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    Gwenned-Clewyn Argall - I hate flowers 1(Solo)


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    Gwenned-Clewyn Argall - I hate flowers 1(Solo)

    Post by Dristan on Sat Aug 13, 2016 9:06 pm

    No, seriously. I absolutely hate them all. Their little stems that snap like twigs as if mocking how weak our desires are, those horrible little petals that just fall everywhere so carelessly and smear pollen everywhere. And the smell!

    They make the area look like a clown just erupted his innards in an elaborate suicide attempt-- but then realized how much of a bother it would be to his peers and drank several bottles of Febreeze before detonating as a gentleman's bow-out.

    Because that makes it better, right?

    At least rainbow clown innards should smell like rainbow clown innards.

    I once had a rather comedic fellow enter my grounds and furtively inquire "Might I spontaneously combust within your enclave?".

    Of course I said no, but he did so anyways. I've been dealing with shitty flowers growing all over my lawn since the past decade.

    It always starts whenever you attempt at a little peace and virtue in your life. Something will blow up and ruin your standing. Flowers are a temperamental sign of this. Whenever you see little budding roses or glistening posies in your bushes, it means that a few moments after inhaling that rotten smell, your life is about to get sucker punched. It's symbolism! Simple stuff. It all makes sense, I think.

    Anyways, I could sit here and give you the spiel of the ages, filled with grandeur and penance at the fact those wretched little weeds still sprout in MY crap piece of land. But I won't. Because I am well aware as much as the next actually poor as guttershit hobo that nobody cares about some strange, mentally deranged lady spewing about hatred about flowers. So don't worry, I feel you. Not literally. That would be weird.


    Gwen yanked at the loose threads in her apron absentmindedly, picking at the unraveling strands with her thumb and middle finger. Sitting down, the woman's legs were spread out in front of her with the massive cloth apron (now singed and tattered) covering her like a blanket. Her shoulders hunched forward, and long tufts of amethyst hair in crappy literal-hay straw ties smeared on her face with sweat, black ash, and flower corpses.

    Her eyes blank and barren as the smoldering pallet of land before her. What was once a particularly nice spread of land, about one fourth an acre long, was now ashes and dust. Quite literally, considering she had just caught the whole thing, including her house, on fire.

    For the hour or two it lasted, it was quite lovely. A dancing mirage of heat and quivering air.. The splashes of illusory dusk ornately caressing and consuming the clown-innard covered land before her. It was like a fairy tail of dancing within the horizon flame, pixies fluttering about with their land born of total and utter summer sovereign, twirling and waltzing to the silent ballad of falling ash. At the time, Gwen danced. A pirouette of sadistic satisfaction, letting the flames lick the tips of her fingers as she spun and cackled in the dust, her apron swirling around like a ballroom dress (ignoring the fact she had caught on fire at that point). Everything was like a dream.. Until her house burst into flames.


    A flicker of yellow light inside her window.

    "Oh, it's probably just the lamp."

    The front door ignited in a blaze.

    "WH- My house." She hissed, and thrust her body forward into a sprint with arms outstretched, as if shoving the flames and heat aside. And somehow, she had believed it would let her reach her home sooner.

    "Not my house!"

    Batting away flames, overflowing the sink (which was just a bunch of buckets filled with water and maybe a couple of water bottles), and shoveling dirt onto the flames in a desperate attempt to save her house, and more importantly, all of her stuff.

    Gwen extended her right arm, her face a mask of determination. A box, translucent like glass and coloured amethyst to her features, sprang up around the house like a box, each pane sliding into place instantly as if collected together by a professional box-maker. Don't be fooled, Gwen swears she is good at word play.

    Even beneath the floor boards and above the entirety, all sources of oxygen were simply cut off with a mighty clang of solidification. With all drafts of air plugged, she resumed her task of reaping and sewing a burning house. She stuffed her tail into her pants as to escape her most sensitive limb from the flames, and winced with a sneer as the tip raked against the back of her leg again. It didn't matter, though. For the next ninety minutes, Gwen battled against her fiery foe, her incandescent enemy, her.. her.. Um..

    After the hour and a half long battle of throwing dirt everywhere, shoving her head outside the box for air, tossing water everywhere like she was a child at the pool, then sticking her lips alone outside the box again for air, making that oh-so lovely gasping fish face, she had eventually won. At the cost of all of her land being roasted and blackened and the first floor of her cabin being made to look like a Hades hissy fit.

    The only remaining sources of heat were small embers that remained across the dirt like budding candles. She stood over one little piece of flame as she yanked her obnoxiously sharp tail from her pants. Gwen offered one more look to her ablaze adversary (Eh? Ehh? Bet you didn't see that one coming) and thrust her foot down. Her shoe, which was now like a portable hovel, crunched as she rubbed out the fire.


    Now, the scene pans back to current Gwen, who was now sitting on her butt in the dirt, staring out at her land. Emphasis on her land.

    Which in the end, never seemed to matter. It was about that time, she supposed.

    "Oh my gods, what HAPPENED?!" A voice shattered her concentration (staring into nothingness takes a lot of work. You'd be surprised. Ever been to high school? It's a challenge in itself to find new ways to ignore your math teacher without getting caught). Gwen blinked a few times, then let out a low groan that strained her dry throat.

    "Go away, Susabee." She spat the name like a mouthful of moldy flowers. Susabee, a young, homely woman in her late twenties with elongated brown hair braided into countless strands and a plain tan dress, rushed to Gwen with a look of concern, hiking up her dress to steer through hot ash piles.

    "Gwenned--" She began.

    "Stop right there before I kill you." Gwen politely asked, smiling sweetly.

    "What happened?! Are you alright? Was there a fire? Please tell me you're okay!". She buzzed about annoyingly.

    Gwen sneered. With a little cherub face, it was difficult to look imposing and threatening. Not that it mattered to Susabee. "It's Gwen. Not Gwenned. I told you that I would rip out a braid from your hair for every time you call me that awful name."

    "Yes, of course, my little gemstone. But tell me what happened. Are you hurt? Let me see your legs.."

    Her nickname for Gwen. Puke-worthy, right? It was impossible to understand how the English language translated into Susabee's head.

    "It's just Gwen. Look, obviously there was a fire" the Antithei girl patted the hot ash at her side, ignoring the singe as it yanked at her senses. "I didn't just toss- literally all of my shit into a microwave. I don't even own a microwave".

    "Honey.." She began, and Gwen rolled her eyes into the back of her head as if attempting to forcibly lose consciousness. "I understand that you're scared, but you have to let me help you. Come with me, you can stay with us. I'll keep you safe."

    That was it, really. It was actually "it" the second she trespassed onto land that belonged to somebody else.

    "I've told you. Like, Eight times. I am NOT going to come with you. This land--" Gwen threw out her seemingly delicate arms in expres​sion(don't let the delicate thing fool you, Gwen could throw a wicked hay maker) [color=#cc99ff]"Is mine. I own it, I live on it, and I will manage it. Most of all, it is private property. Meaning strangers, and trespassers, are not allowed. So leave before I call the police and have you removed."

    Not that she really could. Gwen didn't own a phone. That, and the nearest civilization was a three day walk from Gwen's land patch.

    Susabee, still managing to keep the "caring and concerned mother" look, bit her lip. However, she didn't respond. After a few seconds of blaring eye contact, Gwen lifted herself from the earth and patted herself off aggressively. She shimmied herself until her body stopped giving off ash and dust, then straightened her clothes and re-tied her apron. Susabee just watched.

    "I'm leaving. By the time I get back, you had better be gone".

    This time, she perked up. "Leaving? Where are you going?"

    Knowing she wouldn't let it go, Gwen quickly replied "Xastristan. I need supplies to fix my house, get a new sink, and means to re-cultivate my land."

    "Can I-"

    "No, you canNOT come with me."


    And that was basically the end of that. I began my three-day long trek to Xastristan in order to obtain supplies for my means of living, on foot, with my hovel-shoes, and no food. It would surely be a perilous journey fraught with danger and excitement, filled with twists and thickening plot at every turn. I'm sure you're very excited to read about my escapades on my journey to Xastristan which will no doubt leave you speechless and heart-warmed. All in all, it'll probably be about ten-thousand words worth of entertainment, so stay tuned.

    Just before I left, I felt my foot brush over something. I leered down to stare into the burnt and torched dirt, and brushed a little aside, only to see a little flower beginning to bloom from the ashes.


    ~ We dream of stars - We watch them together ~


      Current date/time is Thu Jul 19, 2018 8:27 am