[ kaz seems to be at his least comfortable, talking about this. a far cry from the confident boy who loves a spectacle, with a flair for the dramatic. no, he has pauses in his tone as he speaks, unsure over what to tell, how to say it. so she listens, plucking meaning from the pauses in between the words, until he mentions that his family mostly grew flowers.
it startles her, a bit. one, kaz brekker the flower salesman... well, she supposes it wouldn't be too far off. kaz could make money doing anything, she was sure. but on a deeper level, she remembers sitting in the menagerie, attempting to be as invisible as possible. clinging to every possible memory of home, and how her father always seemed to produce her mother's favorite flowers. hidden in cupboards, in bags, to her great delight. and how she had always thought to herself that that was the mark of love, a boy who would fetch her not only flowers, but her favorite ones, without asking.
it's strange, now, to be here. it causes her stomach to sink for a moment, thinking how kaz could have been spared ketterdam had his life here just remained as it was before... whatever happened. but it's bittersweet, in a way, that the boy who does (to great excess) ensure that she always has her favorite flowers within arm's reach whenever they are together came from a farm full of them. like it was meant to be.
she's quiet for a moment before she slips her arm fully through his, hugging it briefly to her as they step past the mended fence, her cheek resting against his arm as they walk. ]
I didn't know such a thing existed. Flower farms. [ in retrospect, it's pretty obvious. the florists have to get their flowers from somewhere. ] It must be beautiful, when they are all in bloom.
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it startles her, a bit. one, kaz brekker the flower salesman... well, she supposes it wouldn't be too far off. kaz could make money doing anything, she was sure. but on a deeper level, she remembers sitting in the menagerie, attempting to be as invisible as possible. clinging to every possible memory of home, and how her father always seemed to produce her mother's favorite flowers. hidden in cupboards, in bags, to her great delight. and how she had always thought to herself that that was the mark of love, a boy who would fetch her not only flowers, but her favorite ones, without asking.
it's strange, now, to be here. it causes her stomach to sink for a moment, thinking how kaz could have been spared ketterdam had his life here just remained as it was before... whatever happened. but it's bittersweet, in a way, that the boy who does (to great excess) ensure that she always has her favorite flowers within arm's reach whenever they are together came from a farm full of them. like it was meant to be.
she's quiet for a moment before she slips her arm fully through his, hugging it briefly to her as they step past the mended fence, her cheek resting against his arm as they walk. ]
I didn't know such a thing existed. Flower farms. [ in retrospect, it's pretty obvious. the florists have to get their flowers from somewhere. ] It must be beautiful, when they are all in bloom.