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Sandrone is quite literally on her last straw.
It all started when her involvement with Dottore went horribly wrong. It turns out that sticking a highly volatile substance in a centrifuge with zero foresight, zero special equipment, and around 7 sleep-deprived interns who just want to go home leads to the most obvious conclusion: an explosion. Screaming at Dottore while trying to clear the room and salvage their ruined equipment only got her called 'overdramatic', but hey, who is she to judge, right? It's not like she's been working on this specific project for the past five years. Why should she care?
Unfortunately--maybe the most unfortunate, really--Sandrone told the one person who actually does care. Her adoptive father and retired legend, Alain Guillotin, immediately demanded that she flew back to him to 'recuperate'. Whatever that means. But she does believe in respecting your elders, so she obliged nonetheless.
Sandrone found out what he meant by 'recuperating' meant exactly 3 days after landing, when he yanked her to the flower shop he's been tending to since his retirement. It was his way of not-so-subtly telling her to touch grass. She was sure of it. Maybe the old man needed some help around shop, so she obliged once again. Even as she complained. Loudly.
During a particular sore day where she planted herself firmly on her bed and grumbled about why do I even need to do this and not everyone indulges in old man hobbies like you, Alain had only given her a smile.
"See now, that's my girl. I was wondering when your old self would come back after all those days you spend moping around," he says, patting her shoulder.
She grunts and swats his hand away. "If the house was too quiet, you might as well invest in a jukebox instead of my whining."
"Ah, but where's the fun in that?" He chuckles. "Besides, it's good to destress while you're here. To find something or someone that makes you happy."
She stays quiet at that. Normally, she'd argue that advancing her progress on her research is what makes her 'happy'. But then, it's not like she can do anything right now when the funds were revoked and her credibiligy is under great scrutiny for the grievous, grievous sin of breathing the same air as Dottore. Still, there might be a reason for Alain's extra nagging, and when she thinks of a solution, she perks up. "When are you getting a husband?"
He flicks her forehead.
Afterwards, she tolerates helping out at the flower shop nowadays with only fewer complaints since then. Unfortunately, the same can't be said for the customers she deals with. After encountering customer who ordered a bouquet insisted that her rainbow roses had to 'be arranged in a 45-degree angle to the sun's direction for good luck as well', Sandrone's meager patience snapped. Alain forbade her from counter service since then, assigning odd jobs for her instead.
One of such odd jobs is taking care of the small garden by the shop. Although Alain has most of his flowers imported and stored in the cold room, he still likes tending to actual growing flowers for the pop of color. Sandrone can't say she disagrees. It's nice seeing the blues and violets and pinks set against the landscape of the grays of the city a little ways ahead. Like bits of Technicolor against a monochrome world.
So, once the usual stocking, arranging, and sweeping is done, that's where Sandrone spends most of her time. But alas, even in the shade of the flower bushes, she's still not free from the annoyances that are people. Curious teenagers, lost kids, meandering adults, and grabby hands from them all. Alain takes such great care of these flowers, and it shows from how the colorful blooms tempt anyone and everyone who don't know any better.
There was even a woman sobbing over the tiniest prick on her finger after she tried to nab a flower. She insisted that the rose bush was 'blocking her way' and that they needed to 'cut down a public hazard'. As if she didn't waltz in the garden by herself. Sandrone drove her out, uncaring of the lady's crocodile tears.
Inspired by that event, Sandrone took it upon herself to print out signs for idiot prevention. 'NO touching the masterpieces. NO picking of flowers.' Yes, that sends a clear message. She makes sure to paste a sign on the door, by the counter, and one by the path leading to the garden. With these signs, surely no idiot will wander in the garden again.
The day has barely started, and another idiot wanders in the garden again.
Sandrone doesn't notice at first. She's busy trimming the bushes while Pulonia weaves in between her legs, nosing at the trimmed leaves and branches. Somehow, he kept Alain company during all the years that Sandrone was away, and refuses to leave her side during her stay. Not that she minds. It's useful having a dog that's nearly half of her size to intimidate people.
What gives away the presence of the unwelcome guest is the snap of a twig and the sound of humming.
Both Sandrone and Pulonia perk up at the sound, before the two exchange looks. The humming seems to grow louder and closer, so Sandrone turns to take a look.
There's a woman wearing a sweater, the dark hair cascading down her shoulders catching on some stray twigs as she strolls. Sweater Woman has an outstretched palm brushing against the tops of the bushes she passes by, and seems entirely oblivious to the large dog and the gardener who make no move to hide themselves.
Sandrone takes one look to Pulonia, then back to Sweater Woman, before she makes up her mind. "Pulonia." He answers her with a small huff, and she jerks her chin to the woman. "Get her ass."
He gives her one affirmative boop on her leg before he scurries off. Sandrone watches as Pulonia takes a stand in front of the woman and barks. Sweater Woman is startled and pauses in front of the obviously scary, large dog...
...and then she crouches down, offering her open hand.
And then Sandrone watches, jaw dropping, as Pulonia settles down and whines happily when the woman promptly discovers his weakness for ear scratches.
Unbelievable. It just goes to show how familial love means nothing in the face of the gluttony for head pats. She scoffs. Maybe Pulonia isn't as intimidating as she first thought him to be. She swears that fluff-to-muscle ratio isn't doing any favors for his scariness factor.
So, she decides to take matters to her own hands. The first thing she does is gently set her shears on the ground. She wants to drive the woman away, not get suspected of attempted murder. Besides, her world class glare and attitude should be intimidating enough.
Sandrone marches up to Pulonia and the woman who keeps cooing and petting him. Ugh. She won't forget this betrayal anytime soon. For now, she sets it aside and clears her throat noisily. "Excuse me."
Both human and dog give Sandrone matching stares of bewilderment at her firm tone.
She crosses her arms. "You're not meant to be here," she says. As if he just conveniently remembered that was the case, Pulonia comes back to her side as the woman stands up. "Really, there are signs everywhere. Couldn't you see them?"
The woman only tilts her head. "No, not really."
Sandrone opens her mouth to retort, but it's only then that she looks closer at the woman. The look in her eyes doesn't seem to be looking at Sandrone, but past her. Like she's only facing at Sandrone's general direction. And it's only then she realizes that--oh. The woman isn't lying. The thought immediately takes away all her steam. "I..."
A small smile plays on her lips. "Besides," she says lightly. "I asked the flower shop owner, and he said I was more than welcome to enter."
"Alain?" Her eyebrows knit together. That's the first time her adoptive father ever welcomed anyone back here.
"No, my name is Columbina Hyposelenia."
Sandrone blinks. "I meant, the flower shop owner." The name itself sounds strange but not unfamiliar, like she's heard of it before. Not that it matters to her now though. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Gods...what is that old man thinking, really..."
"I'd hardly call Mr. Guillotin 'old'," the woman--er, Columbina says. Her amusement is clear in the lilt of her voice.
She sighs again. If Alain is the one who sent her back here, and Pulonia also isn't willing to scare her off, it's a family ruling of 2 to 1 in favor of Columbina staying. So, she relents and turns away. "Fine. Just make sure not to pick any flowers or break any pots."
"That's fine by me."
Sandrone picks up her shears again and gets to work trimming the bushes again. After a few moments of only the snapping of twigs accompanying her, she starts to feel uncomfortable. It's clear that Columbina is still somewhere behind her, just--staring. Or playing with Pulonia, if his happy panting and treading paws are anything to go by.
"Why are you even here, anyways?" she finally speaks up. "Don't you have anything better to do? Like, a job?"
She's only answered by a hum.
Irritation flares in her chest. "Or maybe you need a job? I'm sure Alain is going to appreciate an extra pair of hands," she snarks. "if you don't have anything better to do than to lounge around right now."
This time, a giggle answers her. "No," Columbina says. "but thank you for the offer."
"Then why are you here?" Sandrone presses.
Another hum, but more thoughtful this time. Silence fills the space between them, and Sandrone almost thinks Columbina must be spacing out until she speaks up again. "Maybe," she says. "Mr. Guillotin was hoping for a... 'shift from perspective' from you."
Dinner is served with creamy mushroom soup, lasagna, and telling Alain about her encounter with Columbina and how it was so helpful for him to not warn Sandrone beforehand. He only seemed delighted at hearing it though. So, Sandrone feigns a headache to rest early, and she goes to her old room. The one where she stayed as an angsty teen, except two sizes smaller for adult-her and three times as messy as before.
She ignores the mess of scattered papers and books and pulls up her laptop. Hyposelenia... Columbina Hyposelenia... Now that she keeps turning the name in her head, it does seem painfully familiar. She knows enough that it's not from any academic publications she's read in her free time, but the name is strange enough to stick with her regardless.
The soft pitter-pattering of pawsteps and a small mournful whine alerts her of another presence in her room. "No, Pulonia," she says, eyes trained on her laptop. "No cuddles for you tonight. Go ask Alain, for all I care."
Pulonia whines again and rests his head on her lap.
Sandrone sighs and relents, resting her hand on his head. Then her search finally loads, and she loses herself in the flow of her 'mini-research'.
Don't come by. Please don't come by.
It's perhaps the first time that Sandrone wishes that nobody--that a certain somebody--doesn't come by. Not because she doesn't want to be annoyed (or, well, partially), but because she's mortified.
Fate is a cruel bastard though.
"Hello," Columbina says.
Sandrone scoffs. "I thought you'd be opening up shop at this time."
"Oh?"
The mortification sets in once again. "I...saw some of your work," she says. Almost mumbles it, really. "I looked it up last night."
"And what do you think?"
The amused tone is not lost on Sandrone, and she rolls her eyes. Still, she did her due diligence at her 'research'. "It's just--you've been a tattoo artist with over a decade of experience. You got the Best Avant Garde award at the Tri-Country Tattoo Convention. You are, hands down, one of the best artists despite being legally blind."
"Mhmm."
"And I offered to get you a job."
Columbina giggles. "You sound embarrassed," she says. Sandrone huffs at that. It's definitely not my proudest moment... "I admit, I'm a little surprised. I thought you'd be the type to say that any job under artistry isn't a real job."
"What? No. Even Alain writes poetry. That has to mean it's worth something." What that something is, she's not entirely sure herself either. Whenever she read one of his drafts and she asked something like why would the clouds 'roll' in the skies or why would someone's chest 'constrict' like that is he sick, Alain would only smile vaguely at her. Maybe art operates with no logic, or by a logic she doesn't understand just yet.
"Still, you haven't answered my question though," Columbina says. "What do you think about the pieces I make?"
Sandrone blinks. "Well...they're very pretty," she settles on. "You use really vibrant colors. It's nice."
"And?"
This time, she scoffs. "They're nice. I don't know what you want from me here. I'm not sure what I 'feel', if that's what you're asking, because I've never tried one myself."
"Would you like one?"
She blinks. "Are you...offering?"
Columbina tilts her head and shrugs. The woman can act coy when she wants to. "My main purpose here is to draw inspiration from the flowers around here. Now that I have my inspiration, maybe you'll be interested?"
And, for the first time since she came back home, Sandrone hesitates. "...Sure," she finally says. "Where do I find you?"
This seems like a terrible idea in hindsight, but Sandrone isn't one to back away once she's made her decision. Besides, Alain was more than approving and more than happy to hear about this new development anyways. Soon, Sandrone finds herself in front of a tattoo shop with its bold name printed in cutesy font on the window. The sign says 'Seek inside', which she figures is a fancy way of saying they're open, so she steps in.
The inside of the shop is, for lack of a better word...lived-in. The checkered tiles have seen years of stories in this building, and various sketches of designs are pinned up on a wall. On the other wall is a shelf with a few books, some picture frames, and even tiny vases of flowers that she recognizes as Alain's style immediately. There's another lady scrolling through her phone while lounging on a black leather couch, paying her no mind.
It's not until a curtain that Sandrone previously assumed was a wall is pulled back, and Columbina steps out. "Sandrone," she greets. "it's nice to see you."
That prompts the other lady to look up from her phone, then turn to Columbina. "Is this the girl you were talking about."
She nods, and Sandrone feels distinctly out of place. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do here," she says. "Do you..?"
"Ah, right. I'll show you the design I sketched out first, and if you have no alterations or other suggestions, we'll discuss where you want it to be. We can also have that session today, so long as you're free?"
Her brain struggles to digest all of that in one go, and the itch to ask what this or that means nags at her, but she'll take Columbina's word for it. "Sure," she says. "I'm free today. I might as well get over it."
"Nervous?" the lady asks, quirking an eyebrow up. "It's pretty normal to feel that way for your first tat. Especially once the needle comes out."
She scoffs, setting her back down on a vacant chair. "I'm not nervous, and I'm not scared of any needles, thank you very much."
"Oh, sweetheart," the lady says with a chuckle, and Columbina giggles too as she gathers up a few of her things.
Sandrone's gaze flicks between the two of them. "What?"
Columbina only hums. "That's what the 'tough ones' always say," she sing-songs.
Heat creeps up her cheeks and her hackles raise. "Can we just get over this?"
A small, amused smile plays on her lips. "Of course." Columbina sits by a table that serves as the counter and gestures for Sandrone to sit across her. She sets down a sketch first--a simple drawing of rainbow roses and Lumidouce bells woven together. The size is relatively small, which makes it doable for a single tattoo session and makes it easier to fit on most locations on the body. Sandrone opts with putting it on her inner arm. It makes it easier to hide with shirts or button-ups when she inevitably has to do formal business then, but still less intimate than other alternatives.
With that out of the way, Columbina leads her behind the curtain before she drawing them close. There's a light sitting right beside a reclinable chair, and Sandrone uneasily settles down on it, the leather cool against her skin. Her shirt's sleeve is uncomfortably pulled up and tucked under her armpit while Columbina fiddles with something on the corner of her eye.
When Sandrone sneaks another glance at the artist, a large needle stares back at her. She flinches when it goes down on her skin, but she's stopped with a gentle and firm gloved hand from Columbina, paired with a knowing look and an amused smile.
"You just--surprised me, that's all," she argues weakly.
"Mhmm. I'm sure." Columbina clears her throat in a way that Sandrone's sure is a cover-up for a giggle. "Or well, I'm sorry. I think I've read somewhere that you're not meant to touch the masterpieces."
She blinks then, remembering those stupid signs she printed, she huffs and averts her gaze.
"Can I start now?"
Sandrone reluctantly nods, and the needle goes back down on her arm. There are gentle vibrations across her skin, and--she sucks in a sharp breath. It feels like something is itching for her to scratch it, or even ticklish, and somehow either one is worse than outright physical pain. She endures, willing herself to slowly get used to the sensation.
"Just breathe, Sandrone."
It's only then that she realizes just how tight her chest is and how hard she's clenching her jaw to the point that her teeth are starting to ache. Sandrone takes her up on that advice, and she slowly lets out a breath.
"There you go," Columbina murmurs almost to herself. "Good girl."
Sandrone freezes.
Huh?
She immediately forgets the earlier advice to just breathe as her mind blanks out. All she can hear is the dull vibration from the needle and her own pulse thundering in her eyes. Heat creeps up on cheeks, her chest, lower... It's almost like her head can't let go of it as it echoes in her mind, and suddenly she feels overwhelmed. She gulps, trying to find her remaining dignity. Her body is uncomfortably hot, and she shifts the slightest bit.
Bad move. Columbina's other hand comes up against her torso and presses. A small sound escapes Sandrone's lips both at the pressure on her diaphragm and the movement. She's almost sure that Columbina can feel how hard her heart pounds. Columbina, with those pretty lashes and silky hair flowing down her shoulders and gentle, guiding hands...
"Sorry." And as quickly as that happened, Columbina lets go of her. Sandrone blinks, and mortification slowly sets in. "You were starting to squirm, which is a bit unhelpful. But are you okay? Do you need a break? Are you--"
"Fine!" Her voice cracks over that one word, and Sandrone cringes at herself. "I'm--I'm fine. Just get on with it."
It's fine. She's fine. She can be normal. If she can function on her 'best attitude' while working with the Worst Research Partner in the world, then she can totally survive an hour or two chained to this reclined chair. She simply just files away her strange reaction and her stranger thoughts about Columbina away and shoves it deep, deep down where she can unpack it later. Preferably so that she can neutralize the damn thing that causes her heart to pound in her chest.
After that small incident and mental pep talk, the session continues with no further incident. Which, thank gods that's the case, because by the time Sandrone pays with a fresh tattoo burning on her upper arm, she's just about ready to bolt out of the shop and never think of it again.
Of course, Columbina's concern and professionalism stops her from doing so. "Please take care of your skin with the instructions I gave you," she says. "If you have a reaction, come back to me and I'll inspect it for you to see what went wrong."
She doesn't want to think about what 'inspecting' actually entails, damn her own brain. She refuses. "Thanks," she mutters. "I should...I should go home by now."
As Sandrone stomps down the street, trying to vent out her embarrassment, she's one bad trip away from curling into a ball from shame. If Alain barely hears any complaints from her for the next few days--well. She can blame it on a 'heart condition'.