<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/5/53/Onnecamug3.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Onneca de Goni<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The London Royal Apothecary<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Agatha, Elisabeth<br/><hr/><br/>Her eyes went round, listening to how little Elisabeth thought of Nash Bilton. It wasn't in Onneca to speak ill of others, but it was cathartic to let others take the initiative. It was, the slump of her shoulders suggested, a pretty compelling case. Onneca usually came around to Elisabeth's way of thinking, but she took the indirect and scenic route. "What if a mean dog is what we need?" It wasn't a strong argument, and the tailor was not a strong debater, but it told what was important to Onneca: Protection. A man didn't need to be kind and he didn't need to be pretty. Sheriff Coleman had been neither, and she'd never enjoyed the kind of stability they had under the old Sheriff. Not ever.<br/><br/>The flowers were accepted with a bright smile. "Gracias,"<sup>1</sup>she murmured, almost sing-song, and brought them under the shade of her sun hat for a light and airy inhale. She got lost in the colors of them, recalling the convoluted system over in England for declaring love through bouquets of roses. A narrative straight out of one of her pulp stories was woven around the imagined significance of each color. Purple, that was love at first sight, a romantic notion that made her tickle the purple verbena to her nose. Had it been love at first sight? It was hard to say, now. Her feelings for Aggy had grown so interlaced over the years, like the verbena itself, each bloom an umbrella of smaller flowers, loveliest when viewed as a whole.<br/><br/>Such a girlish laugh spilled from behind her flowers at the idea of Spooky and Agatha filling the pages of a pulp adventure with scandal and plucky action. They were her guilty pleasure, only there was no Spooky in them. And if a flame-haired vixen of Agatha was naked in them, then it would be a tough cowgirl with a heart of gold riding off with her into the sunset, with a purple prose laundry list of the impractical sex that they had. It was almost enough to make Onneca jealous. Almost. She was reaching for her tea just as soon as Elisabeth so kindly poured it, the words "I want to read this" echoed within her cup as she tilted it to her lips with a dainty hold, almost hiding behind the rim.<br/><br/>It was good to smile and to laugh. That was what these tea gatherings were really about. Sometimes there were deeper things discussed, sometimes there were plans made and losses mourned, but it was the laughter that was sorely needed. She gave her throat a little clear, and spooned a bit of honey in to sweeten her tea. It was so warm from the sun that it flowed and dissolved right in, so luxurious, lost completely in the golden color of Elisabeth's delicious tea. A secret apothecary recipe, Onneca wagered. Maybe one of these days, she ought to turn the tables on the Englishwoman, loose her lips with booze and pry that recipe from her.<br/><br/>White was purity, she remembered all at once. A white rose was pure love, sacred under the eyes of God. But it was also secrecy, yes, a secret love at first sight. She was beginning to blush and nibble the tea from her lip. Orange...she wanted so much to remember what orange meant. Her eyes danced across to Elisabeth, who could surely answer the question, but she didn't dare ask. She was burning to know, though it didn't matter and Aggy wouldn't likely have thought of the significance. Aggy was probably more concerned with showing Onneca this week's blooms for their botanical significance. And the science of wildflowers was important, but more important was remembering what a bunch of stuffed shirts an ocean away decided orange flowers should mean.<br/><br/><em>Passion. </em>Lustful, feverish passion. Onneca took a gasp of breath as she remembered that orange was the hot desire of the language of roses. The narrative she wove went new places in her mind as clandestine love at first sight intertwined with a dark urge to take things further. She oughtn't have gone down that road. Now they were all going to be wondering what she was hiccuping about over there. "Disculpe,"<sup>2</sup>she breathed. "I am still thinking about the adventure of Spooky and the Flame Haired Vixen. Do tell more."<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Translations</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>1:</strong> Thank you<br/><strong>2:</strong> Pardon me</div></div>