#MARGARETFLORIST

[jhellstrom]

15 & 24

15. What are their pet peeves?

Men breathing, usually. 

24. Describe their voice.

The way her tone is she can sound sort of blunt, no matter what she’s saying, it’s just how it sounds. I think it’s part of why she may come off as harsh to people, just something in her tone with the accent she has. But despite that, it still has like a happy inflection most of the time. When she likes someone she’s got a more quiet voice. I mentioned the accent being part of why her tone comes off that way, and it’s because she also has like a hint of a Swedish accent, being a first generation immigrant from her parents.

[dagnylarsson]

19 / 24

19. Does your character collect anything?

Answered here!

24. Describe their voice.

Dagny (like his real-life counterpart Joel) speaks with a deep baritone and a very, very prominent vocal fry. As for his accent, I also kind of headcanon it as Joel’s accent in his early days filming in America, which is pretty much like your ‘standard’ American accent but there are a lot of words that, when he tries to pronounce them (especially if he’s talking rapidly) still sound quite Scandinavian. 

[hannahyelley]

@margaretflorist​

Location: Southwood Public Park 

Time and Date: Wednesday, thirteen minutes past one

    “This weather” she begins, arms stretched back in awe, “is immaculate.” Debating between the park or the cemetery, they’d chosen the former for a fall picnic. She’d taken to little outings like this as a child, and carried the traditions into her quasi-adulthood - it was often contested, if she was thirty, three, or eighty. Something about a dear friend, sprawled before her on a patterned blanket whilst munching on cookies, brought Hannah a deep sense of comfort. Few people were as dear to her as Margaret was; with a smile, that overwhelmed anyone lucky enough to bear witness. “My horoscope said I’d be existential with a close friend today - hope the Strong’s can spare you, ‘cause I plan on bugging you for a while. Of course, if you came and worked at a lovely bed and breakfast....” 

   Pleasance moves around them - mothers shuffling their children, drifters eyeing the yet to open bar, fire engines burning red. The mundane stillness of their town, charmed Hannah as deeply as its rough edges. They said New York had lights; something else burned in Pleasance, bright enough to put skyscrapers to shame. Rolling onto her back to marvel at the greyscale sky, she posits further. “So, I heard a rumour you were out digging in some graves with your bat and skeleton pals on Tuesday. That, or you guys were dumpster diving by Z’s - so c’mon, which one was it? I hope you know, I consider grave robbing without me a form of cheating.”

[eddiemoores]

@margaretflorist

LOCATION: beau & kaye’s DATE & TIME: thursday night

visiting dead loved ones isn’t an activity she wants to makes a habit of. it’s a tell of eddie’s frustration, one she doesn’t openly admit.

she used to think she’d never buy flowers for anyone. but as the years go by and she grows older, the more she visits her mother’s — ruth’s — grave and the farther she becomes the person she thought she was. although not one for flowers, she remembers how ruth would fill up the vases with it. so eddie figures the least she can do is to give her mother this.

she arrives at the shop with the ease of a regular. “maggie, you out here?” she calls out, staying close to the door, steering clear of the flowers. ( she isn’t allergic. ) “i’ll be having the usual!” she says, as if ordering coffee.

[atticusmalik]

@margaretflorist​

location: next page

time: four-thirty pm 

   “I know what you’re thinking - Atticus, no one wants to hear you moan about Song of Achilles again. But god damn it, if I’m not buying it with this cover, and making it the next reading assignment.” Perhaps Atticus pines for the purity of love enjoyed by the protagonists - even through bitter conflict and death, their romance purists, tainted by nothing. Or maybe, he’s just one of those people, bound to inhabbit the same books, same movies, out a need for comfort; familiarity. Maggie wouldn’t judge him for either affliction, and it’s why he looks forward to bumping into her at the bookstore, and various book club meetings. “But you’re young! I’m sure you have a youthful pick for me. If it’s by someone whose name is hard to spell and Russian, I’ve read it. Or perhaps, an exciting tale of your own - tell me, what does a young florist get up to, on a Friday night?”  He’s only got a handful of years on Maggie, but Atticus has simply always been older; decades heaped upon his shoulders, making him no wiser, but invariably tired and lacking current references.

   The bookstore is a comfort to him, one of the few places in this crumbling town, where he feels at home - the near image of Atticus Malik, New Yorker, happily married, that he’d left behind in a two bedroom apartment. “I’ve been thinking of the child, what I can do .... is a vigil a stupid idea? Read some poetry, avoiding Plath so I don’t make everyone feel worse. Or I don’t know, something to bring comfort. Books are the only thing I can think of, though, that can assuage that kind of pain.”

[dagnylarsson]

Pietà / Venus de Milo

Pietà: Name something that tugs at your heartstrings.

Already answered here!

Venus De Milo: Do you believe that everyone deserves a second chance, no matter what they've been through in the past?

Second chances are a conditional thing for him. He, for example, doesn’t think he deserves one, not from his wife, but with Elise, he’s still currently trying to fight for that privilege. 

[jhellstrom]

FOR: @margaretflorist​ LOCATION: the coffee shop

after their run-in with bryce, and taking a bunch of nyquil pm the last few nights, they still weren’t sleeping right. it was getting impossible to shake the guilt of losing the child at the halloween bash. -- well, jules didn’t lose the girl, but that was exactly the problem. it felt like she did. like it was all her fault. 

seeing a friendly face was actually like taking a breath after being underwater for so long. “margaret,” jules breathed, “hey.” they slid down the counter as they waited for their coffee. jules wasn’t looking great on the outside, but was happy to see her. “how are you? especially after... all of that.”

[hannahyelley]

for: @margaretflorist​

location: all-timer diner, vaguely not right now 

  “When they’d build this place? Wonder what it was, when well....Edith was alive. Thinking about her more lately, but I suppose that’s naturally. Real heartbreaker, that lass.” Though talk of Edith invokes the saddest sentiments in ones chest right now, Hannah indulged only in levity; her cheeks, nearly as red as the pie sitting before her. “But hey, it’s the holidays! Ho-ho-ho and all that jazz. You seen the Grinch? Not the movie, that’s a given.....swear I saw him in the alley, earlier.”

[hannahyelley]

🍀 tender charm / 🥀 glorious thorn

🍀- Hannah’s mom is her greatest confidante, dear friend, and the figure she aspires to grow into. To that end, she expresses her deepest fears and most obtrusive, selfish thoughts to her mother - the rare inkling of skepticism that has touched her heart once or twice, was only made known to her loving mother. Margaret is a treasured companion, and Hannah feels safe in her presence; she feels as if she could tell Maggie anything, without the fear of resentment or lingering judgements. Hannah knows she’s difficult - talking too much, too often about nothing, but like her mother, Maggie never feels like she’s overstayed her welcome. She has the ability to express herself to Maggie, and to receive only love in return.

🥀- Hannah once loved someone who prided themselves on their watches. It wasn’t a collection of thousand dollar timepieces, nor was it a love born out of pride. They simply enjoyed telling time, and treasured the instruments that allowed them the pleasure. They allowed her to watch as they cradled time in their hands, gently caring for the glass face - tuning gently, cleaning the leather band with love. She loves the mundane aspects of a person; to know and adore their simplest traits, like a preference to wear a wrist-watch. They’re long gone, and their love feels foreign to her now - but she thinks of the watch they bestowed upon her tenderly, knowing it to be their own love language.