7908/Late Night starring His Honour

Late Night starring His Honour
Date of Scene:	21 September 2021
Location:	Sherwood Florist, First Floor
Synopsis:	Flowers are purchased. Pleasantries exchanged. Screaming Meanies' defeat is planned. But only in Canary's head.
Cast of Characters:	Dinah Lance, Lincoln March

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Dinah Lance has posed:
It's been a day. Not a great day--too many grieving people asking for flower arrangements and suddenly turning into night market traders to beat the price down for that--but not a terrible one either. Because the till has cash, and quite a bit more at the end than when it started. Still, it's been a day and, after sending her shop assistant packing, Dinah sighs in relief and gets ready for the evening ritual of watering and trimming the plants, drinking a double or two of Five Roses, and kicking back to watch some goofy '80s action flick in the VCR.

Yes. VCR. With a tape. Taken from her wall of tapes. Most of which are old enough to drink in bars. Indeed they pretty much all are.

Step one in the ritual: turn the sign from "COME IN WE'RE OPEN" in friendly handwriting to "SORRY WE'RE CLOSED". This step just before turning out the lights with the switches near the door.

Lincoln March has posed:
     a lone limousine puls up in front of the flower shop. The standard black limousine with pitch black mirrored windows down the side and back of it. Not a full on stretch limo but something a bit more reserved.

     Out from the drivers seat steps a young man in a full butlers uniform who runs around to the back of the limo opening the door with grace and poise. From within the depths of the limousine steps a man. More than just a man he's the Mayor of Gotham, and he's got a bit of a concerned expression on his face as he looks down towards his wristwatch checking the surface one last time to ensure he's not too far behind schedule.

     He's dressed down in something simple, a relatively nice trench-coat over a suit and tie all black to match his wide brimmed hat.

     He makes for the door walking with determination and a firm decision in his step, but not before offering a light smile and a word of thanks to the driver who had gotten the door for him. The driver's face lights up with a return grin having had his day brightened just that slight bit as Lincoln hangs up his cellphone and stuffs it into a pouch on his belt.

Dinah Lance has posed:
Dinah bites her lip. Choice time. She's just turned off the lights and turned the sign. It's been a good day cash-wise. She could slip up the stairs and be on her way to "I'll be back!" in no time flat.

But...

Limo. Mayor. This might be worth staying up.

The straight walk to the door was the decider. If he'd dallied she'd be able to slip undetected, guaranteed. Too many years of following do-badders in the streets for her to be spotted ... but with that decisive step toward he's looking and might spot her.

"Dinah, just do it. You'll regret it if you don't."

Sighing, she reverses the switch and the shop sign comes to life. Seconds later the sign is turned around. Just above the sign with the operating hours that showed the shop closing ... right about now, actually.

"Welcome to Sherwood Florist!" she says as perkily as she could without the bourbon she'd been planning to take after a long day. "You got me just in time. A few minutes later and I'd have been out."

That's how you say "so pay attention to your watch, dammit!" in shopkeeper-ese.

Lincoln March has posed:
     "I'll have to ask your forgiveness for how late I got here." Mayor March starts with as he takes off his hat and holds it in his hands, revealing the face of Gotham's Second most eligible bachelor three years running. "Unfortunately in my line of work the hours are long and don't always allow for personal matters."

     He steps into the flower shop, body language clearly stating what's already been said a genuine feeling of remorse at putting another out of their way. "I'll try my best not to take up too much of your time." He adds atop his words with a light smile crossing his face. "Just need to pick up a few flowers for an old friend in a rough situation." He speaks as he looks over the flowers extending his hand towards them before stopping just an inch from touching one of the displays.

     He's built like a linebacker and clearly spends a great deal of time dedicated to personal fitness, perhaps more than he spends actually being the mayor given the definition even through his suit, and those massively oversized shoulders.

Dinah Lance has posed:
"So, I guess the question that has to be answered before I can suggest anything is ... did you cause the rough situation?" Dinah chuckles in tired (exhausted, even) banter. "Flowers for apology are different from flowers for sympathy." She holds up her hands in the 'I surrender' gesture. "Just kidding. It's late in the day and my brain is making bad jokes that my mouth is letting loose."

She glances over the available flowers, as she talks, mind racing as she starts assembling a good set of options.

"Daisies are traditional, and these days you don't have just all-white as the only choice. I have some decent gerberas in a rainbow of colours, so you can add some colour to the life while still adhering to tradition."

She taps her teeth in a nervous habit as she looks over other options. "Peonies. That's a good choice just for the fact they're gorgeous. They'll add life to any kind of environment from the living rooms of the newly widowed to hospital beds to any other such kind of place. And they're not cliches, like daisies, so they'll stand out if that's what you're looking for." Pursing her lips she adds, "If it's some kind of illness or such, hydrangeas are pretty good too. Again they'll stand out from the sea of daisies and they symbolize perseverence which is a nice message to send."

Another sweep before her eyes settle on ... "Pansies. Loving thoughts. Bold colours in a loud rainbow. They brighten up any mood. Just ... don't give it to a tough guy. They might read something different."

Lincoln March has posed:
     Lincoln follows along with the sales pitch watching the flowers as they're pointed out and calculating in his mind what might work best. When she brings up the potential of him causing it he offers a light chuckle. "No, no it's all well and good, what I deserve for taking up valuable time at such a late hour."

     He brings forth a sympathetic smile as he keeps his hat off in one hand leaning down towards one of the collections of flowers with the smile fading somewhat into a flatter expression.

     "Screaming Meanies got to him, and left him in a rough state, he's a good officer, and we have too few of them in Gotham, I want to get him something that lets him know there's someone thinking about him in a rough situation." He looks over his shoulder as he speaks in her direction before turning back to the pansies, a single gloved hand fluttering against the petals for just a moment.

     "No, I think you're right, Pansies may send the wrong message." He chuckles to himself in a low voice looking them over one last time. "Money is no object in this case, I simply want to make certain he knows he's not alone."

Dinah Lance has posed:
"You should never say those words to a shopkeeper, Your Honour," Dinah says dryly. "You can wind up having to buy a second set of flowers as the keeper in question keels over from a greed-triggered heart attack." She grins then. "I'll be merciful though. You'll only have one set to buy."

She looks over her shop more closely, pursing her lips.

"If you want someone to feel like they're not alone, I'm afraid I'm going to have to suggest live, not cut." That's what's coming from her lips. In her head is the thought that someone needs to show the meanies what screaming is all about. "Nothing brings hope to the soul like watching something living, thriving next to them instead of something wilting away from beauty until they get tossed."

Her eyes settle on... "Peonies. A pot of peonies. Accented with some ferns and such to frame them in green. I've got a lovely white and darker pink mixed pot in stock right now, or I've got pure white, pink, or red. They're gorgeous, gigantic blooms. They smell good. And if you can frame them right in green they're very symbolic of life."

She turns to face the mayor then. "But ... live costs because the pot goes with it. They don't like being unsettled once they've got their roots in and it takes years to blossom again if you move them. I'll attach a card with care instructions, but they're not that hard."

She twists her face into a lop-sided grin. "And bonus. They're the only flower on Earth, I think, that are considered masculine as all Hell. They're like the anti-pansies. Probably best for a police officer."

Lincoln March has posed:
     Another low chuckle, as he allows her to continue with little more than a light shrug of 'I tried'. He turns his attention back towards the shopkeeper looking with a seriously thoughtful expression across his face.

     Finally he speaks up once there's a spot of silence in the room, enough to add to the conversation. "I think that sounds like an excellent choice." He reaches into a pocket of his trench-coat past a concealed pistol strapped to his hip where he could easily draw it in times of trouble and down into a pocket.

     From within he pulls out a pitch black credit card and holds it in his hand for a brief moment. "I'll make sure the care instructions get to his attendant, when he wakes up I expect he'll be over the moon." He pauses for a brief moment. "I'll take the dark pink, I think it'll be easier to keep looking clean."

Dinah Lance has posed:
Dinah bends over her display of peonies, judging them with a critical eye until she pulls out one pot from their midst. This she carries over (with surprising ease given the enormous pot, the awkward position, and how pint-sized she herself is) to her work table before heading across to the mister to pick out a selection of small potted ferns. At the table she arranges these around the peonies in a cunning way that conceals the peony stems, making them look like they're poking their heads out from a sea of green. Some strapping then fixes them in place before they get placed in a foam-lined wooden tray whose foam immobilizes the pots further. As a piece de resistance, two-toned green waxed paper wraps the outside pots and gets tied in place with some green-dyed twine lending more to the illusion she's trying to create with the piece.

And all this done with an unexpected tenderness given her low-brow manner of speaking and her rough, salt-of-the-earth kind of dress.

And inside she's exulting. ~Di, you just made one sale that's doubled the daily take. Told you it was a good idea to stay open for one more!~

"Well, here you go, Your Honour. I've got cards too, but truth be told they kinda suck. They're pretty much for people living in this neck of the neighbourhood. I hate to say 'no' to money, but I think you'd be better off with a hand-written note on nice letterhead or something. The cards here aren't ..."

She makes a wry face.

"They're more comic-oriented, not serious. Except for the funeral ones and those would be even less suited."

Lincoln March has posed:
     "Something tells me getting a funeral card for him would get me summarily smacked across the face shortly after he got out of the hospital." Lincoln offers with a low belly chuckle. He moves his way over to the checkout counter placing down his credit card on the edge of the table for a moment as he admires Dinah's handiwork.

     "I'm certain I can write something up for him on the ride over, it's the least that I could do rather than throwing money at a problem and hoping it goes away." Even in spite of his throwing money at the wall being exactly what he was doing in buying a big ol pot of flowers and ferns right before closing at the last possible minute for visitation. "After all, if I can find the time to buy them in the first place I can at least ensure they strike home."

     He pauses for a long moment, contemplating on if he should say what's on his mind as he looks over the flowers. That thoughtful expression holding as he adjusts his stance.

Dinah Lance has posed:
The credit card is picked up and a glare is tossed at the credit card machine.

Her eternal enemy.

It's very old. Not even connected to her POS. Wait, what POS? This is an old-style register. Purely electromechanical. What's next? Manual book-keeping!?

Out comes a laminated card with handwriting on it that she reads carefully as she operates the credit card machine. The screaming sound of a '90s era modem comes from the device as she laboriously follows what looks like her own instructions and the device connects to what is probably the last shop on the planet that still uses that particular machine in the bank's suite. Endless seconds of electronic negotiations ensue followed by finally a credit card receipt being spit out the side.

Via a mechanical printer, not the thermal kind.

"OK, got it on the first try. Could you sign here, please, Your Honour?"

Lincoln March has posed:
     Lincoln watches with interest as the machine works and whirls. There's no sense of condescension on his features as he watches the machine examining its workings with a deep seated interest. Still it works and it even spits out a receipt so there's something to be happy about.

     He lifts the pot of flowers with one hand over his shoulder with incredible ease as if the pot were empty, and rests it into position as he pulls out a very expensive pen from the pocket of his jacket. The pen glides across paper with ease dancing from one letter to the next as he signs his name, before taking back the pitch black credit card and placing both it and the gold pen back away onto his person.

     "I most certainly can." Offered as he hands the receipt back over to Dinah with a light bow of the head showing respect her direction. "It's been lovely working with you, and hopefully I'll be able to work with you again during more normal business hours with less dire circumstances."

Dinah Lance has posed:
~Well, OK, let's make it three doubles tonight. And get a loaded pizza!~

"It's been my pleasure, Mr. Mayor," Dinah says with a perky, professional smile that almost conceals the fatigue in her eyes. Almost. "I hope your friend appreciates the flowers and the thought you put into selecting them. You're welcome, of course, as a guest here anytime."

Her eyes stray around the shop.

"Just ... uh ... if it's for any kind of a large display, I have to have about 48 hours notice. I do business with growers, but there's not a lot of room in-shop for stock so I'd have to arrange for anything larger-scale." She chuckles weakly again. "And make that two weeks if it's something like a float."

And inside her brain is buzzing with plans. Plans to take a look at the 'Meanies. Plans to show the Meanies what happens to people who brutalize the police. Plans to find out why the Meanies think they can get away with it.

It'll be nice to get back into action.