Flora And Fauna Pt 10

.

"Wake up."

With a groan, I swing an arm blindly out at the man that's shaking me.

"Wake up, Flora," he says less patiently.

"Just wake me up when you're done getting ready," I mumble with another swipe, "Let me sleep in."

"Open your eyes."

I open one just enough to look at Claudius looming over me. His hair is slicked back, his face freshly shaven. The same, or an identical, suit as the day before is pressed and fitted around him again. I stretch my limbs out and shimmy to the edge of the bed. The wedding dress is wrinkle free around the dress form again with the matching shoes placed underneath. The sight must be some kind of karmic punishment. I'm certain of it as I feel myself look at it like it's my own personal purgatory. The same look I saw on the tailor's face. Claudius turns away as soon as my feet touch the carpet.

"Wait," I say before he can leave.

He turns back and raises an eyebrow at me.

"Can I ask for a favor?"

Without speaking, he nods.

"We're doing photos, right? Can I have one alone?"

Understanding flickers across his features and he nods again, "Of course. But it will look inconsistent if you were hating your wedding yesterday and want keepsakes today. Let me be the one to bring it up."

"Okay," I amble toward the bathroom, turning back at the last second, "and if anyone follows me into the bath to grind that sugar stuff all over me again I will scream."

"Noted."

.

Ozone smell makes me wrinkle my nose as another explosive pop sounds from the camera. The photographer is too perfectionistic for my taste. And Claudius' based on the annoyed face he makes between each shot. Each pose that the photographer suggests we get a shot of. It feels like he's asked us to move a millimeter this way or that a hundred times. I wonder bitterly if he thinks we're posing for several years worth of miserable newlywed themed calendars.

"Okay. I think we got it," he declares as he emerges from underneath the black cloth.

Claudius stretches out his limbs beside me and I nearly tear off the gown in relief. I stand up to stretch my arms over my head and crick my neck.

"Wait," Claudius says harshly to both of us, "Our families want each of us to have a couple photos on our own."

The photographer only looks excited to have a bigger paycheck coming from this one job. Claudius sits first for a couple of bland portraits to support the excuse. Then I take his place and stand against the plain fabric backdrop, suddenly feeling awkward. When I glance up at Claudius, he immediately steps back into frame. His hands go over my hips as he nudges me over a few steps and sits me down on the square pedestal. I let him adjust me. Turning me almost completely away from the camera. Tilting my head back so I'm looking at it over my shoulder. A few of my waves he tucks behind an ear, a few others he pulls forward to frame my face.

"Try not to look like you're made of stone," he mutters as he finishes posing me and steps back to stand beside the photographer.

Another loud pop bounces off the walls.

.

Within a day, papers have overwhelmed every flat surface in the bedroom that I could've sworn he said was mine. Claudius sorts through one of the piles and slides a few into folders and those into a leather satchel. He pulls a silver pocket watch out and glares down before shaking it a few times.

"I was thinking," I venture.

"Well, that's concerning," he responds without looking at me.

"Could I maybe send a sprite to Andrius?"

"Absolutely not."

"Oh." I bleat and look down at my hands, twisting the ring around my finger.

He sighs loudly, "Is it important?"

"It's important to me."

"Oh my God. Fine."

"Really?!"

"No, no, no. Don't get that excited. We're doing this intelligently. I have a personal sprite. But she's busy delivering messages for me until this evening. Can it wait until then?"

I sit up on my knees on the bed and nod quickly. He nods back with his eyes still on the watch and shakes it harder.

.

Light shining around the seam of the doorway that connects his room to the bathroom makes me leap to my feet. The day has stretched on obnoxiously long as I explored the house. And tried my own hand at scrubbing away the wine stain on the marble until my knees felt like they were going to break against the stone. At least my attempt seemed to entertain the maids who walked in on it.

His room looks much different than mine, now that I see it with early evening light streaming in and flames coming to life in the fireplace. The colors are all darker and moodier than my own possessions. The smooth stones around the fireplace are a deep brown that is nearly black. It reflects the scabby reds of the chair upholstery, bed spread, and the sparks of the flame. Claudius is still hanging up his coat in the wardrobe and tossing his worn satchel onto a chair. Beside him flits a sprite with minimal glow around her shape.

"How do you do that?" I gasp in lieu of a greeting.

They both turn to me, the sprite flits over and dances in front of my face so closely that I go cross-eyed.

"Ooooh," she coos in a high voice, "you're cute for a fake wife."

"Uhhh," I look wide-eyed and mouth agape at him.

"It's okay. She knows. That's why she's the only sprite I use."

"And?" she asks, drawing out the word.

"And what?"

She makes an offended sound before turning back to me, "I'm the fastest."

"And the most discreet," Claudius adds quietly, which makes the tiny, alabaster face smirk.

"How are you not... a glowy orb?"

"Like this?"

Claudius and I both turn away as we hold our hands out over the sudden burst of light.

"Quince, knock it off!"

The light recedes to a glow of barely there color around the edges of her snowy form. I blink away the spot left in my vision as she flutters closer and sits on my shoulder. She tugs on a loose thread from the seam of my silk robe and bites it off. It's the closest look I've ever had at a sprite's mouth. The sharp, shark-like teeth are a surprise.

"Flora wants to send a letter to Prophia."

Quince flies to the satchel and shoves it open with both hands. The exertion makes her wings flutter loudly like those of a hummingbird. Claudius looks like he'd rather she use her own supplies, but he doesn't say anything as he shoves both hands into his hair and ruffles it loose. She beckons me to follow her to a desk where she spreads the paper and drops a shiny metal pen beside it. I write the short message as prettily as I can. Then I pick up the paper and press it to my lips, leaving a kiss mark of berry red. I can only hope the kiss print won't be an indistinguishable smear by the time it arrives. The sprite slides the folded note into her bag and flies back to Claudius. The careful, comfortable way he adjusts the bag straps on her tiny form makes it clear it's routine for them. Quince pulls on a coat that makes her look like a fluffy snowball topped with candy floss before she disappears out the door.

"That's a very short message to have been so important."

I turn and see Claudius watching me, "I said it was important to me."

"Fair enough," he shrugs.

.

Juggling the wax paper to-go cups in my hands and the bag hanging off one arm, I feel more and more silly as I walk from the cafe. The heat of the coffee seeps through my gloves. Through the slits in the tops I can see the swirled white of one drink and the star-shaped cinnamon sugar bits melting in the brown of the other. Through the window, I can see from the darkness around the glass cases at the front of the shop that it is probably closed today. But that works fine for me. On one side of the building is the doorway to the second section. Carefully holding the cups between my chest and forearm, I knock on the door a few times. A moment later, it opens.

"Oh," Marko exclaims in surprise, "Hi."

Nothing I put together in my head on the way here feels appropriate, so I shrug, "I thought you might want a coffee?"

"Um," he looks over his shoulder and back at me, "Now really isn't a good time."

"Oh," I mewl and look down at my feet.

"It's just that I-" he looks over his shoulder again and suddenly opens the door wider for me, "Nevermind. Come in."

I beam up at him and quickly enter. Marko swings the door shut and immediately rushes past me. He closes and stacks several books, never pausing his steps as he turns around and slams a few drawers shut.

"It's usually not like this," he assures me as he closes cupboards and puts the massive books away on a shelf.

The realization that the clutter was the reason for his hesitation makes me smile in relief. Once a table is cleared, he takes the coffees from me and sets them down. I pull the white box out of the bag and place it in the center of the table. The room is something between studio and household. Most of the walls have stuffed full bookshelves against them. Three tables look to be designated for different projects or streams of thought. The cleared table was all books and strips of paper covered in paint swatches and notes. One table has a sketchbook full of haphazard sketches and a shadow box full of butterflies. The smallest table is completely taken up by a giant book that extends past the edges, the page I can see has a blank human form in various poses.

"Everything's okay with Claude, right?" he asks in a suddenly worried tone.

"Yeah, he's fine," I hesitate and shrug again, "I just thought that this whole fake marriage thing would be more tolerable if we tried to be friends or something?"

To my surprise, his shoulders relax and he smiles at me, "I would like that."

"I didn't know what you liked," I gesture at the cups, "One of them is cinnamon espresso, the other is some strawberry cream latte thing?"

He chuckles and looks under the lids, then sips from the espresso, "Lord knows I need the caffeine today."

I laugh and take the other. On one side of the room is an easel bearing a massive canvas, covered in disconnected paintings of hands. Some of the hands are empty, others are cradling various things; disembodied wings, knotted gold chains, oceanic waves slipping through the fingers, something red that is either gore or mangled raspberries. One hand is raised, the thumb stroking the lower lip of an unfinished face outlined in charcoal.

"Yeah. I don't know what I'm doing with all of this."

I jump and turn to see Marko standing beside me, sipping his coffee. His loose hair flops over his ears as he tilts his head at the collection of ideas. Looking past him, I gasp and rush to the standing pedestal topped in a torso-sized glass case.

"Number seven! I always wondered where this one ended up."

Inside the glass case is a chrysalis of rough, gray stone that is open on one side to reveal its innards. The inside walls of the geode are jagged turquoise encircling the gray body of a nude woman swimming up through the center. Her expression is a kind of reverent agony, brows furrowed and jaw clenched around what looks like the last breath she has left in her lungs. One of her hands is reaching out, straining for the tiny opening in the very tip of the chrysalis as her legs are forever frozen in frantic kicks.

"You liked this one?" Marko eyes me incredulously.

"It was my favorite out of the whole set," I walk around the pedestal to look at it from all angles, "Is that why you kept it?"

He scoffs, "It's fucked up. Truth be told, I would've redone the whole piece if I had my way. But there was already a deadline for the exposition and, well, that was that. I would have felt uncomfortable accepting money for a ruined piece"

"Fucked up?"

He beckons me to follow him around to the front of the piece again. Then points and taps the glass.

Split through one ankle of the woman is a hair-thin crack, showing the bright stone inside. Marko walks back to the table and flips open the box I set out.

"I always thought it was supposed to be like that. Like, even if she escapes the chrysalis, part of her will always remain within it? The way you can escape an experience but it's still always a part of you?"

"Huh. I never thought about it that way," he laughs at himself and takes the almond croissant from the box, "That's what happens when you're too close to a piece and spend too much time staring at it, I guess."

The easygoing, friendly nature of him makes me wonder even more how he ended up with Claudius of all people. We sit across the table from one another and I bite into a croissant filled with vanilla cream. Marko tears an end of his own and dips it in the coffee.

"Can I ask you something?" he asks tentatively.

"What are in-laws for?" I shrug.

He laughs softly again, "You're going to do this for Claude too, right?"

"Do what?"

"Try to be friends."

I can feel myself staring at him like he just spoke in tongues, "Yeah, no. I don't think Claudius wants to be friends."

"I think you'd be surprised."

"Okay. This seems as good a time as any to ask. You love him, right?"

Color blooms on Marko's cheeks, "More than I've ever loved anyone."

"May I ask why?"

He laughs around a sip of coffee and covers his mouth with a hand.

"Seriously. You seem nice and smart and-"

"Claude is very smart."

"I notice you skipped nice."

"I know how he can come off. He's so tense all the time. So anxious. Far be it from me to tell you how to make this whole scenario more tolerable for yourself, but Claude really is a sweet, kind person when you get to know him."

"Uh huh. I'll take your word for it," I mumble around another scalding sip.

.

"Here."

Something heavy slams against the table behind me and I jump. Behind me the bed is covered in dresses that Claudius has vetoed. The word conservative is starting to lose all meaning. It's only day four since we returned to Leaven and I never knew I could be this sick of fancy dinners and dances. I pull the robe tighter around myself and turn around. Of course he's already dressed and ready. On one side of the vanity is a rectangular shape wrapped in plain brown paper.

"What's that?"

"Yours."

"But what is it?"

His hands go over my shoulders and he walks me away to thumb through my wardrobe himself, "Gifts are supposed to be a surprise. That's kind of the point of wrapping paper."

Only he could make receiving a present insulting. I want to roll my eyes at his answer but I'm too stunned by the idea of him buying me a gift.

"Open it while I find something for you to wear. We're already running late."

Tearing open the paper reveals a thick book of green velvet with a golden embossed shape of a centaur on the front and a sword running down the spine. The smell of aged paper fills my nose as I flip through the pages.

"It's on the history of Prophia. Figured if that's going to be your real home, it would behoove you to know something about the place."

I stare at him in surprise, then hug the book to my chest, "Thank you."

"Get it?"

"Get what?"

"Behoove."

"God you're weird," I scoff.

"Wear this," he tosses a yellow dress on top of all the others on the bed.

"That's a summer color."

"Didn't ask," he calls over his shoulder as he leaves me to get ready.

Just as I'm pushing amber tear-drop earrings into my lobes, Quince bolts into the room at full glow and hovers before me. I yelp and jump back as she lowers the light that's seeping through her fluffy snowball coat.

"How are you back here already?" I gasp.

"I'm the fastest!" she answers proudly before she pulls a piece of paper from her satchel.

I unfold the note and smile at the words therein:

I miss you too.

Come home.

.

The yellow stands out like a sore thumb among the darker colors at the long table of the restaurant. I look down and tug at the ruffled trim on the end of my sleeves, feeling annoyance twist my features. I glare up at Claudius, who immediately notices and returns the look.

"Don't start," he mouths at me.

Icy rain noiselly hits the glass of the arched windows on both sides of the restaurant. Couples he seems to know well sit at the table, perusing menus and talking. I don't remember these conversations feeling this dull before. Even at the most tedious of events. Mentally I go over things I learned in Prophia just to have something else to listen to. Different tools Andrius gave me small lessons on using. Half-finished projects compared to the notebook sketches of what they had to become and how to get there.

"Flora."

"Huh? Oh, um," I stammer over an answer when I realize Claudius is looking down at me and flicking his eyes to the waiting waitress, "scotch."

"She'll have water," he amends.

"I'll have scotch," I glance up at him through my lashes and lower my voice, "or I'll make it everyone else's problem."

He rolls his eyes, "She'll have what I'm having. Apparently."

The eyes I can feel on me are a minor nuisance compared to the restlessness under my skin.

"I have never in my life seen you drink scotch," Claudius whispers.

"I have never in my life been this bored," I whisper back.

The smooth burn that heats up my chest at least gives me a distraction from the impatience building and bubbling up inside me. I try to tally up how many events I've been to and wonder how I tolerated them. The only single person at the table sits directly across from us. He's probably only a couple years older than Claudius. Although it's unclear from the way his slobbish appearance and oversized, boxy suit age him. A single drop of liquor sits in each of the several glasses in front of him as he monopolizes the conversation by pure volume. Claudius and the man sitting to his right try to switch the topic only to get immediately talked over. Based on the pieces that force their way through the warm buzz filling my head, he's ranting about his wife taking another vacation when she only returned less than a week ago from the last one.

I snort and raise the glass back to my lips, "Gee. I wonder why."

At the sound of a cough, I look to the side and see Claudius hiding his laugh behind a cloth napkin. When he sees me looking, he clears his throat and forces his face back into neutrality. No one else seems to have noticed either of us.

"You can laugh, you know," I whisper, hiding my own mouth with the glass.

"I wasn't laughing."

"Well, maybe if you did laugh once in a while, people wouldn't think you're such an asshole."

A woman sitting adjacent from me clearly hears, from the way her brows raise and her eyes go wide at me.

"The only one who thinks I'm an asshole is you."

"I'm just the only one who tells you to your face."

I tip the glass back and swallow the last mouthful of liquor in a big, burning gulp. Claudius doesn't try to stop me as I shove back my chair and head for the bathroom. I linger there for a few moments, trying to relax in the silence and take out some memories to run my senses along.

As I exit, distracted with drying my hands, a man I don't recognize approaches me and stands way too close. I jump back a step and lean away from his breath as he speaks.

"You here alone, sweetheart?"

"Ugh," I groan and sidestep to walk around him.

Still facing me, he follows. I back up a step to not bump into him and trip myself on the hem of my dress, falling back into an empty chair. He stands over me and looks down with glassy eyes and the over confident smile that only booze can grant.

"No need to be so rude," he slurs, "We're just talking. Someone needs to put a smile on that face."

I sneer but stop short of letting loose a stream of curses when I see Claudius approaching us. The drunk man's jovial expression turns angry when Claudius' hand settles down on his shoulder. But the same face goes pale when he turns and has to look up into my fake husband's eyes. I suck in my cheeks to try not to smile too wide at the change.