i fell in love with a war
Paying grievously close attention, like Deimos is instructing him on matters of life, the universe, and everything, he follows the instructions carefully and wraps the stem as Deimos advises him. Then, after realizing the soon-to-be-crown was strangling itself with its own stem, he loosens it so it holds firm but not choking. Surveying the color options in front of him, Icarus' hand ghosts towards a vivid pink flower, vibrant and exuberant, before landing lightly on a more subdued purple one with a less excited personality. His fingers continue to move towards lighter hues, more indiscriminate in their colors and not particularly visually cohesive. There's no rhyme or reason to the flowers he chooses, no theme he strives towards; just whatever things of odd and unlikely beauty that lingers here in the greenhouse. Perhaps specimens that may be overlooked by those seeking for more traditional floral adornments. His collection blooms with oddities, misshapen leafs and things missing petals, twisted stems and sometimes blackened petals. It makes for an odd crown, not very festive-looking, but Icarus moves with a clear intention and with little regard to aesthetic value of the thing.
"My mother used to collect strange things," Icarus says absentmindedly as his fingers collect the stems, careful in his movements like the flowers would crumble under his touch if he moved any harder. "Anything bizarre she could find. Rocks with holes in the center, sea shells that had no business being in Halo, belt blades and bright fabrics. Anything, really. She used to collect them for Mort," His voice is light and drifting, remembering a time that doesn't exist anymore, a person his mother used to love.
Icarus blinks, fingers stilling for a second, and remembers who he's confessing to. His cheeks color, bright pink flushes against the pale of his skin, and he shakes his head. "Sorry. That was unprofessional." He coughs, eyes firmly glued to the collection of plants in his hand and fixed decidedly away from Deimos. "Uh, what's next?"
"My mother used to collect strange things," Icarus says absentmindedly as his fingers collect the stems, careful in his movements like the flowers would crumble under his touch if he moved any harder. "Anything bizarre she could find. Rocks with holes in the center, sea shells that had no business being in Halo, belt blades and bright fabrics. Anything, really. She used to collect them for Mort," His voice is light and drifting, remembering a time that doesn't exist anymore, a person his mother used to love.
Icarus blinks, fingers stilling for a second, and remembers who he's confessing to. His cheeks color, bright pink flushes against the pale of his skin, and he shakes his head. "Sorry. That was unprofessional." He coughs, eyes firmly glued to the collection of plants in his hand and fixed decidedly away from Deimos. "Uh, what's next?"
Icarus
and nobody told me it ended
