans.”
“I didn’t. But I was on board, wasn’t I? I’m more durable than you think. Once you got bored, I’m sure you’d have thought long and hard about whether you’d let me waste away out there with you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Verda sighs. “Would you believe I had a distress beacon which I would have activated if I’d been in any real danger?”
“No wonder you weren’t worried about being stranded…”
“Let’s go with that,” she says confidently.
Olivia can tell something’s not right about that assertion. Stars, if they were still connected it could know the truth… It remembers the clicking sensation of Verda’s calculations
“So you remember the Titisandians, and our visit to Terra?”
“Of course.”
“Not of course, my dear. I’m checking your memory. You were having trouble remembering things before.”
“Oh, sorry.” Olivia’s sorry to a weed? That’s new. It must be the awful headache it has right now.
“You needn’t be. I understand your present stress. That’s why your schedule of domestication has been delayed. Do you remember your friend, Ginger?”
Olivia winces. That’s a sore spot. It wants to throw up again.
“I see. What’s the thing you remember most recently, before this morning?”
“It’s morning?”
“It is.” She points to the window, the curtains of which are drawn tightly shut. Three beams of light pass through the gaps.
“I… remember a horrible dream. You weren’t there, and-”
“My absence is a nightmare?” Verda smiles wickedly. “I’m flattered, Olivia.”
“No, I- it… It was horrible. Somebody implanted me, and I went to hell, and everything hurt but felt good, and…” It doesn’t like thinking about this. The sad girl starts to cry.
“Of course. Let’s move on. Before the dream, what do you remember.”
“I remember that it was time to dock again. Everyone was getting anxious except for you, and then I made contact with somebody on Ruby Trunk, and…” It starts to shudder. Its teeth start chattering.
“Olivia!” Verda’s interruption is completely unexpected. The naval officer looks up. “I was there too. You’ve told me enough. Right now, I insist on getting you into clean clothing and bedding. You’re not well enough to leave this hospital yet, but I will not have my floret covered in filth. You’ll take a shower and put on something suitable. I won’t be joining you this time, but I’ll be listening very carefully from outside to make sure you don’t collapse again.”
“Again?”
“You did collapse before. You seem not to remember that. We’ll work on filling in your lost time after you’re clean. Do you think you can focus on that task, please?”
“Right.”
“I mean it. You won’t achieve anything by obsessing over the past before you’re stable, and you’re certainly not stable. You had a nightmare so bad you threw up in your sleep.”
Her concern seems innocent and she isn’t wrong. Olivia walks into the next room, trying not to think about the substance on her body. The shower is very tidy, if tiny. It’s a little surprised, given the Affini luxury it remembers. Before the trip feels like ages ago. It couldn’t have been more than a few days. It literally could not have been very long. It still feels like an eternity. Olivia’s aware that’s just a consequence of the accelerated processing associated with controlling so much of a ship’s systems. It’s nothing to worry about. What is to worry about… Its hand trembles so much it can barely turn on the hot water. That’s the worry. It’s going to really regret its choice to stay out that long. Olivia remembers how gorgeous the sights were. Actually, no. No regrets. It’s lived three days as a lion. Better that than a million years as a lamb.
The water is so soothing. Olivia’s almost tempted to try some of the shampoo, but it remembers what happened last time. It was a comfortable experience, but it’d rather keep its wits sharp in case there’s a chance to escape. Sure, that one was a chance it’d sold cheaply, but still. There’s always a way out, for anyone determined enough to find it. The dirt and muck and grime wash away. The flakes of sensory isolation solution wash away. The bits of who knows what that accumulate between distant showers wash away. Feeling clean is very nice. Olivia sighs and starts picking at the knots in its hair.
Eventually, a notification appears to remind Olivia that it’s important to conserve hot water in order to be environmentally conscious, and that it’s been there for an hour already. Fair enough, weeds. An hour is plenty of time, and Olivia does feel a lot better now. It’s more relaxed too. It stretches its arms all the way up to ensure the water’s gotten everywhere and turns off the faucet.
A towel is sitting out by the toilet, just as Olivia would hope. It’s plush but absorbent, and the Terran is quickly dried. Very nice. There aren’t any clothes. It knocks and calls for its warden.
“Is there anything to wear?”
“Yes, there is. Isn’t there an outfit in there with you?”
“No. I don’t see it.”
“Just a minute, darling.”
Olivia waits. What else is it going to do? Verda quickly returns and knocks triumphantly. Isn’t that a little much after just walking to the other room for some clothes, plant?
Olivia reaches through the door and takes the clothes. It’s never been as happy to see weed apparel. It shudders at a distant memory of pink. It’s a green dress that fits loosely and modestly. The mirror tells Olivia it doesn’t look too bad.
Verda smiles at her prisoner as it leaves the bathroom. She seems pleased it wasn’t a problem for it to wash itself. Hopefully this will happen more in the future. Olivia flinches at the memory of how Verda reacted last time. A tendril sniffs the air like a cartoon elephant’s trunk.
“You didn’t use soap. Oh, well. I suppose that’s better than you making yourself sick. I’m glad you were able to handle that. You’re recovering well. Sit.” She gestures to the bed, which has had its sheets removed. It’s more comfortable, now that Olivia’s fully awake and not feeling sick.
Aside from a little chest pain, it feels wonderful right now. Well, and the apparent missing memories, and being imprisoned by a weed, and having betrayed Terra by allowing a weed access to Terran military systems… But still. It goes to massage its aching chest until it remembers the plant’s watching it. Oops. Time to salvage the situation. Now.
“Um, what’s the next phase of my torment, weed?” You’re destined to be Empress of the Compact in alternate universes, too, Olivia.
“Torment? I suppose the torment of being kept clean and in a clean environment goes well with the torture of having me check on your health, and the harassment of ensuring you’re not harmed by your body mapping issues. I suppose I could stop worrying about the fact you couldn’t even walk in a steady line from the bathroom to here. That won’t happen, of course.”
“I’m fine.” It’s fine.
“You aren’t ‘fine,’ and I have trouble believing you expect me to believe that. Your perpetual antics have endangered you yet again, and I can only hope you’ll recover.”
“But I am fine.”
“Really? What would’ve happened if I hadn’t been watching you when you woke up? You probably would’ve continued to lie there in perpetuity,” Verda says very pointedly while holding eye contact. “But if you’d like to show me how ‘fine’ you are, stand up. Go on. I’m not going to touch you.”
Olivia doesn’t like annoyed Verda. This is probably going to end badly.
“Away from the bed, pet. No cheating. Arms out to the sides.” She demonstrates.
“Now touch your nose with the fingers of one hand and then the other.” She demonstrates that too.
Olivia’s arms wobble a bit as it keeps them stretched out, and it has to try a couple of times to find its nose, but it’s fine. It’ll be all right as long as the weeds don’t fill it with xenodrugs.
“See? I’m very fit.” Verda’s disbelief is almost tangible.
“Then you’ll be able to touch your toes.”
“You should show me.”
“I think you can figure that out by yourself, darling. Go ahead.”
After several preparatory breaths, Olivia succeeds in touching its toes without falling over. First try! Verda sighs.
“Well, that you can do. There’s still no point in pretending that you’re in good shape. Are you not aware that your recklessness will eventually have consequences?”
Olivia shrugs. Not its problem.
“You were willing to let me fall down and die in the shower.”
“Leaving aside the logistics of washing you, I’m aware of your preference for washing yourself for the time being. Don’t worry, pet. I’ll be sure to bathe you very carefully as soon as we get home.”
“No-”
“I know what you’ve been through, even if you don’t. Please, for once, be kind to yourself and your body- this one, not the metal one.”
“I’m a traitor. I don’t deserve that.” Kind of true, but what? Where did that come from?
“How is that? You should probably sit, you know.” Verda gestures to the foot of the bed and quickly types into her tablet, which she still has. She’s carried that with her this entire time, Olivia notices. She must really like that thing.
“Because I’m here with you, not out there fighting for Terra.”
“This conversation again?”
“I’ll never let go of who I am. You wouldn’t either.” The affini is shocked into stillness. Olivia’s right and it knows it is.
“That’s true. Then you understand why this battle you insist on fighting is futile.”
“No. I can’t.”
“You can’t understand, or you won’t? Think of yourself as a prisoner if you’d like.”
“But I’m not. I… chose to be here.” Olivia suddenly feels dizzy and plops onto the bed. “I was free and I gave that all away… I wasted my freedom.”
“No. You saved six innocent lives. You chose to make a sacrifice of something you valued to help complete strangers, plus me. I think that’s very noble of you. You did the right thing, even when it hurt.”
“What choice did I have?”
“It was more than obvious you had the choice to throw us into a black hole. You asked me to help with that scheme, if you recall.” That did happen. “When I refused, you decided that you’d come back here instead, without any manipulation from me, and I couldn’t have stopped you. Even more to the point, you kept your word to me that you would return here, and we didn’t make a single detour, did we? You have a good heart.”
Olivia snorts.
“You’re free to see yourself as a selfish failure (for now), but I’m not going to see you that way, and I’m not going let others see you that way either. You’re not some bigot who hates everyone who’s a bit different from you. I know you’ve been fighting because you believe it’s the right thing to do and that you’re helping people. Am I wrong?”
She isn’t wrong. Weed inferiority is bad for Terra. Look at them and their nasty grabby vines!
“Now, to change the subject: I’d like to speak to Song, please.”
“You’re already speaking to her.” That gives Song a headache for sure. “Her?” Why not “me?”
“What do you remember about what happened before this morning, Song of Destruction?” What?
“I already told you about the dream. Are you sure you’re not the one with mental problems?” Good choice of words. The affini’s hurt. She looks sad. Wait-
“I saw the flicker in your eyes when I called you that. Is there something you’d like to tell me? I promise not to judge.” And the weed’s back to normal. Superficially, anyway.
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s fine. I’m sorry for upsetting you, Olivia.” That’s another headache. What’s going on?
The Terran stares blankly. What a weird plant.
“Or would you rather I keep calling you Song?”
“But I-” Its mouth hangs open. How should it answer that?
“I mean, I…” it thinks. “I… what? I’m not really Song. I know I’m not a spaceship. But it- That’s silly. So I should say I’m Olivia. What a weird feeling. What’s wrong with me? I chose this name! I paid good money for it!”
“You have to pick, darling. If you don’t, I’ll use neither and simply refer to you as my adorable fleshy floret.” Her tone is strangely affectionate for such a harsh statement.
“Or would you rather be called Ides of November?”
“Not that.” It cringes at the name. Please, no.
“I’m Olivia, as I’ve always been.” That would be so easy to say. It shouldn’t take any thought. Maybe the pilot really has spent too long in its tank. It’s started getting weird ideas about being a starship. It can’t really say that’s a ridiculous assertion, given just how badly its climate control system is aching. But it has to say something. The weed demands it.
”I just…” The little ship suppresses a whimper.
There’s no time to figure out a good response because the door opens and a weird giant hedgehog guy in a suit walks in pushing a cart full of trays of food. It smells delicious, even though it’s impossible to pick out anything specific that’s there. He smiles politely at Verda and tries very hard to maintain his composure when looking at the room’s other occupant, who smiles at him to try not to be shanked by xeno filth. They stare at each other for a moment.
“Good morning.” Verda breaks the thickly forming ice for them. She’s probably extra sensitive to it.
“Good morning, ma’am.” So he’s a floret. “Good morning, Song.” WHAT? “Song’s” jaw drops but is promptly retracted. How does he know its name? This is a big problem. Is that the missing time? What, is that real? That was supposed to just be an Affini trick… A feeling of nausea comes into being.
“Good morning,” is the wheezing reply. “Evlen.” That’s not actually a word, but the hedgehog suddenly smiles. “Yeah, good morning.” He already said that. It smirks at him despite still being breathless. Poor thing.
“What did you call me just now?”
“Song. Sorry, did I misremember your name?”
“Um, no. I guess I’m surprised you said it.”
“You’re… quite memorable.” He panics. “No offense. In a good way!” He panics more. “You know what I mean.” He turns to leave but remembers that he has a mission and turns a strange shade of purple. His needles twitch aimlessly. “Um, food. Do you want any now?”
Food would be great… Especially what’s on that cart. It smells really good. “Yes, please. I’m starving.”
“I thought you didn’t get hungry.” What?
“Well, I am now.”
“Would you like more energy cubes?” Ew. It looks at its captor. “What the fuck, Verda?” It doesn’t actually say that, though it could.
“No… I’d like actual food please, if I’m allowed to have that.”
“Certainly. Does steak and eggs with some strawberries sound good?”
“It does.” It tries not to freak out, but that sounds amazing right now. It tries to shake some of the weirdness from its head. That must be xenodrug residue.
Evlen takes a plate from the cart and hands it over on a tray. He looks proud of himself. There’s a fork too, which Verda doesn’t try to steal. The one holding it stabs the steak and takes a hasty bite before the weed can remove its fork privileges, completely ignoring the glass of juice being offered to it. Oops. It takes the juice and sets it down for later.
“This is good. Better than on Terra.” Swallowing before speaking was a good decision. Hogboy beams at the praise. He must be the chef.
“Thanks! I’m glad my work has paid off. I don’t get much chance to cook Terran food for Terrans. And since you didn’t seem interested in real food yesterday…”
“The eggs are good too.” He looks excessively happy. Is that xenodrugs? Is his owner watching and- that’s disgusting. Day of the rake when?
“How long did it take you to learn to cook this stuff?”
“A couple of years. Compiling intermediate ingredients I’d learned to make really helped the process.”
“Oh. Cool.” He nods and looks toward Verda.
“Anything for you this morning?”
“A glass of the juice you’ve given my floret, if you’d be so kind.”
“This is apple juice. It comes from the fruit of an apple tree. I was reading about how a human on Terra once created a hundred thousand apple trees while he explored a continent before easy global travel.”
“That’s fascinating. Thank you very much, Evlen.” He beams at her and smiles again before wordlessly leaving them to their meal.
“Beep.” Not wordlessly, then. He winked and left.
“Cheeky!” Verda’s smirking now.
“What?”
“The young man whose name you remembered so easily. Did you even have to dig?”
“No…? What does that have to do with anything?”
“It means the information was close to the surface, and that some part of you felt a strong need to remember it. I’m sure you don’t remember our long and detailed conversation, my lovely little floret.”
“No…”
“That’s all right. I’ll tell you about it later.” Verda smiles at her prisoner and pats it on the head. To both of their surprise, it doesn’t flinch much. Only a little.
“Why did he beep at me?”
Verda’s gentle expression of good humor turns into a smirk.
“No, really. Are you just not going to explain that?”
“Perhaps when I’m sure the memory won’t be damaging to you. I’m sure it would trigger numerous others you’re not stable enough for today. I intend to fully restore your past, of course. You don’t need to be scared about that.” It wants to say it isn’t scared, but having one’s past stripped away is blatantly terrifying no matter who or what you are.
“I… have no choice about taking your word on that.”
“Good sprout.” What? “Yesterday you hurt yourself attempting to recover certain memories, and you seem to have lost an entire day as a result. You have my word this isn’t some scheme of manipulation.”
“Oh.”
“I’m glad we’re in agreement. Are you going to finish that?” She points at the barely touched plate of food. Right, it should probably eat that.
Saying breakfast was good wasn’t a lie. It isn’t quite as warm as maybe it should be, but it’s still delicious. The seasonings in the eggs are hard to pin down, but they go together nicely and are a lot better than salt and pepper and nothing else. Blasting through the plate takes a minute or less, easily. Verda drinks along with it, appearing to enjoy her juice more than she might. Is that cannibalism since she’s a plant too?
“What can you tell me about Hogboy?”
“Who?”
“The spiky chef.”
“Oh, him? What about him, pet?”
“I’m not your pet.”
“You’ve mentioned that.”
“You’re not going to push back?”
“Not today, darling. You’ve been through enough without that. We’ll… put a pin in it, to borrow a Terran expression.”
“I’ve never heard that one in my life.”
“Really? Perhaps it’s out of date.”
“Hm. Hogboy. What happened with him?”
“He has a name, you know. You do in fact know that name.”
“I’m just curious what was so worth remembering that apparently that’s the only thing I know about yesterday.”
“You were shockingly polite, by your standards. You even asked his pronouns”
“Um…”
“But now you insist on calling the poor xeno by a derogatory name. Terrans are fascinating.”
“I’m not sure if that’s an insult or not.”
“Let’s say that it isn’t. Anyway. What would you feel if you never saw Evlen again?”
“My tastebuds would be sad.”
“Would they, now? You remember the compiled food you’ve been eating, don’t you?” It does. All of it has been good. Especially that steak. Now that it thinks of it, that one was technically better than Hogboy’s- which was still fantastic for something made by hand, of course.
“I guess…”
“You chose to comment on food that for all you knew was compiled. You knew better than that, obviously, but on the surface you did not. That’s two things about him that you remembered.”
The prisoner stuffs its face with the last bite that it’s been playing with during their discussion.
“I find it interesting, that’s all.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be a psychologist or something?”
“Xenopsychology is a very important part of operating a mass domestication, that’s correct.”
“You didn’t directly answer my question.” That’s really weird. Why’s she evasive about that?
“I’ve dedicated a great deal of time to understanding how terrans think, yes, little one.” It flinches. It doesn’t like being called little.
“How much time?”
“Years. Probably twice the equivalent of what you’d call a doctorate, in terms of duration of active study- hours of study, that is.”
“That isn’t that long, all things considered.”
“True, you’re certainly right. I feel embarrassed at times for the gaps in my knowledge. Unfortunately, we’ve barely had the time to learn about your adorable quirks, and far less time than I’d like.”
“And now you keep us as property.” Verda shrugs in response.
“The decision of when to begin domestication proper wasn’t mine. Affini politics aren’t something to bother yourself with, though.”
“What if I want to be bothered with them?”
“Then I still wouldn’t go into detail. It’s inappropriate.” The one who would not be a floret scowls.
“Why do you keep all of the interesting bits secret?”
“What do you mean? You’ll have unlimited access to film noir when we return home”
Right. It hadn’t thought about that, with everything else going on. They would be going “home” at some point, and it would feel the consequences of its attempted escape. That would be unpleasant. Maybe it’d be implanted right away. Don’t think about that.
Maybe it would be locked away without a key, to be sure it doesn’t escape again. Breakfast is saved. Anyway, It’d be happier if it didn’t antagonize its keeper too much, but it can’t let all this stuff go. She has to see what she’s doing to an innocent people.
“What about the rest? What about the one about William Wallace? The… what’s it called.”
“Who?”
“Precisely. He was a freedom fighter a long time ago.” Verda nods knowingly.
“A freedom fighter. Did he win?”
“Of course he won.” That’s probably true. It feels better believing that.
Verda taps her tablet repeatedly, and scans the screen before going very slightly pale. It’s still amazed the plants do that when they’re upset.
“I… Oli- Are you aware of how Mr. Wallace turned out?”
Oh…
“I know you aren’t squeamish, but you’re better off not looking that up for yourself unless you’re in a good state of mind at the moment. The short version is that he was captured and executed brutally.”
“Oh…”
“You’ve coincidentally made an excellent argument for domestication. We want to make sure nobody like you has to endure such treatment, as well as ensuring nobody subjects another living being to that either. Can you at least see that as a desirable outcome?”
“Brutal executions are bad, I guess.” It isn’t really possible to disagree with that much.
Verda sighs. “Let’s not talk about that any more. Would you like to go for a walk?”
How do you say “yes" to that without saying “yes please Mistress?” Agreeing to that feels degrading, like it’s some kind of animal… or a pet. She’s addressing it like a pet, asking if it wants to go for a little walk. Maybe she’ll give it a chance to pee in the mulch next to a tree in the sidewalk. Does she expect it to bring her its leash, tail wagging behind it? This is why it hates the weeds. Verda can talk all she wants about learning Terran culture, but that doesn’t change what she’s doing.
“Of course.”
“Excellent. Let me notify…” She types a little and puts the tablet away. She’s not taking it with them? That’s an interesting development. Verda’s attention is everywhere but her “floret” as she makes ready for their departure for an epic adventure.
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Cellulose & Steel