Melissa Officinalis, sweet and resilient, able to withstand even the most drastic changes in climate, a medicine for the people.  This plant, a virtually deathless and mighty weed whose leaves gave off the sharp scent of lemon, grew among the orchids and rosa sinensis in Aviva's greenhouse. The low glass structure stood thirty six stories above the city streets, on the top of a high rise that had been recently gutted and turned into loft apartments. It was an oasis of green in an otherwise chrome-plated world, clematis vines climbing the delicate framework. The dense flora muffled the city sounds, creating a bubble of peace that smelled like good soil and moving water and living things.<br/><br/>Aviva, pale and lithe with a mane of thick black curls, stood on the edge of the rooftop in her soil-smudged coveralls and gardening gloves, looking down over the railing. Another riot was moving through her quarter of the city. Humans and synths and anthros alike crowded the roadways holding signs: "Take Down The Tyrant," "Utopia Has No Queen." Their shouts rose up to greet her on a wind that smelled like something burning. They were looting again. Soon they would be moving through the building's lower floors.<br/><br/>She knew that this was what civil disobedience looked like when a people were angry and afraid and desperate. She knew that these people - these incredibly diverse people - were doing what they felt they had to do. Riots, after all, were the voice of the unheard. In theory she forgave them their rage. But her concerns were not political. Friends had tried to convince her in the past that it was her duty to take up arms against their oppressor, and she did care, but still somehow it seemed to her that it was not her place. She was concerned first and foremost with her plants. She shimmied out of the top of her green coveralls, under which she wore a weathered tank top that read "Squid Pirate" in bubbly purple letters, and tied the sleeves around her waist. If the rioters reached the rooftop, she would protect her greenhouse.<br/><br/>Aviva always thought that she would get through these hard times by keeping to her own, by remembering what was important to her, by remaining concerned only with the problems she could see. All she wanted was to care for her beautiful green things, to cultivate life. Hr life was supposed to be simple and quiet. She was supposed to stay far removed from the frightening political problems plaguing Utopia. Little did she know that the problems of Utopia were about to come to her.<br/><br/>Some heroes choose to save the day. Others don't have a choice.