voidtreckerexpress

Who: Persephone; OTA
Where: Greenhouse/Kitchen/Garden
When: Grasshopper Day 2 into Day 3
What: Insomnia turns into midnight gardening and baking followed by a quiet thorn tantrum
Warnings: Will add if needed

A. Greenhouse

It's getting a little crowded in the greenhouse, if Persephone is being honest. Between everyone's little patches of growth and the roses--and everything, it feels a little like being at home. But not in the good way? In the worst way possible? Surrounded by beings and plants at all hours of the day and night. Even in the middle of the night, when she can't sleep, there's still people walking and talking, wandering about or popping into the greenhouse. There's something new here all the time as people add things from the stores or the pile of seeds from the crates. She's guilty of adding new things herself.

Still, the middle of the night is the easiest time to work on the life here without having to dodge a dozen people as she walks around. She walks from plant to plant, touching them sometimes, merely holding her hand over them as a fizzing pink light shifts over them. Her feelings are held tight inside her, bubbling and boiling up in little fits of thorns sharpening on the roses or flowers bursting into seed. But she keeps it off her face. There's no point in this anxious frustration. Nothing will change.

Persephone moves through the car and the flower bloom brighter in her wake.

B. Kitchen Car

Sleep still isn't coming tonight. So--why not work on breakfast? Why not start the bread (made with carrot juice for color)? Why not waste two hours on making little eggplant tarts, with delicate herbs sprinkle on top? Making the food she wants to eat is part of the joy of having kitchen duties this month. With a note left on the tarts to mark them as vegetarian, Persephone hefts herself up on a metal counter. Her legs swing as she eats two tiny tarts in quick succession, then slows down to savor the third. If someone does come in, she pulls up a hesitant smile, vaguely annoyed at her solitude being intruded upon.

"Try one, they're delicious. If you like eggplant, of course."

C. Garden Car

It's no longer the middle of the night. It's mid-morning and everyone else seems to be happily knee deep in their morning routines. Persephone had laid on her bunk for an hour, waiting out the rush of people moving through the corridors. She moves to the greenhouse and waits again until there's no one she can see in the garden and she walks in. There's hardly any space left in the greenhouse, hardly any space to breathe anywhere on this gods forsaken train. Her hands curl up into tiny fists, then slowly uncurl. But no one appears to calm her down or talk her out of the fit of--not claustrophobia, because she would take the tiniest spot if it was truly hers.

So--why not make a spot for herself? The car doesn't belong to her--doesn't actually belong to Zetta really if you get down to it.For all that she accepts that it's his and he accepts that the greenhouse is her, she's never really given that any weight. Besides, it's not like he would care, right? If he did, well... She floats over the little streams and to a flat portion of the wall. There-- as she stands facing the void, roses curl up, up and over her, in a domed mimic of a room, twisting around each other for strength. The roses face in, the thorns face out, and even if it's just small enough for her to stand and sit in, it's enough. It's bound to get attention at some point, but she grows the thorns extra thick and tries her best not to feel guilty about it. Then and only then does she doze off against the glass.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Crowley doesn't sleep. At least, not when everyone else does. He'll sleep for days at a time under the right circumstances, but he has never been one for crowds himself, and would much rather take advantage of evenings when the train cars are less crowded. He does, however, keep to himself, and stays conscious about his noise levels in case it wakes anyone. He hasn't heard Persephone come into the greenhouse for example, when he's crouched, harshly talking in a hushed tone to a quivering plant in his own plot. It's much smaller than the others, which are almost impressively green for how long they've been planted.

"What exactly am I to do with you, hm? What makes you think you're worth keeping around when you can't even perform at the level of the others? You'll make a fool of us both!"

Does he expect the plant to talk back? It--It's moving. How very interesting. Persephone stays a few feet back, tapping her bare feet soundlessly on the soil.

"I would say that problems with the plant are often a result of the environment the gardener cultivates." She doesn't say it harshly, more curious as to what his reply will be. He clearly feels he can intimidate his plants into--something? Submission? Sparkling growth.

Crowley turns, not exactly in surprise, but he didn't quite expect anyone else to be up so late. He quirks an eyebrow over his glasses, shrugging slightly.

"I've never had a problem getting plants to grow the way I'd like them to." he assures her as he stands, dusting off his knees as a he does so. "But every once and a while you do get a slacker. You just have to know how to deal with them."

"I just give them a little push. It has never occurred to me to threaten instead." She steps a little closer, hands tapping at her sides with the barely suppressed urge to just--give his plant a little extra growth. A little nudge. Maybe when he's gone and he doesn't know. Either way, this is interesting enough to let her forget her annoyance.

What Persephone is considering is absolutely a crime in his eyes, but what he doesn't know, won't hurt him.

"Push, sure, whatever you want to call it." he scoffs, "My methods are tested for many years. I'm certain I can get this one in line before the week is out."

Not that Crowley feels like he has anything to prove, of course, but he is at least confident.

She bites at her thumb, raising an eyebrow. Right.

"Well it's not like I can insist you don't yell at them, they're your plants. It just seems rude, if they listen to you, to not--well--be nicer about it. It can't help it if the light isn't as good or the soil as nice in that particular bit of the plot. Plants only thrive in good conditions, unless you put a little power into encouraging them." She gestures up to the roses that are still curled about long brace of the ceiling and still somehow in flower.

"I'm not nice." he corrects her, making a face that looks disgusted at even the suggestion, "Certainly not nice to slackers."

As he said the last word his body twisted and voice raised slightly in the direction of the pitiful plant, which somehow, miraculously stood a little bit taller.

"I encourage them plenty. So does the fertilizer." he continues, and he isn't sure if he means the soil itself or the creature that defecates into it... the latter of which is actually quite nutritious for the types of plants Crowley is growing.

Oh one of those people. Nice is a four letter word sort of people. She makes a face, amused and annoyed all at once. Well she's dealt with them before.

"Hey, we're all slackers sometimes. Don't want someone throwing me out the door because I didn't get out of bed early enough."

You don't make it six thousand years on earth as a demon being called nice. Call it conditioning.

"If one of them can't grow properly. I can find another plant that can. Not really a problem."

OTA

A.

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I'm so sorry I'm the worst.

hardly

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