Tumgik
#this is literally “Bi-Disaster Soup: The Novel” btw
ragdoll127-ffxiv · 9 months
Text
Tumblr media
Triteleia Amare
My flowershop AU is finally live! The first chapter went up, and I am so incredibly excited.
Read it here or check below the cut for a short preview!
If East Aldenard was anything, it was a small but vibrant town. And while it couldn’t claim to have much in the way of a distinguishable culture, what it did have was a Main Street of the sort that had existed long before there were cars to drive down it. The sort that some of the proud, older shops on the strip – the ones that had been there since the beginning, or near enough about – might have on display a black-and-white sketch of the street in the olden days.
In some parts and in some ways, it was an old town, and old fashioned in many respects.
That was probably the only reason the Rosewood Stalls had managed to stay in business as long as it had, in an era of silk flowers and online delivery. R’alma Crissen – sole proprietor of the Stalls – had learned the ins and outs of doing business in an old-fashioned town over the few short years since the little flower shop had opened, and had earned himself a decent reputation as a result.
The key, he had learned, was service rendered. Anyone could buy up silk flowers from a craft store, or even from a wholesale vendor. But there were so few who actually knew how to arrange them, at least in a town as small as Aldenard. And those online delivery services weren’t in the habit of including such amenities with their orders, either.
Throw in the fact that R’alma refused to offer his arrangement services without an actual order placed with the Stalls, and the little flower shop had managed to stay afloat quite nicely – if just barely some months.
There were circumstances where he tended to lose business, of course. Most notably, last-minute orders around the popular holidays would often walk out or hang up once they realized that he didn’t actually offer delivery himself. He couldn’t afford to have the extra help on hand to spare, and so he was running the shop by himself. As it was, he was already forced to close down completely twice a week just to keep himself from going mad from overwork.
But the loyal regulars and the occasional larger wedding or funeral order did a lot to make up for the lost business, so he honestly couldn’t complain.
So it was that fateful day in spring was a quiet one – well past the Valentine’s rush, but still early in the season. He’d slept in a bit by accident, but had still managed to open the shop at a reasonable time that morning. A fortune which he owed to the fact that his apartment was right there on the second floor. How many mornings he had stumbled down the flight of stairs outside the back door, hair mussed and coffee mug in hand, fumbling keys as he lost track of which was which, he had lost count.
Now that the initial panic of being late had passed, however, the drag of a peaceful Saturday morning was beginning to set in. Sunlight streamed in through the window panels along the top of the door, casting the array of displayed flowers in a splash of vibrant color, and gleaming off of the polished dark wood paneling of the walls and shelving. There was plenty of bustle on the busy street outside, but so far none of it had trickled into the shop as of yet.
He was out in front of the counter, adjusting some of the arrangements, when the door finally opened, ringing the small bell hanging over the frame. It had a pleasantly musical tone to it, and held a charming appeal to his customers with more old-fashioned sensibilities. Not only that, he found it singularly useful for the times he was in the back when someone wandered in.
He could never have guessed that sound would, on this particular day, mark the end of his quiet, uneventful life in this small town...
(Keep reading here!)
1 note · View note