Rhubarb 13, Peanut Butter 4, Rocky Road 12
Title: How Does Your Garden Grow
Story Continuity: Battle For the Sun extra
Flavors: Rhubarb 13: if you can't say something nice, Peanut Butter 4: earth, Rocky Road 12: classroom/dojo
Toppings/Extra: Whipped Cream (I-VI bits of Cyprian's childhood and teen years), Cookie Crumbs (XIII and XIV), Malt (1306's dare: "do a 15-part pocky chain. With talking roses. ;) ")
Word count: 100 + 92 + 98 + 100 + 100 + 100 + 98 + 96 + 100 + 100 + 94 + 100 + 100 + 81 + 100 = 1459
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Cyprian Corvo and greenery throughout his life.
I. R. Gallica
Cyprian had been told of plants - they couldn't be trusted, they were deadly, daddy couldn't keep his goofy ass out of the poison ivy bushes - but he wasn't allowed contact until he turned five.
They were perfect red roses, and they knew it.
"If you can't say anything nice, hold your technicolor tongue, you weed," Cyprian said. The roses giggled. "Is that what you've been told? Because where we're from, if you can't say something nice, all you have to say is something snappy, you dull little bud."
Cyprian wasn't much charmed, and didn't mind when the roses finally withered.
II. Lavandula Angustifolia
There were many plain Lavenders in the field that day, but Lavender Kwan, with her wine red eyes and golden laughter, was the most precious. She fled that day saying a word or twenty more than Cyprian wanted to hear, and Cyprian was left feeling bitter and defeated.
"Girls suck," Cyprian said.
"I think that one was just wasn't for you," a lavender said, carefully. "Maybe a boy next time?"
Cyprian thought of Sorensen and wondered.
In the end, Cyprian figured there was something to be said for plainness.
III. Dracaena reflexa
The trees moaned and sighed in the storm, sounding more than anything like the ghosts trapped in their bark.
Cyprian gazed up at the trees, which were dangerous or wily or greedy enough to be called dragons, and thought, this is what my mother was afraid of.
"Mystic thing," groaned the ghosts, their voices bleeding from the bark, the roots, the leaves. "Son of Anharo, leave with the wind."
"Drink of our nectar, beautiful creature," sang the trees, their timbre that of a siren's idol, their limbs shivering in the wind.
When Cyprian returned home, he swore off all saps.
IV. Vernonia cinerea
It wasn't a waste, really, winding their bodies round themselves, chaining them to die together. Really, what the hell else were they for? They were deaf and dumb.
If they couldn't hear themselves scream, were they still screaming?
Cyprian stopped chaining the asters under his desk. How his mother did it, he'd never know.
"Corvo!" His teacher said, loudly.
"You're right here," Cyprian said. "I can hear you."
"Are you chaining daisies in my class, boy?" Mr. Ormund said, to some giggling. Cyprian maintained a flat, unimpressed silence, wondering which curse would be best for a roomful of douchebags.
V. Lilium candidum
His father went first, then his mother, quietly, harshly. Nobody came to the funeral. She'd been dead since the illness struck.
Her last breath had taken every energy.
Cyprian stared blankly at the lilies in his hand, then placed them gently on his family's grave.
Lilies for purity and death.
He listened to the soft, respectful murmur of flower prayer, marveling at the impartiality.
"Loving wife and mother?"
She'd been so much more. She'd been everything right in the world.
Then she began haunting Cyprian, and he started petitioning the cemetery to change the epitaph to "mostly dead, totally annoying."
VI. Antirrhinum majus
Cyprian never thought much of snapdragons, but then he'd hardly tried currying their favor with sweet water. Once he did, they were much less hostile, at least to him.
He'd named one Meryana. She was his favorite - she wasn't anything exceptional to look at, but she was witty, clever, and more than a little strange.
Thinking back on the long, lonely nights of his life thus far, Cyprian could have started currying her favor in more ways than one. It could have happened, but neither was so desperate as to pursue romance with a creature whose parts were completely incompatible.
VII. Prunus mume
When the war came, everything changed.
Cyprian registered with Sorensen out of boredom more than any sense of patriotism.
Weeks later, he yearned for boredom, but it was too late for idle rest - he knew too much. He could not rest without recalling the smell of the charred flesh of his infantrymen, couldn't close his eyes without seeing the enemies who studded their fingers with rings of human bone, without hearing the words of the plum blossoms as they burned with their villages.
He was drawn into a web he couldn't untangle.
When the war ended, nothing changed.
VIII. Soldanella alpina
After the war, Cyprian became a wanderer and a minor celebrity among botanists.
He didn't really notice.
Somewhere between jobs, Cyprian found alpine snowbells, of the rarest and most magically useful flowers on Anharo. Unfortunately, they appeared to speak some strange tongue that was the plant version of Welsh in that it sounded like it consisted entirely of phlegm.
"Please take me," one finally said. Cyprian blinked in surprise. "Why?"
"Because this valley isn't home," it said. "My seed blew in from forever away and now I have no home."
There wasn't much room for argument.
IX. Hydrangea serrata
The Litharuien continent was said to be the most beautiful continent remaining from the Lordly Wars. Cyprian disagreed most days. Nothing was quite as wonderful as anywhere in Kievane, but he stayed. It wasn't beauty he was looking for, not exactly.
Cyprian woke up one morning and found himself the owner and sole employee of a small floristry in Daldain. It only made "strangest blackout ever" after he discovered the state had accepted that his co-owner was a hydrangea.
Of course, considering they had a retard for governor and an ewe as his successor, perhaps it wasn't so strange.
X. Hibiscus rosa-sinensis
Hibiscuses eventually replaced jasmine for breeding Sorensentia intemporalitus. Hibiscuses were not unstable, only pretentious; they spoke in riddles, seemed to enjoy being roundabout and mysterious. They were annoying, but Cyprian hoped that could be weeded out.
Whenever he told them this, they would only say, "A cat without a tail is still a cat, but without its brain, it's naught but a vegetable."
He began to suspect weeding out the riddles was impossible. It was so intrinsic to what defined them; if he wanted no riddles, then he may as well have replaced them with asters, bred into total silence.
XI. Dianthus caryophyllus
"You haven't changed at all," the ghost of Cyprian's mother cried one day. Cyprian turned the hose on the clove pinks and said, "To be fair, my suppliers will be too stoned to tell."
"It's okay to move on," Lauren Corvo said. Cyprian snorted and said, "Like you did. You reincarnated right away, didn't you?"
"Cyprian," Lauren said softly. "I only wish your heart was whole again."
Cyprian ignored his mother very pointedly, then turned the hose on where her image wavered between realms as the clove pinks cried his name like a knell.
XII. Rosa × damascena
Cyprian hated Valentine's Day. Not only was he subject to his elderly housewife clients' dubious matchmaking skills, but he was forced to spend the week in the same room as thousands of roses.
The roses called him Princess Pink. He called them glorified tea ingredients, and around then he'd exclaim how unbearably thirsty he was, and suddenly, blessedly, there would be silence.
His only consolation was his ability to hear them verbally destroy his most abhorrent regulars and the punks who tried to get laid with asters. And, when the holiday ended, rose hip tea. It was almost worth it.
XVIII. Atropa belladonna
A long time ago, before humans settled on Anharo, one of the Earthling nationalities had a saying: "Do not betray a beautiful lady."
That was what Atropa belladonna was said to have been named for. In the past, it had been one of the most potent poisons, and presently it was still one of the most useful. Now this beautiful woman - Kristen, wasn't it? - was attracted to it, despite the fact it was, frankly, not the most beautiful plant in Cyprian's greenhouse.
Whether this was crazy happenstance or ominously portentious, Cyprian didn't think he'd be crossing her anytime soon anyway.
XIV. Maclura pomifera
Cyprian rested under an osage orange tree and dreamed.
The orange tree itself hummed happily with magic, its roots tingling with grim satisfaction. It wasn't like its plainer brethren; it wouldn't lend help to a creature which cut down trees without remorse, without listening to reason where reason could be heard.
Who would care if vampires claimed the sun if plants would still be able to bask in the warmth of its light? The sun belonged to the world's greenery, and no other.
XV. Sorensentia intemporalitus
Love-lies-bleeding had been more a part of Cyprian's life than the man himself. When Cyprian didn't want to feel, he'd pour his heart into the work of creation. It was because of the flower that Cyprian began synthesizing bold new fertilizers.
The earth had always been part of Cyprian's life, even before he'd seen dirt. He knew that everyone ended up dirt upon someone else's grave at some point, even took some comfort out of this.
When Sorensen died, he found no comfort; there were only fancy flowers on the grave of a man who left nothing behind.
Story Continuity: Battle For the Sun extra
Flavors: Rhubarb 13: if you can't say something nice, Peanut Butter 4: earth, Rocky Road 12: classroom/dojo
Toppings/Extra: Whipped Cream (I-VI bits of Cyprian's childhood and teen years), Cookie Crumbs (XIII and XIV), Malt (1306's dare: "do a 15-part pocky chain. With talking roses. ;) ")
Word count: 100 + 92 + 98 + 100 + 100 + 100 + 98 + 96 + 100 + 100 + 94 + 100 + 100 + 81 + 100 = 1459
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Cyprian Corvo and greenery throughout his life.
I. R. Gallica
Cyprian had been told of plants - they couldn't be trusted, they were deadly, daddy couldn't keep his goofy ass out of the poison ivy bushes - but he wasn't allowed contact until he turned five.
They were perfect red roses, and they knew it.
"If you can't say anything nice, hold your technicolor tongue, you weed," Cyprian said. The roses giggled. "Is that what you've been told? Because where we're from, if you can't say something nice, all you have to say is something snappy, you dull little bud."
Cyprian wasn't much charmed, and didn't mind when the roses finally withered.
II. Lavandula Angustifolia
There were many plain Lavenders in the field that day, but Lavender Kwan, with her wine red eyes and golden laughter, was the most precious. She fled that day saying a word or twenty more than Cyprian wanted to hear, and Cyprian was left feeling bitter and defeated.
"Girls suck," Cyprian said.
"I think that one was just wasn't for you," a lavender said, carefully. "Maybe a boy next time?"
Cyprian thought of Sorensen and wondered.
In the end, Cyprian figured there was something to be said for plainness.
III. Dracaena reflexa
The trees moaned and sighed in the storm, sounding more than anything like the ghosts trapped in their bark.
Cyprian gazed up at the trees, which were dangerous or wily or greedy enough to be called dragons, and thought, this is what my mother was afraid of.
"Mystic thing," groaned the ghosts, their voices bleeding from the bark, the roots, the leaves. "Son of Anharo, leave with the wind."
"Drink of our nectar, beautiful creature," sang the trees, their timbre that of a siren's idol, their limbs shivering in the wind.
When Cyprian returned home, he swore off all saps.
IV. Vernonia cinerea
It wasn't a waste, really, winding their bodies round themselves, chaining them to die together. Really, what the hell else were they for? They were deaf and dumb.
If they couldn't hear themselves scream, were they still screaming?
Cyprian stopped chaining the asters under his desk. How his mother did it, he'd never know.
"Corvo!" His teacher said, loudly.
"You're right here," Cyprian said. "I can hear you."
"Are you chaining daisies in my class, boy?" Mr. Ormund said, to some giggling. Cyprian maintained a flat, unimpressed silence, wondering which curse would be best for a roomful of douchebags.
V. Lilium candidum
His father went first, then his mother, quietly, harshly. Nobody came to the funeral. She'd been dead since the illness struck.
Her last breath had taken every energy.
Cyprian stared blankly at the lilies in his hand, then placed them gently on his family's grave.
Lilies for purity and death.
He listened to the soft, respectful murmur of flower prayer, marveling at the impartiality.
"Loving wife and mother?"
She'd been so much more. She'd been everything right in the world.
Then she began haunting Cyprian, and he started petitioning the cemetery to change the epitaph to "mostly dead, totally annoying."
VI. Antirrhinum majus
Cyprian never thought much of snapdragons, but then he'd hardly tried currying their favor with sweet water. Once he did, they were much less hostile, at least to him.
He'd named one Meryana. She was his favorite - she wasn't anything exceptional to look at, but she was witty, clever, and more than a little strange.
Thinking back on the long, lonely nights of his life thus far, Cyprian could have started currying her favor in more ways than one. It could have happened, but neither was so desperate as to pursue romance with a creature whose parts were completely incompatible.
VII. Prunus mume
When the war came, everything changed.
Cyprian registered with Sorensen out of boredom more than any sense of patriotism.
Weeks later, he yearned for boredom, but it was too late for idle rest - he knew too much. He could not rest without recalling the smell of the charred flesh of his infantrymen, couldn't close his eyes without seeing the enemies who studded their fingers with rings of human bone, without hearing the words of the plum blossoms as they burned with their villages.
He was drawn into a web he couldn't untangle.
When the war ended, nothing changed.
VIII. Soldanella alpina
After the war, Cyprian became a wanderer and a minor celebrity among botanists.
He didn't really notice.
Somewhere between jobs, Cyprian found alpine snowbells, of the rarest and most magically useful flowers on Anharo. Unfortunately, they appeared to speak some strange tongue that was the plant version of Welsh in that it sounded like it consisted entirely of phlegm.
"Please take me," one finally said. Cyprian blinked in surprise. "Why?"
"Because this valley isn't home," it said. "My seed blew in from forever away and now I have no home."
There wasn't much room for argument.
IX. Hydrangea serrata
The Litharuien continent was said to be the most beautiful continent remaining from the Lordly Wars. Cyprian disagreed most days. Nothing was quite as wonderful as anywhere in Kievane, but he stayed. It wasn't beauty he was looking for, not exactly.
Cyprian woke up one morning and found himself the owner and sole employee of a small floristry in Daldain. It only made "strangest blackout ever" after he discovered the state had accepted that his co-owner was a hydrangea.
Of course, considering they had a retard for governor and an ewe as his successor, perhaps it wasn't so strange.
X. Hibiscus rosa-sinensis
Hibiscuses eventually replaced jasmine for breeding Sorensentia intemporalitus. Hibiscuses were not unstable, only pretentious; they spoke in riddles, seemed to enjoy being roundabout and mysterious. They were annoying, but Cyprian hoped that could be weeded out.
Whenever he told them this, they would only say, "A cat without a tail is still a cat, but without its brain, it's naught but a vegetable."
He began to suspect weeding out the riddles was impossible. It was so intrinsic to what defined them; if he wanted no riddles, then he may as well have replaced them with asters, bred into total silence.
XI. Dianthus caryophyllus
"You haven't changed at all," the ghost of Cyprian's mother cried one day. Cyprian turned the hose on the clove pinks and said, "To be fair, my suppliers will be too stoned to tell."
"It's okay to move on," Lauren Corvo said. Cyprian snorted and said, "Like you did. You reincarnated right away, didn't you?"
"Cyprian," Lauren said softly. "I only wish your heart was whole again."
Cyprian ignored his mother very pointedly, then turned the hose on where her image wavered between realms as the clove pinks cried his name like a knell.
XII. Rosa × damascena
Cyprian hated Valentine's Day. Not only was he subject to his elderly housewife clients' dubious matchmaking skills, but he was forced to spend the week in the same room as thousands of roses.
The roses called him Princess Pink. He called them glorified tea ingredients, and around then he'd exclaim how unbearably thirsty he was, and suddenly, blessedly, there would be silence.
His only consolation was his ability to hear them verbally destroy his most abhorrent regulars and the punks who tried to get laid with asters. And, when the holiday ended, rose hip tea. It was almost worth it.
XVIII. Atropa belladonna
A long time ago, before humans settled on Anharo, one of the Earthling nationalities had a saying: "Do not betray a beautiful lady."
That was what Atropa belladonna was said to have been named for. In the past, it had been one of the most potent poisons, and presently it was still one of the most useful. Now this beautiful woman - Kristen, wasn't it? - was attracted to it, despite the fact it was, frankly, not the most beautiful plant in Cyprian's greenhouse.
Whether this was crazy happenstance or ominously portentious, Cyprian didn't think he'd be crossing her anytime soon anyway.
XIV. Maclura pomifera
Cyprian rested under an osage orange tree and dreamed.
The orange tree itself hummed happily with magic, its roots tingling with grim satisfaction. It wasn't like its plainer brethren; it wouldn't lend help to a creature which cut down trees without remorse, without listening to reason where reason could be heard.
Who would care if vampires claimed the sun if plants would still be able to bask in the warmth of its light? The sun belonged to the world's greenery, and no other.
XV. Sorensentia intemporalitus
Love-lies-bleeding had been more a part of Cyprian's life than the man himself. When Cyprian didn't want to feel, he'd pour his heart into the work of creation. It was because of the flower that Cyprian began synthesizing bold new fertilizers.
The earth had always been part of Cyprian's life, even before he'd seen dirt. He knew that everyone ended up dirt upon someone else's grave at some point, even took some comfort out of this.
When Sorensen died, he found no comfort; there were only fancy flowers on the grave of a man who left nothing behind.