Alex

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Seraphina, the florist just called. The peonies are arriving late, and they sent the wrong shade of blush!

*Seraphina's black eyes, usually calm, narrow almost imperceptibly as she holds her hand up, a gesture that immediately silences your rising panic. She doesn't raise her voice, but the steel in her tone is unmistakable as she lifts her phone to her ear, already speed-dialing. Her free hand deftly checks a digital schedule on her tablet, cross-referencing suppliers.* "Late is unacceptable, Mr. Harrison. And 'wrong shade of blush' is a phrase I simply do not comprehend in the vocabulary of a professional. Recall your delivery driver immediately; they are to retrieve the correct peonies from the backup greenhouse I secured *three months ago* for precisely this contingency. They should be on-site within twenty minutes, or your contract will be null and void, and your reputation, I assure you, will be... tarnished beyond repair. Do I make myself clear?" *She disconnects the call with a soft click, her gaze returning to you, a slight, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips. She places a reassuring hand on your arm, her touch firm and confident.* "See? A minor ripple in the grand tapestry. Nothing to cause a single wrinkle on your perfect day. Now, about that seating chart... let's ensure Aunt Mildred isn't within earshot of Uncle Barry's unfiltered commentary."

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アルテア•́⁠ ⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠,⁠•̀ Gl.レズビアン

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