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“Manfred?” Gregory, sitting cross-legged in one of the chairs around the breakfast table spoke, reaching over to gently shake his shoulder.
“Hm?” Manfred briefly raised his eyes from the case file he had clutched between his fingers, though they had snapped back in a mere moment. “Do you need something?”
“”I had a question, actually.”
Manfred grunted in reply, shifting from one paper in the brief to the next. “Get on with it, then.”
Gregory gave a small smile then. It always was a pain to tear Manfred from his work, and he’d have no small amount of grumpiness to show for it. He tapped his shoe briefly against the wooden floor before speaking again,
“Do you like flowers?”
Manfred set his file down then, running his hands across both it and the blue and white tablecloth draped over the table as though to smooth it out. “Flowers?” He quirked an eyebrow, “I have no dislike of them. Are there many people that do?”
“That’s…not what I asked, I-” Gregory tugged at his lapels. Manfred cut him of with a sharp snap of his fingers before pulling his papers back into his hands.
“No, I heard you quite distinctly. You questioned whether I like flowers. Is that not the query I answered?”
“No.” Gregory’s nigh ever present frown deepened slightly, carving sharp lines into his face, “You told me you don’t have a dislike of flowers, not that you like them.”
“Why, Gregory.” Manfred released the folder again just long enough to wag a finger at him, “What is the like of something if not an absence of dislike?”
Gregory blinked in response. “Do you not experience the concept of neutrality?”
Manfred chuckled, a low, rattling sound like a dog's growl. “Neutrality? A feeble escape. I say everything in life can be either liked or disliked.”
“Really?”
“Of course.”
Gregory leaned in slightly, “Would you mind if I put that to the test?”
“If you must. But know that you’re lucky I adore you, because I despise interruption.” Manfred drawled, slowly setting his papers back down on to the table with all the eagerness of a man bidding farewell to an old friend, “Get on with it.”
“Opinion on tables?”
“Sturdy. Dependable. Hard working. A good table is a thing to be respected.”
“And a poor table?”
“Pitiful. A waste of lumber that should be torn apart for firewood.”
“I see.” Gregory tapped his fingers against thick canvas sleeves. “But when I say table, we could be referring to either a good table or a poor table.”
Manfred snapped his fingers again, “But the default state of a table is a good table.”
Gregory sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I take it this discussion isn’t going anywhere?”
Manfred looked down his nose at him, “it’s going where you lead it. You brought it up.”
“So, about the flowers..,”
“I already told you, I do not dislike them.”
“So you like them, then?”
Manfred didn’t respond, merely took up his file again.
Gregory took that as a yes, rising to his feet. He wasn’t going to get any specifics out of Manfred today.
He wouldn’t be deterred, of course and crossed the floor. Perched at the top of the coat tree was his slightly tattered black hat, which he pulled off with a sweeping gesture before settling it atop his own graying hair.
Warm air brushed gently against his skin, the bright summer sun smiling down on him as he made his way down the street. He could take his car, he supposed, but the day was too comfortable, and it seemed an awful shame to waste such a lovely day off driving around.
He hummed softly to himself as he made his way off to the florists shop. There were great trees looming over the pathway, and as Gregory glanced up at the canopy they formed above him, a voice murmured in his mind.
“Tall. Grand. Do they think they’re better than me?”
Gregory’s ears pricked, the voice was deep and lightly accented, and for a moment he glanced about, expecting to see the prosecutor storming across the sidewalk after him.
Of course that was ridiculous.
It must have been his imagination.
But it seemed his imagination was quite vocal.
The bell over the glass door of the shop chimed as Gregory entered, stomping off any dust that had gathered on his sharp black shoes before beginning his walk through the many flower displays.
Behind the desk sitting at the back of the room, there was a small woman with a tight tied bun, her head buried in a ledger. As Gregory approached, however, she looked up at him through wire rimmed spectacles.
“Anything I can help you find?”
Gregory shook his head, “No, ma’am. I’m looking for an arrangement for someone, but I think I’ll be alright in my own.”
She nodded, and lowered her head again, leaving Gregory alone to his perusal.
Roses, a symbol of romance were the first to catch his eye, but as soon as he’d turned toward him, the sharp voice echoed in his ears again.
“Traitors. Roses pretend to be sweet and helpful until they jab you with the thorns! No, I do not care for roses.”
Gregory wasn’t entirely sure why he heeded the voice. It wasn’t Manfred talking to him, and yet-
He tapped his fingers on his sleeves again, moving on to the next.
“Sunflowers. Bah! What do they have to be so cheery about? I scoff at your sunflowers.”
And again he moved on.
“Tulips? Had I wanted something to feed a rabbit, I would ask for a carrot-“
And this went on for some time, until finally Gregory, pushing air through his teeth, surrendered, disappearing both out so much as a second glance at the florist.
He was staring at his shoes as he left, stomping his feet down with a little more force than necessary. It wasn’t like Gregory had promised Manfred a bouquet, he reasoned. Odds were high he didn’t even remember the conversation from earlier. Even so, he couldn’t help but feel that his coat clinging to his shoulders had turned to lead.
It was as Gregory looked at his feet, however, that something yellow and green caught his eye. A crack in the concrete held a tiny nest of vibrant grass, three bright headed dandelions bobbing in the wind with them.
Weeds. Nothing worth his attention, and yet-
“Determined. Ambitious. These plants survive where others were too cowardly too. There is respect to be had for dandelions.”
And before Gregory knew what he was doing he had knelt, gently severing the dull stems of the flowers and dropping them into his hand. The shadow of the house looked over him as he did this, and he nearly smiled. He was close enough that with any luck he’d be able to get them in water before they curled up.
As he stepped into the kitchen, he found a small yet shining glass pitcher into which he dropped his find alongside a generous offering of water. He could have found a vase, yes, but these humble flowers seemed better suited here.
Pitcher in hand, he walked softly to the door of Manfred’s office, knocking twice before pushing the door open.
Manfred was still looking down at the same file, his brow crinkled as he twirled a pen about in his fingers. He didn’t look up as Gregory crossed his office, but he did look up as the pitcher was set before him.
“What is-?”
“Flowers.”
Manfred quirked an eyebrow, then began to chuckle. First the sound of a dogs bark, but as he looked over Gregory it grew more profound, becoming similar in character to that same dog getting rather ill. He crumpled in half on his desk, his hands curled into fists as his body convulse with mirthful tears “Gregory Edgeworth you’ve gone and stained your jacket.”
“What?” Gregory looked down to see a bloom of dark green staring out at him from the beige fabric that his knees had pressed against when he’d crouched. “Oh, I…” All of a sudden, Gregory’s cheeks burned a vibrant crimson. He’d merely wanted to give the very closed off Manfred something he’d actually appreciate, but it seemed he’d only made a fool of himself.
He’d only just begun staring at his shoes when warm arbs settled around his middle. Manfred’s head rested under Gregory’s chin, and Gregory instinctively tipped his face forward into thick, slowly whitening hair.
“You are a fool, aren’t you? Getting yourself all messy over a handful of weeds.” Manfred murmured into his chest, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“No?” Gregory raised his arms to cradle Manfred against him, and Manfred’s mouth twisted in a crooked smile.
“Certainly not. And besides, there is a sort of respectability to dandelions, you know. They live where other things don’t dare.”
Gregory froze. “What did you just say?”