The next to approach his booth is a whirlwind of contradictions: soft and hard, fiery and gentle. Her voice is welcoming and joyful, despite the blazing colors written upon her skin might have suggested. A bay trails in her wake, his smile mirroring her’s—and it doesn’t take long for Po to put two and two together. ”What a lovely couple,” he muses to himself. He doesn’t know their relation to each other, but he can see with his own eyes how perfectly they match, like opposites attracting. Moira is as vibrant as Asterion is simple, and it simply works. Like a phoenix and a dove. Her words only seem to affirm his thoughts, and he smiles back at her. “I think that can be arranged,” he whispers back, his tone light and filled with laughter. Something simple, the bay man requests, and Ipomoea already knows what he plans on making. His telekinesis shifts through his piles of flowers, numerous colors and textures and different kinds of petals burning vibrantly in his gaze. He plucks one flower, then another, and another. He purposefully does his work behind the counter, so that neither woman nor man might see his crafting. The stems flow together like water, weaving into a beautiful simple braid spotting with flowers of white and yellow. He takes his time tweaking this one then that one, balancing the flower-to-braid ratio with utmost precision. Finally satisfied, he looks back to his customers with a twinkling eye. And flourishes two matching crowns for them composed of sunshine daisies and beaming dandelions. “I hope these are simple enough,” he says, extending the two wreaths to Moira and Asterion. ”here am I!” @ |
art by rhiaan
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