the floriography meme

[nemuri]

the floriography meme


Flowers, in the Victorian Era (1837-1901), were often used as means of communication when people could not openly say things that we do these days. Think about someone who is naturally repressed; now imagine a whole society focusing on being repressed. You can see why lovers needed some sort of secret code. Poor things.

No longer used much, there are some remaining, well-known meanings—roses inspiring passion and love are a classic example. So, grab a bouquet and give it to someone special. Beware of what certain flowers could say, though. Not all flowers were used happily.

note: some prompts might cause triggers; be aware and specify in your comments

oo1. comment with your characters
make sure to put names, series, & preferences somewhere!
oo2. reply to others in character
oo3. go to RNG and roll 1-20
oo4. play out what happens! anything goes!
oo5. profit? profit!
oo6. originally from here

p r o m p t s

oo1. begonia ❀ beware

A hidden message is always appreciated. You need to keep an eye out, because your best friend might be banging your girl, or your girl is trying to off you!

oo2. chrysanthemum ❀ you’re a wonderful friend

Commonly used for funerals, this flower can also be used to send a gentle message. Someone is interested in you, but you only see them as a friend. Sorry.

oo3. clover ❀ promise

Promises, promises. Sometimes you mean them, sometimes you break them. Today, you promised your lover the best day ever. But does it work out?

oo4. daffodil ❀ unrequited love

There is an old tale of how a youth fell in love with his reflection and drowned. This is the ultimate rejection: no sparing of feelings, no kind words. Crush their souls.

oo5. forget-me-not ❀ memories, don’t forget me

This well-known flower is often given to loved ones as parting gifts. Who knows how long you’ll be gone? Maybe for only a day, or forever and a lifetime.

oo6. hazel ❀ reconciliation

You and a former love have parted ways for one reason or another. Time has cooled your head, but not your heart, so maybe it’s time to rekindle that fire.

oo7. hyacinth ❀ sorrow, forgive me

This holiday does not bring happiness to everyone. Yes, you’re sad and alone this year—but what are you going to do about it? Hopefully not mope with ice cream.

oo8. marigold ❀ cruelty

Love doesn’t mean a thing to you. The people around you are all puppets, and you love playing with them in the meanest way possible. Have fun, you psychopath.

oo9. mistletoe ❀ kiss me

Pure and simple: give someone a kiss! Your lover, your little sister, a stranger from across the room, or go wild and give the whole town some love!

o10. orange blossoms ❀ wedding, marriage bliss

Oh yes, you’re doing it: having a wedding on one of the cheesiest days of the year! Bring your rice and gifts, a priest is waiting to unite two people in love.

o11. plum blossom ❀ beauty, longevity

It’s a long shot, but you gotta try it. Flattery and buttering people up is one of the best ways to get what you want… romance, a date, money, sex…

o12. poppy ❀ oblivion

It is never good to be oblivious, and it’s awful to not see that someone is in love with you. But sadly, you are. Or is the other person the clueless one?

o13. primrose ❀ can’t live without you

You need them. More than lust or financial stability, you cannot imagine a world where you are not with this other person. Who said anything about a healthy relationship?

o14. rose (dark red) ❀ mourning

You never broke up with them, you never forgot about them. This is true love separated—they’re dead and gone. But have you moved on?

o15. rose (red) ❀ i love you, confession

Today is the day to express love, and nothing is better than expressing a love not expressed before! So go on, confess those beautiful feelings!

o16. rose (white) ❀ secrecy and silence

Sometimes you have to keep secrets. Sometimes that secret is someone else. So, enjoy a midnight rendezvous or run away for a passionate day somewhere.

o17. rose (yellow) ❀ infidelity

You couldn’t help it, this other person was just too… something to resist. That’s right! You’re cheating on your public lover today, but do you care or not?

o18. saffron ❀ abuse

Not all love is happy. Sometimes the problems are worse than money or cheating. It’s not limited to physical abuse either: there’s emotional, verbal, psychological…

o19. sweet pea ❀ good-bye

This day can really suck sometimes. Not as bad as being dumped on Christmas, but all the same. Your special someone obviously doesn’t feel the same anymore.

o20. violets ❀ let’s take a chance

Go for it! Love is exciting, and you don’t have to stay in a rut. Date someone new, elope, or do something creative. In the end, be different from the norm this year!

Comments

[pguillam]

Paris. [ Not far, he tells himself. Safe. He doesn't need to worry about Arthur, not the same way he might worry about his other men (and oh, lord, if that's how he's beginning to think of him, there's going to be a problem). He bites back a crisp question - Having fun? - in favor of a few beats of silence while he gathers up to courage to ask what's important. ]

When are you coming home?

[littlspecificty]

[ Arthur is silent for a few beats himself before he asks something else that's been eating away at him along with the guilt. ]

Do you still want me there?

[pguillam]

Oh, for - yes. [ He has no right to be angry, no right to speak this way - which only frustrates him further. He takes up the pen by the message pad and starts scratching savagely at the top page. ] Yes. Please come home. I haven't -

[ He runs aground on his attempt at an apology, without a clue what he should say. When he tries again, at least it's measured, even if he sounds utterly lost: ] I have been - absent. I know. Please come home. We'll talk it through.

[littlspecificty]

[ Arthur frowns on his end, feeling himself grow defensive at the anger he could hear. It's what prompts him to respond with, ]

Will you actually be there to talk?

[pguillam]

Yes. [ He can promise that much. And he'll be better, he'll be less miserably wound up by then. He'll make sure he is. ] I'll meet you - at the station, the airport, wherever you're getting in. Whatever you want. Just tell me.

[littlspecificty]

[ Arthur goes silent at that, feeling some of his anger deflate. He looks down again, tone less stand-offish. ]

I have to finish here, first. Two days, three at the most. I'll be flying in.

[pguillam]

[ Three days. He lets out a breath, turns his eyes up to the ceiling. It's been longer than that - much longer - since things at home didn't feel like lead to him, but suddenly that seems like an eternity. ]

All right.

[ When he speaks again his voice is softer. It's too early just to talk, to be normal, but he misses it. ] What are you doing there?

[littlspecificty]

[ Arthur misses it, too. He closes his eyes and sits down on the edge of the bed. He had mentioned he had a job but hadn't gone into specifics. ]

The cathedrals of Paris. Pictures, measurements, along with building history. They heard from a colleague I was thorough in my research, so they paid to get me out here. It's possible it'll be used in a documentary. For the narrative script, anyway.

[pguillam]

[ Cathedrals. It sounds so nice, so clean. It's part of what he loves about Arthur - part of what he loves about immersing himself in him. Life seems so much more expansive when one remembers that there are people doing thing other than kidnapping, robbing, and bashing one another over the head in alleys. He even smiles, very faintly. ] Good. That's good.

[ He lapses into silence; what he wants to say he doesn't precisely know, and doesn't want to say over the phone, in any case. But neither does he want to hang up. ]

[littlspecificty]

[ It only makes Arthur remember how little he actually knows of Peter's work and what he does. What keeps him away so much.

He still asks, though, even while he knows he won't get the whole answer. ]

What are you doing there?

[pguillam]

Reading the same four pages of A Passage to India over again, mostly. I've been rather hoping it will put me to sleep.

[ He's always ready with an answer. He envies his colleagues their wives; if his relationship wasn't in and of itself a risk of blackmail, he could share more - not everything, but more. They do. He could laugh with someone over the grim irony of the fact that the head of the division responsible for bloody well blackmailing people lives with his male lover.

But he can't, and God knows it isn't Arthur's fault. ]

Maybe I'll give it one more go.

[littlspecificty]

[ He allows for a sad half-smile only because Peter can't see it. ]

I meant your work.

[ But he gives a tired sigh, rubbing at his eyes and knowing there wasn't a point in that line of conversation. ]

Try reading Moby Dick. It's under the couch, I think.

[pguillam]

[ He knows Arthur knows he won't get an answer; he doesn't bother to address it. By now he's sure his silence speaks for itself. ]

I'm surprised it would fit under the couch. Melville - I don't know. Forster was a Cambridge man, at least.

[ He turns to lean his back against the wall, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead. If he were only here. ]

But if you say so.

[littlspecificty]

[ If he were there, Arthur is sure he'd be making a fool of himself by being so emotional. ]

Considering there's a whole chapter on whale blubber, I'm pretty sure that will put you to sleep easier than Forster waxing poetic about caves in India.

[pguillam]

I consider whale blubber and Indian landscape roughly equivalent, as a matter of fact. But sailors are a ponderous lot. I'll give him a go.

[ He won't sleep well tonight. He's not going to read a damn thing. He considers going back to the office, but most likely he'll stay home, lie awake, and try to drink himself to sleep. ]

And I'll see you in - three days.

[littlspecificty]

[ Arthur gives a small breath of a laugh at that, rubbing at his eyes again. ]

You can always get the head-phones off my desk and listen to music. It's--it's helped me when I couldn't sleep.

[ He doesn't want to say goodbye so soon. It feels like they haven't talked in ages... ]

[pguillam]

Oh, I don't much like those things, you know. [ They make him feel like he's about to listen in on someone's telephone line - hardly relaxing. ] I suppose I could put a record on.

[ Which won't make it much better to be going to bed alone, but he really should be used to that, by now. Or at least start trying. ] I hope they've got you put up somewhere nice.

[littlspecificty]

They do.

[ It was nice enough. A little small but then he wasn't spending much time in it outside of sleeping and organizing his notes and putting together the files for his client.

Then, before he could help himself because he didn't want to wait for three days to say it, ]

I'm sorry, Peter. For the way I left. I shouldn't have done that to you.

[pguillam]

[ It's the pain in his wrist that makes him glance down and realize he's about blackened the page on the memo pad. He makes himself set the pen down, clean, perfectly parallel to the paper. There's something thick in his throat, but the organization clears his head - grounds him - just enough to overcome it.

Still, its remnants are audible; his voice is just a little too soft. ]

Don't fret over it, Arthur. You're coming home soon.

[ And if this is how he is on the phone, he can only imagine the sad mess he'll make when Arthur's here with him. Really, Guillam. Come off it. ]

[littlspecificty]

[ Arthur's voice comes out just as soft, wishing he was back there for the first time in days. ]

I'll see you then, Peter. Goodnight.

[ It was so typical; he wanted to hurt the other man just enough that he knows what it feels like to be the one always made to wait, left alone. And when he finally went through with it, he regretted it, realizing that is not what he wanted. But, of course, that all comes too late. ]

[pguillam]

[ Peter already knows what it is to be alone, of course. He might not be so frightened if it hadn't happened before. He might not know what was coming for him.

And still there's only so much he can say on the phone. Still he won't let slip the term of endearment, the expression of affection that's on the tip of his tongue. God knows it's not out of a desire for secrecy - anyone listening in on this conversation would know exactly what he is. ]

Don't forget to call with your flight number. I'll check the messages.

[ They'd know exactly what he is, and coward would probably top the list. Well done. ]

[littlspecificty]

[ As an unspoken but understood rule, neither of them spoke of their previous lovers. Arthur knew it was painful for him to think about that time in his life and he could only assume it was the same for Peter. He never knew the specifics of whom left whom and he felt it was more respectful not to ask.

Even now, Arthur has so much he wants to say but he knows how the other man will respond. He knows how dangerous it is to be a homosexual. Even still, the disappointment comes through in his voice. He should be used to it by now. ]

I will.

[ After he hangs up, he has to lay back down on the bed. He doesn't feel like moving, the weight in his chest making the rest of his limbs feel heavier than they actually are. ]

[pguillam]

[ Peter spends a moment staring, blank, into the bit of kitchen he can see form the hallway. This isn't how he wanted things to be; he'll think for the rest of the night about exactly what he ought to have said.

Or, he can spend the rest of the night not thinking at all. On his way to the bottle of scotch on the sideboard, he passes (as he has many times in the past few days) the wilting bunch of forget-me-nots. He keeps meaning to throw them out. They certainly won't make it another three days without dropping entirely.

But for now, they can all just droop together. ]

[littlspecificty]

[ Arthur doesn't call back until two days later. He has to leave a message as he calls when Peter isn't home. He can't sleep the night before his flight, the thought of seeing Peter again - and of the talk that they will have to have - keeps him up and anxious. He was only able to finish the job so fast because he threw himself into it after the phone call, wanting to distract himself.

He manages to fall asleep on the plane, having to be woken up by the stewardess when they land.

As he disembarks, he can feel all his anxiety return. He wants to see Peter again. He truly does. But he's worried, too. ]

[pguillam]

[ Peter's coming off nearly two solid days at the office when he checks the messages and carefully commits the flight number to memory. He, too, has found refuge mostly at work - half so he can take it a bit easy when Arthur returns, and half because without Arthur, there isn't anything else.

So of course he's at the gate when he arrives. Standing casually to the side of the desk, his coat draped over one arm, his briefcase resting against his ankle, he might be just one more passenger waiting to board. To anyone looking closely, he'd probably more resemble one more passenger with a crippling, sick-inducing fear of flying waiting to board, but - suppressing his deep, nervous anxiety is going to leave him looking a bit peaky. He can't help that.

He tries a smile, though, when he sees him. On English soil again. Good. ]

Welcome home.