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takethehighwaytoheaven · 4 years ago

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The crysanthemums by John Steinbeck

Warning: This story is NOT mine(No hell) Hope you like it

The high grey-flannel fog of winter closed off the Salinas Valley from the sky and from all the rest of the world. On every side it sat like a lid on the mountains and made of the great valley a closed pot. On the broad, level land floor the gang plows bit deep and left the black earth shining like metal where the shares had cut. On the foothill ranches across the Salinas River, the yellow stubble fields seemed to be bathed in pale cold sunshine, but there was no sunshine in the valley now in December. The thick willow scrub along the river flamed with sharp and positive yellow leaves. It was a time of quiet and of waiting. The air was cold and tender. A light wind blew up from the southwest so that the farmers were mildly hopeful of a good rain before long; but fog and rain did not go together. Across the river, on Henry Allen's foothill ranch there was little work to be done, for the hay was cut and stored and the orchards were plowed up to receive the rain deeply when it should come. The cattle on the higher slopes were becoming shaggy and rough-coated. Elisa Allen, working in her flower garden, looked down across the yard and saw Henry, her husband, talking to two men in business suits. The three of them stood by the tractor shed, each man with one foot on the side of the little Fordson. They smoked cigarettes and studied the machine as they talked. Elisa watched them for a moment and then went back to her work. She was thirtyfive. Her face was lean and strong and her eyes were as clear as water. Her figure looked blocked and heavy in her gardening costume, a man's black hat pulled low down over her eyes, clod-hopper shoes, a figured print dress almost completely covered by a big corduroy apron with four big pockets to hold the snips, the trowel and scratcher, the seeds and the knife she worked with. She wore heavy leather gloves to protect her hands while she worked. She was cutting down the old year's chrysanthemum stalks with a pair of short and powerful scissors. She looked down toward the men by the tractor shed now and then. Her face was eager and mature and handsome; even her work with the scissors was over-eager, over-powerful. The chrysanthemum stems seemed too small and easy for her energy. She brushed a cloud of hair out of her eyes with the back of her glove, and left a smudge of earth on her cheek in doing it. Behind her stood the neat white farm house with red geraniums close-banked around it as high as the windows. It was a hard-swept looking little house, with hard-polished windows, and a clean mud-mat on the front steps. Elisa cast another glance toward the tractor shed. The strangers were getting into their Ford coupe. She took off a glove and put her strong fingers down into the forest of new green chrysanthemum sprouts that were growing around the old roots. She spread the leaves and looked down among the close-growing stems. No aphids were there, no sowbugs or snails or cutworms. Her terrier fingers destroyed such pests before they could get started. Elisa started at the sound of her husband's voice. He had come near quietly, and he leaned over the wire fence that protected her flower garden from cattle and dogs and chickens. "At it again," he said. "You've got a strong new crop coming." Elisa straightened her back and pulled on the gardening glove again. "Yes. They'll be strong this coming year." In her tone and on her face there was a little smugness. You've got a gift with things," Henry observed. "Some of those yellow chrysanthemums you had this year were ten inches across. I wish you'd work out in the orchard and raise some apples that big." Her eyes sharpened. "Maybe I could do it, too. I've a gift with things, all right. My mother had it. She could stick anything in the ground and make it grow. She said it was having planters' hands that knew how to do it." "Well, it sure works with flowers," he said. "Henry, who were those men you were talking to?" "Why, sure, that's what I came to tell you. They were from the Western Meat Company. I sold those thirty head of three-year-old steers. Got nearly my own price, too." "Good," she said. "Good for you. "And I thought," he continued, "I thought how it's Saturday afternoon, and we might go into Salinas for dinner at a restaurant, and then to a picture show—to celebrate, you see." "Good," she repeated. "Oh, yes. That will be good." Henry put on his joking tone. "There's fights tonight. How'd you like to go to the fights?" "Oh, no," she said breathlessly. "No, I wouldn't like fights." "Just fooling, Elisa. We'll go to a movie. Let's see. It's two now. I'm going to take Scotty and bring down those steers from the hill. It'll take us maybe two hours. We'll go in town about five and have dinner at the Cominos Hotel. Like that?" "Of course I'll like it. It's good to eat away from home." "All right, then. I'll go get up a couple of horses." She said, "I'll have plenty of time to transplant some of these sets, I guess." She heard her husband calling Scotty down by the barn. And a little later she saw the two men ride up the pale yellow hillside in search of the steers. There was a little square sandy bed kept for rooting the chrysanthemums. With her trowel she turned the soil over and over, and smoothed it and patted it firm. Then she dug ten parallel trenches to receive the sets. Back at the chrysanthemum bed she pulled out the little crisp shoots, trimmed off the leaves of each one with her scissors and laid it on a small orderly pile. A squeak of wheels and plod of hoofs came from the road. Elisa looked up. The country road ran along the dense bank of willows and cotton-woods that bordered the river, and up this road came a curious vehicle, curiously drawn. It was an old spring-wagon, with a round canvas top on it like the cover of a prairie schooner. It was drawn by an old bay horse and a little grey-and-white burro. A big stubblebearded man sat between the cover flaps and drove the crawling team. Underneath the wagon, between the hind wheels, a lean and rangy mongrel dog walked sedately. Words were painted on the canvas in clumsy, crooked letters. "Pots, pans, knives, sisors, lawn mores, Fixed." Two rows of articles, and the triumphantly definitive "Fixed" below. The black paint had run down in little sharp points beneath each letter. Elisa, squatting on the ground, watched to see the crazy, loose-jointed wagon pass by. But it didn't pass. It turned into the farm road in front of her house, crooked old wheels skirling and squeaking. The rangy dog darted from between the wheels and ran ahead. Instantly the two ranch shepherds flew out at him. Then all three stopped, and with stiff and quivering tails, with taut straight legs, with ambassadorial dignity, they slowly circled, sniffing daintily. The caravan pulled up to Elisa's wire fence and stopped. Now the newcomer dog, feeling outnumbered, lowered his tail and retired under the wagon with raised hackles and bared teeth. The man on the wagon seat called out, "That's a bad dog in a fight when he gets started." Elisa laughed. "I see he is. How soon does he generally get started?" The man caught up her laughter and echoed it heartily. "Sometimes not for weeks and weeks," he said. He climbed stiffly down, over the wheel. The horse and the donkey drooped like unwatered flowers. Elisa saw that he was a very big man. Although his hair and beard were graying, he did not look old. His worn black suit was wrinkled and spotted with grease. The laughter had disappeared from his face and eyes the moment his laughing voice ceased. His eyes were dark, and they were full of the brooding that gets in the eyes of teamsters and of sailors. The calloused hands he rested on the wire fence were cracked, and every crack was a black line. He took off his battered hat. "I'm off my general road, ma'am," he said. "Does this dirt road cut over across the river to the Los Angeles highway?" Elisa stood up and shoved the thick scissors in her apron pocket. "Well, yes, it does, but it winds around and then fords the river. I don't think your team could pull through the sand." He replied with some asperity, "It might surprise you what them beasts can pull through." "When they get started?" she asked. He smiled for a second. "Yes. When they get started." "Well," said Elisa, "I think you'll save time if you go back to the Salinas road and pick up the highway there." He drew a big finger down the chicken wire and made it sing. "I ain't in any hurry, ma am. I go from Seattle to San Diego and back every year. Takes all my time. About six months each way. I aim to follow nice weather." Elisa took off her gloves and stuffed them in the apron pocket with the scissors. She touched the under edge of her man's hat, searching for fugitive hairs. "That sounds like a nice kind of a way to live," she said. He leaned confidentially over the fence. "Maybe you noticed the writing on my wagon. I mend pots and sharpen knives and scissors. You got any of them things to do?" "Oh, no," she said quickly. "Nothing like that." Her eyes hardened with resistance. "Scissors is the worst thing," he explained. "Most people just ruin scissors trying to sharpen 'em, but I know how. I got a special tool. It's a little bobbit kind of thing, and patented. But it sure does the trick." "No. My scissors are all sharp." "All right, then. Take a pot," he continued earnestly, "a bent pot, or a pot with a hole. I can make it like new so you don't have to buy no new ones. That's a saving for you. "No," she said shortly. "I tell you I have nothing like that for you to do." His face fell to an exaggerated sadness. His voice took on a whining undertone. "I ain't had a thing to do today. Maybe I won't have no supper tonight. You see I'm off my regular road. I know folks on the highway clear from Seattle to San Diego. They save their things for me to sharpen up because they know I do it so good and save them money. "I'm sorry," Elisa said irritably. "I haven't anything for you to do." His eyes left her face and fell to searching the ground. They roamed about until they came to the chrysanthemum bed where she had been working. "What's them plants, ma'am?" The irritation and resistance melted from Elisa's face. "Oh, those are chrysanthemums, giant whites and yellows. I raise them every year, bigger than anybody around here." "Kind of a long-stemmed flower? Looks like a quick puff of colored smoke?" he asked. "That's it. What a nice way to describe them." "They smell kind of nasty till you get used to them," he said. "It's a good bitter smell," she retorted, "not nasty at all." He changed his tone quickly. "I like the smell myself." "I had ten-inch blooms this year," she said. The man leaned farther over the fence. "Look. I know a lady down the road a piece, has got the nicest garden you ever seen. Got nearly every kind of flower but no chrysanthemums. Last time I was mending a copper-bottom washtub for her (that's a hard job but I do it good), she said to me, 'If you ever run acrost some nice chrysanthemums I wish you'd try to get me a few seeds.' That's what she told me." Elisa's eyes grew alert and eager. "She couldn't have known much about chrysanthemums. You can raise them from seed, but it's much easier to root the little sprouts you see there." "Oh," he said. "I s'pose I can't take none to her, then." "Why yes you can," Elisa cried. "I can put some in damp sand, and you can carry them right along with you. They'll take root in the pot if you keep them damp. And then she can transplant them." "She'd sure like to have some, ma'am. You say they're nice ones?" "Beautiful," she said. "Oh, beautiful." Her eyes shone. She tore off the battered hat and shook out her dark pretty hair. "I'll put them in a flower pot, and you can take them right with you. Come into the yard." While the man came through the picket fence Elisa ran excitedly along the geranium-bordered path to the back of the house. And she returned carrying a big red flower pot. The gloves were forgotten now. She kneeled on the ground by the starting bed and dug up the sandy soil with her fingers and scooped it into the bright new flower pot. Then she picked up the little pile of shoots she had prepared. With her strong fingers she pressed them into the sand and tamped around them with her knuckles. The man stood over her. "I'll tell you what to do," she said. "You remember so you can tell the lady." "Yes, I'll try to remember." "Well, look. These will take root in about a month. Then she must set them out, about a foot apart in good rich earth like this, see?" She lifted a handful of dark soil for him to look at. "They'll grow fast and tall. Now remember this. In July tell her to cut them down, about eight inches from the ground." "Before they bloom?" he asked. "Yes, before they bloom." Her face was tight with eagerness. "They'll grow right up again. About the last of September the buds will start." She stopped and seemed perplexed. "It's the budding that takes the most care," she said hesitantlv. "I don't know how to tell you." She looked deep into his eyes, searchingly. Her mouth opened a little, and she seemed to be listening. "I'll try to tell you," she said. "Did you ever hear of planting hands?" "Can't say I have, ma'am." "Well, I can only tell you what it feels like. It's when you're picking off the buds you don't want. Everything goes right down into your fingertips. You watch your fingers work. They do it themselves. You can feel how it is. They pick and pick the buds. They never make a mistake. They're with the plant. Do you see? Your fingers and the plant. You can feel that, right up your arm. They know. They never make a mistake. You can feel it. When you're like that you can't do anything wrong. Do you see that? Can you understand that?" She was kneeling on the ground looking up at him. Her breast swelled passionately. The man's eyes narrowed. He looked away self-consciously. "Maybe I know," he said. "Sometimes in the night in the wagon there—" Elisa's voice grew husky. She broke in on him. "I've never lived as you do, but I know what you mean. When the night is dark—why, the stars are sharp-pointed, and there's quiet. Why, you rise up and up! Every pointed star gets driven into your body. It's like that. Hot and sharp and—lovely." Kneeling there, her hand went out toward his legs in the greasy black trousers. Her hesitant fingers almost touched the cloth. Then her hand dropped to the ground. She crouched low like a fawning dog. He said, "It's nice, just like you say. Only when you don't have no dinner, it ain't." She stood up then, very straight, and her face was ashamed. She held the flower pot out to him and placed it gently in his arms. "Here. Put it in your wagon, on the seat, where you can watch it. Maybe I can find something for you to do." At the back of the house she dug in the can pile and found two old and battered aluminum saucepans. She carried them back and gave them to him. "Here, maybe you can fix these." His manner changed. He became professional. "Good as new I can fix them." At the back of his wagon he set a little anvil, and out of an oily tool box dug a small machine hammer. Elisa came through the gate to watch him while he pounded out the dents in the kettles. His mouth grew sure and knowing. At a difficult part of the work he sucked his under-lip. "You sleep right in the wagon?" Elisa asked. "Right in the wagon, ma'am. Rain or shine I'm dry as a cow in there." It must be nice," she said. "It must be very nice. I wish women could do such things." "It ain't the right kind of a life for a woman. Her upper lip raised a little, showing her teeth. "How do you know? How can you tell?" she said. "I don't know, ma'am," he protested. "Of course I don't know. Now here's your kettles, done. You don't have to buy no new ones." "How much?" "Oh, fifty cents'll do. I keep my prices down and my work good. That's why I have all them satisfied customers up and down the highway." Elisa brought him a fifty-cent piece from the house and dropped it in his hand. "You might be surprised to have a rival some time. I can sharpen scissors, too. And I can beat the dents out of little pots. I could show you what a woman might do." He put his hammer back in the oily box and shoved the little anvil out of sight. "It would be a lonely life for a woman, ma'am, and a scarey life, too, with animals creeping under the wagon all night." He climbed over the singletree, steadying himself with a hand on the burro's white rump. He settled himself in the seat, picked up the lines. "Thank you kindly, ma'am," he said. "I'll do like you told me; I'll go back and catch the Salinas road." "Mind," she called, "if you're long in getting there, keep the sand damp." "Sand, ma'am?. .. Sand? Oh, sure. You mean around the chrysanthemums. Sure I will." He clucked his tongue. The beasts leaned luxuriously into their collars. The mongrel dog took his place between the back wheels. The wagon turned and crawled out the entrance road and back the way it had come, along the river. Elisa stood in front of her wire fence watching the slow progress of the caravan. Her shoulders were straight, her head thrown back, her eyes half-closed, so that the scene came vaguely into them. Her lips moved silently, forming the words "Goodbye—good-bye." Then she whispered, "That's a bright direction. There's a glowing there." The sound of her whisper startled her. She shook herself free and looked about to see whether anyone had been listening. Only the dogs had heard. They lifted their heads toward her from their sleeping in the dust, and then stretched out their chins and settled asleep again. Elisa turned and ran hurriedly into the house. In the kitchen she reached behind the stove and felt the water tank. It was full of hot water from the noonday cooking. In the bathroom she tore off her soiled clothes and flung them into the corner. And then she scrubbed herself with a little block of pumice, legs and thighs, loins and chest and arms, until her skin was scratched and red. When she had dried herself she stood in front of a mirror in her bedroom and looked at her body. She tightened her stomach and threw out her chest. She turned and looked over her shoulder at her back. After a while she began to dress, slowly. She put on her newest underclothing and her nicest stockings and the dress which was the symbol of her prettiness. She worked carefully on her hair, pencilled her eyebrows and rouged her lips. Before she was finished she heard the little thunder of hoofs and the shouts of Henry and his helper as they drove the red steers into the corral. She heard the gate bang shut and set herself for Henry's arrival. His step sounded on the porch. He entered the house calling, "Elisa, where are you?" "In my room, dressing. I'm not ready. There's hot water for your bath. Hurry up. It's getting late." When she heard him splashing in the tub, Elisa laid his dark suit on the bed, and shirt and socks and tie beside it. She stood his polished shoes on the floor beside the bed. Then she went to the porch and sat primly and stiffly down. She looked toward the river road where the willow-line was still yellow with frosted leaves so that under the high grey fog they seemed a thin band of sunshine. This was the only color in the grey afternoon. She sat unmoving for a long time. Her eyes blinked rarely. Henry came banging out of the door, shoving his tie inside his vest as he came. Elisa stiffened and her face grew tight. Henry stopped short and looked at her. "Why—why, Elisa. You look so nice!" "Nice? You think I look nice? What do you mean by 'nice'?" Henry blundered on. "I don't know. I mean you look different, strong and happy." "I am strong? Yes, strong. What do you mean 'strong'?" He looked bewildered. "You're playing some kind of a game," he said helplessly. "It's a kind of a play. You look strong enough to break a calf over your knee, happy enough to eat it like a watermelon." For a second she lost her rigidity. "Henry! Don't talk like that. You didn't know what you said." She grew complete again. "I'm strong," she boasted. "I never knew before how strong." Henry looked down toward the tractor shed, and when he brought his eyes back to her, they were his own again. "I'll get out the car. You can put on your coat while I'm starting." Elisa went into the house. She heard him drive to the gate and idle down his motor, and then she took a long time to put on her hat. She pulled it here and pressed it there. When Henry turned the motor off she slipped into her coat and went out. The little roadster bounced along on the dirt road by the river, raising the birds and driving the rabbits into the brush. Two cranes flapped heavily over the willow- line and dropped into the river-bed. Far ahead on the road Elisa saw a dark speck. She knew. She tried not to look as they passed it, but her eyes would not obey. She whispered to herself sadly, "He might have thrown them off the road. That wouldn't have been much trouble, not very much. But he kept the pot," she explained. "He had to keep the pot. That's why he couldn't get them off the road." The roadster turned a bend and she saw the caravan ahead. She swung full around toward her husband so she could not see the little covered wagon and the mismatched team as the car passed them. In a moment it was over. The thing was done. She did not look back. She said loudly, to be heard above the motor, "It will be good, tonight, a good dinner." "Now you're changed again," Henry complained. He took one hand from the wheel and patted her knee. "I ought to take you in to dinner oftener. It would be good for both of us. We get so heavy out on the ranch." "Henry," she asked, "could we have wine at dinner?" "Sure we could. Say! That will be fine." She was silent for a while; then she said, "Henry, at those prize fights, do the men hurt each other very much?" "Sometimes a little, not often. Why?" "Well, I've read how they break noses, and blood runs down their chests. I've read how the fighting gloves get heavy and soggy with blood." He looked around at her. "What's the matter, Elisa? I didn't know you read things like that." He brought the car to a stop, then turned to the right over the Salinas River bridge. "Do any women ever go to the fights?" she asked. "Oh, sure, some. What's the matter, Elisa? Do you want to go? I don't think you'd like it, but I'll take you if you really want to go." She relaxed limply in the seat. "Oh, no. No. I don't want to go. I'm sure I don't." Her face was turned away from him. "It will be enough if we can have wine. It will be plenty." She turned up her coat collar so he could not see that she was crying weakly—like an old woman.

#john steinbeck #Thecrysanthemums #i really enjoyed this #Hope you liked it too lol

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we-realestate-blog · 4 years ago

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Alphington factory transformed into warehouse-style apartments

The Alphington factory in Melbourne’s inner north is beginning a replacement chapter because the home of unique warehouse-style apartments.

Fourdrinier home is the primary adapted building from the previous factory to launch at YarraBend, Glenvill Development’s masterplanned community.

In a seamless blend of old and new, the retained building will feature a set of 47 boutique one, two and three-bedroom apartments over four levels, providing a rare opportunity for buyers to have a slice of inner-north, Melbourne history.

“I think it’ll be pretty highly wanted as long as it’s a really unique offering during this location,” says Cameron Kusher, REA Group’s executive manager – economic research.

Glenvill’s sales and marketing director, Sam Tucker, says it might are easier to demolish the old building and begin over.

“It’s such a recognisable and prominent building, we knew we had to offer it a replacement lease of life,” says Tucker, who instantly recognised the conversion opportunity for the gorgeous old brick building.

“We believe it holds tons of heritage and historical merit.”

The Alphington factory in Melbourne’s inner north is beginning a replacement chapter because the home of unique warehouse-style apartments.

Fourdrinier home is the primary adapted building from the previous factory to launch at YarraBend, Glenvill Development’s masterplanned community.

Built circa 1936, the building was referred to as the Wetlap building, where wet pulp was became more refined paper product during the first stages of paper manufacturing.

Today, it takes its name from the Fourdrinier machine, a revolutionary device for producing endless roll of paper.

Working closely with its design partner, Techne Architecture + Interior Design, Glenvill will retain and re-imagine the first elements wherever possible, including the first red brick facade and parapet detail.

History on show In a style made synonymous by Techne in previous projects, including the revitalised iconic Esplanade Hotel and Village Belle Hotel, the hallmarks of the factory are on show from the lobby to the rooftop.

“It’s just a touch different — we took this abstract idea of the paper manufacturing and turned it into a sculptural response,” says Nick Travers, Techne’s director.

“We were ready to shape the building in interesting ways and still create functional living areas.”

For starters, the outside of the building includes sculpted partitions and cylindrical vertical elements. Perforated screens roll across the facade celebrating the economic history of paper making and providing sun protection.

Red brick is retained on the external walls highlighted by concrete beams, columns and black-framed windows and doors, plus metal cladding that defines the addition on top.

Perfecting the inside Inside the building, the teams at Glenvill and Techne worked collaboratively over six months and multiple design iterations.

The lobby reflects the economic style inspired by the retained exterior, while a rooftop terrace will house barbecue facilities, sculptural raised planter beds, an edible garden, bench seating and dining areas.

“It’s just a touch different — we took this abstract idea of the paper manufacturing and turned it into a sculptural response,” says Nick Travers, Techne’s director.

“We were ready to shape the building in interesting ways and still create functional living areas.”

Red brick is retained on the external walls highlighted by concrete beams, columns and black-framed windows and doors, plus metal cladding that defines the addition on top.

“It’s just a touch different — we took this abstract idea of the paper manufacturing and turned it into a sculptural response,” says Nick Travers, Techne’s director.

“We were ready to shape the building in interesting ways and still create functional living areas.”

Red brick is retained on the external walls highlighted by concrete beams, columns and black-framed windows and doors, plus metal cladding that defines the addition on top.

Perfecting the inside Inside the building, the teams at Glenvill and Techne worked collaboratively over six months and multiple design iterations.

YarraBend will have its own Tech Concierge, on hand to help resolve technology issues, as well as an artisanal food hub curated by restaurateur Scott Pickett and a neighbouring local shopping centre.

Fourdrinier House is set up for 21st century living, with home automation as a standard inclusion, as well as access to YarraBend’s co-working spaces, a residents’ app and free Wi-Fi within multiple parks.

Setting a golden standard for blending the old and new, Fourdrinier House honours the building’s past while thinking ahead. Learn more. Real estate

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theconceptualcookbook · 5 years ago

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Alchemy Garden is a site specific community garden of edible and medicinal native and non-native plants at the National Art School (NAS), Darlinghurst, created for the 22nd Biennale of Sydney, NIRIN, 2020. It is tended by local community group the Darlo Darlings who maintain it as an urban food garden and learning hub for environmental awareness for deeper ecological engagement.

Form follows function with this self-watering garden based on ancient wicking bed technology. The angle of the site informs the garden design and shape, determining which plants can grow where and moisture flow creates the resulting soil micro-climates. Since September 2019, the Darlo’s and I have nurtured the soil, turning a commercial landscaping mixture into fertile bioactive soil to support a broad spectrum of drought tolerant natives and temperate non-native flora. We inoculated it with Bokashi compost from fermented domestic food waste, and mycelium rich native leaf compost collected from the grounds of the Powerhouse Museum’s Castle Hill warehouse. The garden is covered with a layer of Cypress Pine mulch from Randwick Community Nursery where many of the plants were bought (cypress mulch is a byproduct of native deforestation and this topic will be part of the conversation on sustainable practices).

Water is our most precious resource, but also a major problem in Australia with the inevitable floods that follow drought. The Alchemy Garden design addresses this with inbuilt water saving as well as water drainage practices. Wastewater is collected from the NAS cafe coffee machine, along with clay slurry water from the school’s Ceramic department and enters a subterranean reservoir via the yellow charcoal filter. Water is also filtered into a galvanised iron water tank which supplies the wick-bed planter boxes and is used for surface watering of seedlings until their roots reach the underground water. Bacteria and minerals filtered from the waste water makes the charcoal bioactive. On a monthly rotation this charcoal is dug into the garden as fertiliser and the filter is replenished with new charcoal. The Charcoal is Biochar, a product that replicates ancient waste management to create fertiliser through a process of low temperature burning with minimal access to oxygen. Such practices have been used by indigenous cultures around the world for thousands of years.

Alchemy Garden was to be the platform for a series of workshop events throughout the Biennale. For each event I partnered with specialists in their own field to highlight sustainable food production practices. Unfortunately, due to Covid-19 restrictions these events will be presented online and accessible through the Biennale website.

The workshops will consider sustainable food growing practices that offer ways to see and understand our past and future impact on global ecological systems. This project is significantly informed by Indigenous Australian agricultural and cultural practices that created fertile anthropogenic soils across the continent through processes such as fire stick farming. The Alchemy Garden workshops will demonstrate alternative agriculture practices in an urban community context, highlighting everyday processes that contribute to mitigation of the climate crisis.

Thanks for reading and stay tuned for more updates.

Andrew Rewald

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captaincolossal · 5 years ago

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So I went out today, and it was overall okay? I went to 2 places, the first one was awesome, I was the only customer in the store, I got what I needed. The next place was kind of a nightmare, just because there were Too Many people and it made me anxious. Most people (and all the staff) wore masks (and, hey, most of them even had it covering their mouth and nose (sigh)), most people kept their distance, but it was just...very Stressful.

Anyway, my procedure when I get home is to basically strip into the washing machine and then sanitize myself, so. It was fine. And now I’m good for awhile.

(Haha, so when I put my errands/grocery list in my to do list app, I now title it “away mission”.)

And then because I was keyed up after getting all stressed, I reorganized a couple of cupboards, cleaned the kitchen, finished building my herb planter, started filling my raised beds, and made a pie.

I think the garden will be good for me, since the extra physical labor uses the stress energy and plants are mostly calming. And I have an outdoor activity that I don’t have to travel to.

#me #covid19 #I get groceries every 3 weeks or so #it's stressful #but I don't mind as much because I can prepare #if that makes sense

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victorluvsalice · 2 years ago

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We have reached the start of a new year in The Chill Save (which is now SO wrongly named XD) -- first day of Spring all over again! And, as promised last time, after seeing just how small the Willow Creek Victorian really was (I mean, to be fair, it is classed as a “starter home” on the Gallery), after letting Victor and Alice get a bit of sleep and Smiler upgrade their phone colors and get in a little last-minute figure painting (which actually caused them to fulfill their resolution to raise a skill, nice -- up to Painting 4 now!), I moved the lot of them to their new home in Henford-on-Bagley -- my custom “abandoned spooky farmhouse” build, 2 Olde Mill Lane (Haunted)!

It then took me like three play sessions to properly furnish it. XD Look, not only did they bring a lot of stuff with them -- including a lot of things that needed to be displayed -- there was a lot of stuff I wanted to added to the lot itself! Like crafting stuff in the barn! A greenhouse for the garden! Various shelves and cabinets for all the stuff that needed to be displayed!

And then I went to take pictures and remembered “oh yeah -- this lot’s Off The Grid. The lights don’t work until you build up enough power.” *facepalm* So yeah, that’s why all the pictures in this particular photoset are so dark. Hopefully you can still get a decent look at what’s what, but let me give you the highlights:

First floor: You come in up the big front porch, which has the original easel and Smiler’s bar, into the little “entrance hall.” From there you can go left into the living room -- with nicer bookshelves, the TV, a sitting area in front of the fireplace, and the A:MR gramophone -- or right into the sort of general “hallway,” which leads into the downstairs half-bath, the “study” (where the chess table, Victor’s piano, Smiler’s new guitar, and the insect collection currently lives), the little “mudroom” leading to the back garden, and the kitchen/dining area (displaying everybody’s best catches while fishing). It also contains the stairs to the second floor, and a laundry nook under said stairs (plus a display case for Victor and Alice’s Selvadoradan treasures).

Second floor: Another wide general hallway with Smiler’s party-won stereo leads to Victor and Alice’s bedroom on the left (with all their college grad stuff, Sims Sessions tickets, and desk and computer) with an en-suite bathroom; “Smiler’s” bathroom (containing all their bathroom stuff from their old place); Smiler’s “bedroom” (with their desk and laptop and all their posters -- plus Swirly the hypnofrog and Snappy the Sixam Mosquito trap; though instead of a bed, they have a yoga mat as I intend to get them into wellness now); and the spare bedroom that now houses Smiler’s karaoke machine. XD

Barn and yard: Back on the ground, the barn has the flower-arranging bench, the woodworking bench, the candle-making bench, and the juice fizzer in it, ready to go; we also have a greenhouse for those plants that need to be sheltered -- there’s in-ground patches for most of the regular trees; two Werewolves planters for the Tree of Emotions and the Plasma Fruit Tree; and regular planters for all of the regular small produce. The oversized crop patches are out around the back, and the wind turbines and water collectors around the side.

So yeah -- hopefully not too bad a start, as you can see! Or maybe not see. Look, the lighting situation in this house is going to be, uh, variable for a while. . .

#sims 4 #the lazy save #victor van dort #alice liddell #smiler always #the smiler #valicer #yeaah didn't quite think the 'Off The Grid' part through picture-wise #don't worry the next post actually has some pictures of the house with actual lights so #and yes it took me a WHILE to get everything how I wanted #had to adjust some stuff on the actual house itself #I made the windows WAY too low from the inside #and there was all this thought put into what I wanted displayed where #kinda lucky all those MySims fit on the fireplace!#plus what the wallpaper and flooring should be #it was funny I could actually hear Victor Alice and Smiler discussing color options in my head #I just knew I didn't want it to be boring!#also yes this all changes later #mostly because I quickly learn how inadequate two turbines are for powering a whole ass house like this #queued

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real-fakedoors · 7 years ago

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under leaves so green - CHPT 15 - Miraculous Ladybug

After the Dupain-Cheng family purchases a flower shop around the block from the Agreste mansion, Chat Noir frequents the spot in search of company from the manager-but-not-really Marinette. Beneath the mask, Adrien starts to struggle with how cute she looks in that green apron. (AKA: the not-really flower shop AU where basically everything is the same, but Marinette is extra stressed by her job and Adrien tries to be supportive)

Cross-posted on AO3 and FF.net

Chapter 15: White Magnolias (Part 1)

In which, Marinette has some father-daughter time, basically everyone sneaks up on Adrien, and the most obvious person swears, twice. Additionally, we see Plagg and Tikki tempt fate, and Gabriel keep a secret.

With rays of light beaming across her forehead, Marinette groaned. Night was over, and the morning sky alone was cheerier than anything had right to be that early; she hadn’t even gotten out of bed, and yet Marinette was sure she was already beginning to wilt unders it sunny weight.

In an effort to force herself into better spirits, she knelt and opened the hatch on her window, and with it came a swift change of pressure. The room immediately felt ten-times lighter, no longer aching for rest, but opened to bird calls and idle cars - to Paris beyond.

Crawling through to the balcony, Marinette stretched and rubbed the corner of her eyes, wanting to take this time to appreciate the day. It was lovely enough to admire, and she found herself missing sleep less as Paris woke alongside her, pacing itself quietly against the morning dew that gathered on windshields and in parks.

“Good morning, Marinette,” Tikki greeted with a small yawn, stretching her arms and flying up to the balcony with her. “How did you sleep?”

Humming momentarily, Marinette gave her kwami an uneven smile. “Well enough.”

As it happened, Marinette slept very well... and somehow, not well at all. She blacked out for nearly six hours, and started up her day again without a wink of real rest. Dreamless, heavy, chronically empty sleep was all she had to tide her over, and the day was coming fast through the Eastern sky.

At a certain level of exhaustion, sleep wasn’t even refreshing; in some ways, it was almost just as tiresome as staying awake. To cease, knowing she had a large agenda with not enough to show for it, Marinette felt her very human needs to pace herself buckle under her will to keep going, to answer the call of responsibility wherever it bid her.

A bit cross over it, Marinette had promised Tikki, (and Adrien, and Alya, and her parents, for that matter,) that she’d take better care of herself. It was strange to focus inward rather than outward, but it was a habit she’d have to start practicing.

As if to prove her point, when Marinette raised a hand to shield the sun from her eyes, she winced. Her fingers tensed, pain licking her skin, radiating through the slice through her palm. It was a sharp, uncomfortable reminder of what could happen if she didn’t act more carefully.

Friday had passed in much the same fashion as Thursday. A memory now, the day had been a blur of movement, aching muscles, and copious sweating. Her friends arrived midday and they followed much of the same routine as the previous day - Marinette giving whoever was available a single task, with Max or Alya acting as coordinator depending on who was around. Though their progress began slowly, by the end of the day Friday, each person had established a rhythm; Juleka mastered her shears, Kim could set flowers with the same precision he had while swimming, and Max had established a even more organized system than she had before.

As an added bonus, Nino showed up for several hours, and it turned out that he was the prodigal son when it came to flower arrangements, his work just an extra boost of efficiency within an already well-oiled machine.

With her friends diligently working and keeping their voices to low murmurs, Marinette managed to keep the front of the store open without interruption, and she was able to oversee the demands of the day-to-day work without falling behind - tending to customers, watering her plants, adding fertilizer to her larger planters, sweeping the floors and wiping the windows… They were mundane tasks, all of the things she would do normally, but it was surprisingly restorative to just do simple, familiar work. No difficult brides, no overbearing coordinators, no funerals, no weddings. For one whole day, it was almost like tending to her own little garden, indulging in the best parts of work without shouldering so much responsibility.

Now, it was Saturday morning. The day of the party, and with it came a whole host of issues.

Tikki interrupted the thoughtful silence after several minutes, giggling at a pair of pooches on the ground growling at each other. “So, aren’t you excited, Marinette? It’s Saturday!”

Marinette repeated the word patiently. “Saturday… hmm, yes, I am excited. Mostly just to be done with this stupid order for Chloe, though.”

“Oh, right,” her kwami’s antenna drooped, voice turned to a sympathetic tone. “I am sorry we never got to go to the fabric store, and about the dress and the party… You’re a strong person, Marinette, and it shows in your work as Ladybug and in your job. You’ve given up so much to make others happy, and I’m really proud of you.”

The girl ducked her head, touched by her kwami’s sincerity. “Thanks, Tikki. I know that, but it is nice to hear it sometimes.”

Marinette released a contented sigh, and her arms fell from their comfortable spot on the balustrade. Tikki kept pace with her charge as she spun around, marching down the hatch to her bedroom as she began her day properly.

Collecting her wrinkled work clothes (as they had been tossed aside in the early hours of the morning without much care), Marinette paused in front of her full-length mirror. She approached it slowly, touching her cheekbones and brushing some hair from her eyes. The papery quality of her skin and the bags beneath her eyes seemed... less noticeable… Maybe? Maybe she was just getting used to them.

Marinette shook her head, not needing more distractions right now, and set herself to task of starting her morning routine. Though it was the weekend proper, she had to keep her focus on work; she dressed, ate and prepared herself quickly.

Just before heading downstairs, she checked her phone for the time, 7:54 AM, and discovered three new text messages.

+33635125 (5:50 AM):

Hey - knock knock! Guess who? It’s *not* your phone - that would make me a phone-y.

Marinette scrunched up her nose, knowing that horrible humor anywhere. Before even reading the next two messages, she immediately added his new number to his existing contact in her phone.

Adrien “Anything” Agreste (5:52 AM):

So you’re probably asleep - which is good, if you’re reading this before 7 AM go back to bed right this instant!

Adrien “Anything” Agreste (5:53 AM):

And now that you’re properly awake after 7 AM, first of all - good morning! Second, I’m sorry I won’t be able to come by in the morning to help you finish the orders - I think R&J, M&I and Max & Kim will still be coming. But I’ll have my phone all day, so if you need me… dont hesitate to text or call :)

“Well, what did he say?” Tikki poked Marinette’s cheek when she mouthed the words of his last message.

“...Hmm? Oh,” Marinette blinked. “Just, he got a new phone. He can’t come to the store today.”

Her kwami appeared visibly saddened by that news, her antenna falling by degrees.

“Hey, it’s okay.” The girl offered her red companion her open palms, putting on a sympathetic smile. “We might get to see him in the afternoon when we drop off the flowers. I’m not that bummed about it.”

Her kwami made a face momentarily, but eventually returned her charge’s smile. “Right… right, that’s true.”

Quickly thereafter, Marinette descended to the bakery with Tikki in her bag, and she was surprised to find her parents out of their usual Saturday morning routine. Typically, Papa was the one deep in dough and smeared with frosting, but he was wearing just a t-shirt and a regular pair of slacks, like he might when they went out for dinner. Her mother was the one working at the prep station, smiling wide as her daughter appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

“Good morning, Maman, Papa.” Marinette went with greedy fingers to her travel mug, thanking her parents for helping her prepare.

She gestured to her father’s attire. “What’s this? Did you need to pick something up before the morning rush?”

The man laughed with enthusiasm before planting a kiss on the top of his daughter’s head. “Don’t be silly! I’m going to the shop with you today.”

Marinette scratched her chin, unphased. Surely, she must have misheard him. “Come again?”

Nodding, her father flattened out his mustache. “I will be working the flower shop with you, and I will come with you to help get things ready for the reception. Are you ready to go?”

Appearing more a fish than a ladybug, Marinette looked between her parents, opening and closing her mouth a few times. Her processing power dropped to zero, just fully blank as her brain did a factory reset. It took almost thirty seconds for her to realize they were waiting for her to say something.

“Wait - what? Why? How?” Marinette blurted, shaking her head. “Saturday’s are your busiest days! I can handle the store myself, Papa. You really don’t need to worry yourself...”

The room, stifling from the heat of the oven, grew even more uncomfortable as her voice trailed off, her hands shaking with self-prescribed guilt.

“Of course you can handle the store, sweetheart,” her mother offered, keeping her focus on the piping bags she was currently filling. “But we’re also not just going to ask you to give up your plans with your friends for business’ sake. You’re our daughter first, not an employee. The last thing we want is this job making you miserable.”

“I’m not miserable!” Marinette protested immediately, head shooting up. “I love the shop - I love my job! There’s no way you could have accounted for Chloe.” She made no attempt to stop her lip from curling with distaste.

With a collecting sigh, Marinette tagged on, “It’s just... time. There’s never enough of it, but you guys shouldn’t make that your problem.”

Her parents were quiet for a moment, and eventually her father placed a tender hand atop her head, touseling her ebony hair. “I wouldn’t have let you agree to this order if I didn’t think you could do it, Marinette, but that doesn’t mean you have to work through it alone. Let ol’ Dad here show you a thing or two about crunch time.”

Marinette bit her lip, trying to force back her smile. Her Papa was sometimes just too much.

“Are you… are you really sure? Don’t do this for the sake of me going to that dumb party - I can’t go either way. Adrien and Alya and Nino all already know.” Marinette glanced between her mother and father with overcast eyes.

Wearing tempered looks of sympathy, they both nodded.

Her father gave her an encouraging smile. “That’s not the important part, dear. You can go if you want, or you can stay home - but you’ve been working so hard, and we’re so proud of you, the least we can do is try to offer you a bit of a break. If you don’t go out to the… uh, museum hopping, was it?”

The man paused and shared a glance with his wife. “Even if it’s not that, you still deserve to have some time to rest. So no arguing!”

Marinette frowned momentarily, feeling a pang in her heart of guilt, but her father’s big, silly grin and reassuring presence was infectious. With a firm hug, she squeezed his midsection as far as her arms could reach, and the man laughed.

“Now, let’s go. Have a good day, dear,” he stepped around the counter and gave his wife a quick kiss, and she waved them off through the front door.

By the time the pair started on their way to the flower shop, Marinette realized it would be her first time working alone there with her father (well, they were only “alone” if she wasn’t counting Tikki).

“Hey, Papa?” Marinette peered up at him when they paused at a crosswalk. He hummed, indicating his acknowledgment.

“Why did you decide to come today? I mean - beside wanting to help me and being proud of me, and blah blah blah.” She waved a hand around nonchalantly, and they both giggled. “I meant, why you? Usually Maman comes to the store. You know, she’s got uh… smaller fingers.”

As if to demonstrate her point, Marinette’s father lifted up one of his massive paws and held it up against her dainty, thin hand. He chuckled and scratched his chin.

“I thought it was obvious, sweetie. There’ll be a lot of hauling with all these big planters - roses, mostly, right?” He glanced at her side-long, and Marinette nodded. “While your mother is a better baker, florist, organizer and overall better person than I am, I’ve got the guns in the family!”

In the middle of the sidewalk, he struck a pose that demonstrated just that, attempting to force his muscles to pop or his stomach to look less… flabby.

Marinette peeled with laughter, though her father took it in stride. “It’s true! That’s how you’ve gotten those biceps there, my girl,” he squeezed her upper arm, and she drew it back with a little giggle. “It’s a Dupain family heirloom - you’re welcome!”

Snorting, she waved him off. They were almost at the store now, so Marinette recovered her keys and began to thumb through them for the right match.

“Well, thank you so much for the gift, Papa. Unfortunately, today, I’ll have to be repaying you in hard labor.”

“Oh sweetheart,” he boomed with laughter, holding open the door for her. “Don’t tell me about manual labor. I’ve been doing this since before you were born.”

Marinette watched her father step into the shop with a small smile.

“Wow, sweetie, the place looks great. You’re doing such a good job,” her father remarked, and she smiled proudly. The happiness within the airy greenhouse permeated the fresh waves of morning blooms, and Marinette quickly followed after him.

Parisians of every age, every walk of life, every temperament seemed to pour into the greenhouse that day, and Marinette had to turn back to the office more than a handful of times just to let out a few exhausted sighs before returning to her task. Each time, her father offered wistful smiles and some words of encouragement, but she made sure not to linger. There were only six arrangements left, but he wasn’t particularly skilled in this capacity, so she wanted to give him as much time as possible.

It would have been a beautiful day to see one of her regulars, to lighten the stone in her stomach by keeping after Bitty or debating the right color combination with Brielle, but the ebb and flow of work was mostly driven by random sales - bouquets and potted plants, for the most part. A few crowns, maybe three bags of mulch - all regular, domestic purchases. They weren’t the most interesting aspects of the flora spectrum, but still important cornerstones to the integrity of the business.

The hours passed too quickly, and before Marinette could do much but blink, it was noon, and she switched to commander-in-chief of the flower brigade. Her classmates arrived in pairs, and Max helped her to establish an assembly line of last minute touches, packing and loading the delivery van.

With the midday sun high above, Marinette glanced at her phone once she set down the final arrangement in the back of a very-packed but very-well-organized van.

“Thank you guys again, so, so much, for everything.” She wiped her brow of a fresh layer of sweat and wrestled with the apron round her neck as she turned to Alix, Kim, Rose, Juleka and Max. “I’ll have just enough time to get these to the hotel before the party begins.” She punctuated her sentence by slamming the back door of the van with decisive force.

Usually, Marinette coordinated deliveries, and sometimes tagged along to help with unloading and set-up, but this time the responsibility fell entirely to her. Their usual delivery service didn’t have any drivers available for the off-cycle time on a Saturday with such short notice, so she and her father rented one of their vans and planned on driving it themselves.

Her father appeared from the cabin of the truck, releasing a low chuckle. “Labor of love, my dear.” Tapping twice against the industrial-grade steel exterior of the van, the man appraised each one of her friends.

“Thank you kids, again, for everything. Marinette’s mother and I appreciate it, and we’re so lucky Marinette has so many people in her corner.”

He paused beside his daughter, placing a large but gentle hand on her shoulder. Marinette smiled up at him.

“No prob, Monsieur Dupain!” Kim shot him a finger gun, which her father promptly returned.

Max fixed his glasses, adding, “It wasn’t so bad as a team, we were able to divide the more taxing issues and it made for a simple and effective streamline process. I’m just glad we finished in time.”

“Always got my girl’s back,” Alix said with a simple shrug, half-way through putting her skates back on.

Juleka bowed her head slightly. “We know Marinette would do the same for us.”

“And it’s the least we could do for all she does for our class!” Rose finished for them, leaning against her girlfriend’s side with a tired-but-accomplished grin.

Collectively, the group all waved to the father-daughter duo, giving plentiful reassurances and wishes of good luck as Marinette buckled her seatbelt, thanking them out the window repeatedly as the van pulled away.

She swiped a quick hand across her lashes, feeling a bit emotional.

“You’ve really got some great friends, sweetheart,” her father said as they came up to Courtier St., glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

Marinette sighed happily. “Yes. I really do.”

The drive to the hotel was not a long one in terms of distance, but it was painfully slow. Twice, Marinette could have sworn pedestrians were walking faster than the van’s crawl, but she didn’t blame her father for being cautious. Nothing would be worse than getting in an accident or hitting a bump too hard with seventy orders of flowers, sitting just so in the back. Even imagining it sprouted anxious roots in her belly, so Marinette sought any source of distraction.

“Papa,” she kept her eyes forward when they came to a stop at a light. “I know you and Maman always… like to tease and joke about, um, Adrien. But what do you… you know, really think about him?”

The man turned thoughtful for a moment, humming a tune before he responded.

“Your mother only teases you so much because that’s what her parents did about me,” the man adjusted his weight. “That means she approves.”

“I didn’t ask what Maman thought,” Marinette replied with a small laugh. “I asked what you thought.”

Her father’s expression softened, though he was gripping the steering wheel with the same tensed fingers he would when delivering a wedding cake.

“That’s a hard thing for me to answer... you’re my little girl, Marinette. No one will ever be good enough, but…” Papa smiled her way, and Marinette was surprised to see some moisture well at the corners of his eyes. “It also doesn’t exactly matter what I think. The important thing is he’s kind to you, and treats you with respect. Does he do those things?”

The question was unexpected, but Marinette did not stutter. “Of course! Adrien’s… he’s always been respectful, of me and everyone he meets. I mean, it’s weird, he’s famous and rich, but you would never know it just by talking to him. Heck, he even treats Chloe with respect… that I don’t think she deserves…” her voice darkened as she tagged on the last part, but the pair met eyes with a little laugh. “But yes. Definitely.”

“Then that’s your answer,” her father said, grinning broadly as they turned into the loading dock of the hotel. “Your approval means far more than mine ever would.”

Marinette tried to think of something to say, taken aback by how sincere and sweet an interaction she just had with her father, but the man was already out the door gesturing to some staff members. Instead, she just looked after him, her heart feeling especially full.

“It sounds like your Dad really values your opinion,” Tikki chirped suddenly, causing Marinette to flinch. She had poked her head out of Marinette’s purse momentarily, blue eyes wide.

“I guess it does sound like that, doesn’t it?” The girl wore an easy smile, watching him laugh at some unheard joke between the men at the gates.

After a few minutes, her father returned and pulled the car into a sort of huge garage around the back of the building, opening to freight elevators and all sorts of high-rise palettes that must provide services to the hotel. Marinette recalled this place as the entrance Planificateur had taken her and Madam Cesaire through a few days earlier, and the memory brought a frown to her lips.

To herself, she whispered a vow. “I won’t let you down, Madam Pomeroy.”

As the promise wore with time, Marinette grew increasingly nervous that she wasn’t going to manage to keep it.

Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes much too quickly turned to hours. The place was a bustle of activity, men and women moving around while doing their best not to get in each other’s ways, dozens of vans and trucks parked around for other providers who were servicing the event.

She, her father, and a few spare hands around the loading dock took to unpacking the van and loading each arrangement onto a sort of wheelbarrow-meets-dolly apparatus. It was flat-bottomed and long, almost like a child’s red wagon, with a handle and edge to tip-up uneven parts of the floor. The hotel only had one of these contraptions to spare, as many other crews and teams of people had claimed others for their own needs.

Marinette took responsibility for the dolly, which turned out to be the least labor-intensive rol, though her motivation had nothing to do with fatigue. Rather, the dolly could only carry perhaps four or five of her arrangements at a time, and Marinette made it her primary focus to roll each set up to the lobby and make sure they were set-up properly; this was the key to Madam Pomeroy’s position’s security. Chloe, Marinette knew, couldn’t care less about time tables or proper bloom care - as long as they looked pretty, she should be fine.

Still, even with the reassurance of being the ‘hands-on’ figure at the event for placement and preparations, Marinette was still terribly worried. Murphy’s Law stuck to each wall, glaring at her from every corner, and her shoulders felt desperately tense as the day went on.

The first hour over, now three PM, and the truck was fully unloaded. Marinette had managed to dodge Chloe, catching only a glimpse or two of her in the lobby; Madam Pomeroy swiftly said hello, thanking Marinette until her breath was hoarse, and quickly sped off again.

The second hour passed, indicating four PM, and guests were beginning to arrive. Perhaps two-thirds of the order were stationed dutifully around the lobby. Marinette made a point to work from the entrance and then back towards the inner-sanctums of the hotel. That way, as the first wave of attendees arrived, they would not notice any decor out-of-place or missing as they entered the atrium. Thankfully, with the opening hour, the guests were mostly only press and nominal friends to the Bourgeois who hadn’t any reason to seek further than the very cusp of the hotel.

Three hours in, and Marinette was the very definition of haggard. She had soil smeared down one cheek - how it got there, she didn’t even know - and the cramps in her arms had cramps. Her back sore, shoulders tight, and thighs achy, she almost dropped the seventieth and final pot, a tall, almost statuesque curved piece filled with a tower of white magnolias. They rose like sentinels above the vase, alabaster and elegant against a wall at the top of the stairs.

Marinette sighed, panic settling in her stomach when she caught the vase at the last second, and carefully repositioned it. With the back of her arm, the girl swiped at some of the perspiration that kissed her brow.

Tikki’s head popped out of one of her apron pockets, and thankfully, no one was around.

“You’re finished! Great job, Marinette.”

“Thanks,” she whispered back with a smile, breathing a little heavily from hauling the vase up the stairs. “And we finished in time. Just in time.”

With a little giggle, her kwami nodded and disappeared back into the sanctuary of green fabric that, sometimes, felt more a noose than a bow around her collarbone.

Guests were beginning to arrive in earnest now, audacious gowns and modern suits, all tailored-to-perfection, making their entrances in bold colors, accompanied by sultry makeup and daring hairstyles.

Marinette allowed herself just one, one little human moment, to breathe, to enjoy the scene from above.

The sight was beautiful, filled by beautiful people, in a beautiful room. While the world they lived in was superficial, it was certainly vibrant. Truly, even for all the disdain Marinette held for Chloe, she couldn’t say the party wasn’t everything Alya and Adrien had made it out to be.

Le Grande Paris shimmered, from the polished marble floors to the twinkling golden lights above. Snappy jazz music, (a surprising choice in Marinette’s opinion,) created an oddly lively and comfortable atmosphere beneath it all, and there was no shortage of drink being distributed to each guest in lavish flutes, a bubbling microcosm to pair alongside the strange reality at the bottom of the staircase.

Marinette released a low chuckle of sympathy when the smooth cornet solo was interrupted by Chloe, demanding something shrill (and probably unreasonable) to Jean. Some guests attention was drawn in the direction of her classmate’s screeching, and Marinette decided her singular moment had ended as appropriately as possible - ruined by Chloe. She slipped down the stairs quickly and made for the exit.

She didn’t make it very far.

“Mari - Marinette, wait!”

The pocket that held Tikki bristled slightly, almost excited. Marinette, on the other hand, sported a frown - she knew that voice anywhere, but for once, she wasn’t terribly excited to hear it.

Adrien must have seen her in the crowd.

Marinette groaned, knowing she looked (and, physically, felt) like hell. There were more than a few well-dressed, well-groomed individuals eyeing her appearance with curled lips and angry brows; she clearly didn’t belong here, and especially not looking like this.

It was probably silly, she reckoned, but Marinette decidedly bolted and made a beeline towards the stairs, pretending not to have heard him. She decided to forgo the elevator at risk of being slowed down.

“Marinette! What are you doing?” Tikki whisper-shouted up at her, clearly unhappy to be jostled around violently in the girl’s apron. “Adrien was trying to talk to you!”

“I know that,” she snapped back in anguish. “And I look like a fallen souffle, so no thank you, not today!”

Leaping through the doorway to the basement level, Marinette felt an uncomfortable twinge of familiarity here once again. She’d been brought here under the guise of being a mindless working zombie a few days ago, forced to do a job she didn’t want, all because Chloe still hasn’t learned to be nicer to people even after all these years.

The irony was definitely not lost to her.

“Aha!” Adrien appeared behind her much faster than she would have expected, and Marinette almost shrieked when he grabbed her wrist. “Mari, I’m so glad I caught up with you!”

“A-ah! A-A-Adrien, I’m s-sorry. I j-just…” The girl’s mouth ran dry, and she fumbled with her words. It was like going back to square one, her mind turned blank, like accepting an umbrella from him with shaking hands in a rainstorm.

Sure enough, when she turned around, the world’s most angelic smile greeted her in spite of his slightly labored breathing. Any attempt to form coherent words died in her throat, and her eyes went wide as he stood a few inches away.

Just as handsome as ever, the boy’s golden hair was brushed to the side and his complexion a gentle rush of cream with an echo of warmth against his cheeks. His smile was maddening and adorable, just-the-right amount of lopsided without seeming malicious. Clearly decked out in Gabrielproduct, Adrien’s suit was dark and form-fitting, showing off his slim figure a little too well, if Marinette’s lingering eyes had anything to say about it. Beneath the ebony suit, he wore a simple dark gray button-up - not unlike the one he wore for their dinner with his father, though they were matched this time with a perfect pair of slacks and shoes that shined.

“W-wow,” Marinette breathed, barely audible. Her face felt incredibly warm. “You look… you look great.”

Adrien smiled and held the front of his jacket. “You think so? I’m just sorry I’m not wearing my favorite accessory.” His voice turned playful, and he leaned a little closer. “My pretty girlfriend, on my arm.”

Marinette snorted. “You’re very sweet, and very silly. You really shouldn’t be -- ”

She was interrupted when a staffer, presumably some sort of waiter, brushed past them to use the staircase. Biting her lip, Marinette looked down the hallway marked Loading Zone, and then back at his heartbreakingly beautiful smile.

“P-Papa is waiting for me, so... I should probably go,” Marinette managed, swiftly kissing his cheek and taking a step back. “Have fun at the party.”

She watched his lips thin and brow come together slightly; even while scowling, he still looked frustratingly gorgeous.

“If you’re sure you won’t join me...” Adrien’s voice was low, almost hypnotic and he stepped after her.

With his cologne in her lungs and his face only a few inches away, Marinette’s head felt heavy and her heart fluttery. Her lips parted slightly, greedily wanting to drink him in through all five senses, though she was sure she probably looked foolish with her mouth hanging open. She was practically gaping at him, a plea tumbling from her mouth as an exhale of air, of unformed words - please, kiss me.

If Adrien thought she looked dumb, he didn’t comment. In fact, neither of them said a word for several seconds, and he decided to unravel the peace by answering her request, carefully pressing his lips against hers.

Sweet like creme and supple as water, Marinette forgot about the party, and her Dad waiting outside, and the fact that she probably smelled like sweat, and about Chloe, museums, Paris and even her own name. For a few moments, she yielded everything she had, everything she was, to the dreamy kiss. It was softer than previous kisses, like she could have sworn her flowers had imbued him with that same silky quality that defined her most gentle petals. Too easy to bruise, but too delicious to resist, Marinette just held his face with her loam-stained hands and breathed out an offer of security, a quiet sort of fortitude; in that moment, she was an amaryllis stake, and he delicate green veins that she would never, ever disappoint.

As they leaned apart, Adrien sighed. It was the sound of utter contentment, and he placed a hand over his heart - the action nearly broke Marinette in the most beautiful sort of way.

“You take care, and I’ll see you soon,” he said, meeting her gaze. Marinette felt her eyes widen as she tried desperately the curves of his face, the pale pink of his lips, the focus of his stare.

“I’ll see you soon,” she repeated, eventually ducking her head. The moment was almost too intense, and she was suddenly feeling very short of breath.

By the time she stumbled back to the delivery van, Marinette had only recovered some small amount of feeling in her legs.

“There you are! Everything settled upstairs?” Her father greeted her with his usual booming gusto. Apparently, he had made fast friends with the staff. A group of men and women had gathered and were laughing over water bottles in the shade of the garage.

Marinette nodded slowly, finding her words with some difficulty. “Umm… yes. We should be good to go back to the shop. I couldn’t find Madam Pomeroy after the party began, so I’ll call her tomorrow or Monday about payment.”

Wearing a smile so huge it bristled his mustache, her father clapped his hands together. “Well! That’s all I needed to hear. Let’s head back.”

A small round of “aww’s” and “c’mon, stay awhile’s!” came from the servicemembers around them, and Marinette giggled at her father’s popularity.

He waved them off. “Sorry folks, duty calls. My girl here has worked herself to the bone this week, so we better head out.”

“Fair enough, fair enough,” said a young man with a dark ponytail, beaming. “But we’re going to hold you to that promise on the croissants, though! Mark my word!” Everyone else roared with laughter at some joke Marinette must have missed earlier.

They climbed into the cabin, and once the truck was moving, Marinette finally let herself relax.

“We did it, didn’t we?”

She had to say it outloud, hardly able to believe it herself. “Seventy orders in three days. We did it.”

“You did it,” her father said pointedly as they pulled onto the main drag. “You’re a natural planner, Marinette. I’m so proud of you.”

The color of fresh Spring blooms spread across her cheeks, and Marinette smiled at her lap.

“W-well, I had plenty of help. Alya, Adrien, you, everyone from school… I’m just amazed it all worked out. Just, like, wow. I feel a hundred times lighter!” She laughed, and it sounded a little bit like a maddened cackle, but it was the really just the melody of sweet relief. Tension melting away, replaced by bubbly euphoria, the sudden sense of freedom was almost as thrilling as swinging across the Parisian skyline or racing down the Seine with her yo-yo in hand.

“Me too,” her father said with a warm smile. “Actually, speaking of which, I’m pretty hungry after all that work. Why don’t you run into the bakery and grab us a few things to eat before we head back?”

“Yeah?” Marinette brightened, surprised and excited by the suggestion. Today was such a strange day, and the idea of going back to the store with her father for the remainder of the day, instead of being alone, lifted a huge weight from her already lightened shoulders.

“Sure! We’re about to pass it anyways.”

Marinette’s father pulled up to the curb and unlocked the door.

“What do you want?” She asked, unbuckling her seatbelt.

His blue eyes, much like her own, danced as he mulled it over. “Hmm… Surprise me!”

Nodding, she leapt from the van and headed towards the store - thankfully, it was empty of customers at the moment.

“Maman! It’s me!” Marinette called over the bell, and she heard a pleasant sound of surprise.

“Oh! Honey, come here.”

Marinette did as the woman bid, loosening her apron as she stepped through to the back of the bakery. Her mother was smiling and giggling to herself, which struck Marinette as odd.

“What’s going on? Papa and I just stopped to pick up lunch.”

The woman raised a brow. “Oh, did you?”

Her tone was unmistakable - Maman was up to something.

“Just tell me what you’re planning, please,” Marinette whined, hunching over to demonstrate exactly how done she was with today.

“Nothing’s going on. I just had a feeling you’d stop for lunch, so I made you some sandwiches. They’re upstairs.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes distrustfully. “Is that so?”

Her only answer came in the way of a clicking tongue, dismissing her as the woman turned to pull out some cookies from the oven.

Marching up the stairs, Marinette grumbled a bit to herself about annoying parents and persistent boys, opening the door that led into the actual domestic part of their building. She stepped through the kitchen and walked towards the fridge.

As she expected, she found a conspicuous sticky note on the door handle, but she didn’t recognize the script.

“Look upstairs…?” She mumbled out loud, feeling Tikki free herself of her pocket as she read the note.

Marinette rolled her eyes and climbed the stairs to her bedroom, musing to herself if her mother’s little game would be worth the ticket Papa would get for parking illegally for so long.

Poking her head through the ceiling, Marinette gazed around her room suspiciously.

Her hands flew to her lips, subduing a stunned gasp. Tikki watched her charge with a huge, knowing smile on her face.

Suspended on a hanger against the edge of her loft bed was the most lovely gown Marinette had ever seen. At first glance, it looked almost just like the purple dress she had been working on in her sketchbook, but upon closer examination there were a number of differences that only amplified the almost nymphic quality of the delicate fabric, soft beneath the muted light of her bedroom. A wreath of midnight, hydrangeas were sown into the off-the-shoulder bodice, dipping carefully to maintain a sweetheart neckline. All along the corset, more of the same textured, handcrafted petals swirled in the colors of the night sky, paling by degrees as the tulle skirt fell away from the hips, tumbling to the floor in gradient shades of an amaranthine dream. Along the top, two thin sleeves - almost reminiscent of garters - hung from the edge of the gown, extending out into a sheer organza, delicate and tapering to about halfway the length of one’s arm. At both ends, the hemming was disguised by more intricate hydrangea blossoms that were sweet and simple, much like the gossamer sleeves she had imagined as accents to the other dress in her sketchbook, dyed the same tones of indigo and fading to lavender with each stitch.

As if it would help, Marinette balled her hands into fists and rubbed her eyes, trying to dispel the workings of her imagination.

“Oh no,” she whispered when she reopened her eyes. “I guess this is it.”

A few inches away, her kwami seemed concerned. “What do you mean?”

Vision out of focus, Marinette looked vaguely towards her red companion. “I finally snapped. That’s what this is. I’m probably in the madhouse, right now. They probably took my miraculous away, and Adrien’s getting married to Chloe, and I’m totally making all of this up. Some sort of psychological break-down. At least my room’s the same in my fugue state...”

“Marinette!” Tikki chirped in alarm. “Don’t say that! This is real - really real! Look, there’s a note on the chaise!”

The words were slow to sink, an anchor too buoyant to be believed. Still, Marinette figured she had nothing else to lose now that she’s officially become unhinged, so she stumbled across her bedroom and grabbed the note.

It sat on top of her sketchbook.

Marinette,

I know you’ve said you’re not going to the party. That’s okay - seriously. That’s 100% absolutely okay. But, I didn’t want you not to go just because you didn’t have a dress to wear - if you want to stay home because you’re tired, or not interested, or for any other reason, that’s what you should do. The dress is yours either way, and if you don’t wear it tonight, then I’ll just be excited for the next opportunity to see you in it.

I’ll be at the hotel - hopefully I can get there early enough to catch you before you leave after you deliver the flowers… Just seeing you once before the night is over would be enough for me.

Love,

Adrien

Adrien scrunched his nose up when one of Chloe’s father’s colleagues struck up a conversation with him.

For one, he really didn’t care for politics as a topical issue for discussion, especially in the polite passing conversations that were expected of him at these sort of social functions. Sure, Adrien was almost of French voting age, and living a double life as an icon of the city - if not the country - it would be almost impossible for him not to have his opinions. But with his father’s money and his own subsequent fame, Adrien’s found that his personal take on political affairs carried more weight than he was frankly prepared or interested to deal with.

More offensive than politics, though - the man’s breath was terrible. Just, awful. He reeked of tobacco and some sort of alcohol - perhaps vodka? Whatever it was, it was terribly strong and almost made Adrien nauseous. And this was coming from someone who had a pungent-cheese-loving-roommate that also happened to imbue him with magical powers and occasionally enforced his rebellious behaviors.

Nodding along politely, Adrien sipped his water and used the opportunity to think about more interesting things. He had made eye contact with Alya at one point, but lost her in the crowds after he followed Marinette downstairs.

Speaking of which…

Anxious, Adrien quickly glanced at his phone, offering a hum to counteract his visible apathy towards the conversation - Marinette hadn’t sent him any text messages. Surely, she was home by now.

Was she going to come after all?

Maybe the dress didn’t fit? The designers did their best without being able to measure her.

Maybe having them combine the dresses was a bad idea, maybe she was mad about him taking her sketchbook?

It’s not like he could exactly explain his way out of that one.

“Oh, sorry Marinette! It was my kwami’s idea. He’s actually a hopeless romantic, deep down. Right, by the way I have a kwami, his name is Plagg, and together we’re Chat Noir!”

As a matter of fact, the two halves of Chat Noir had a small argument about it when they last left the shop, starting with when the black troublemaker instructed Adrien to turn back. He found Marinette’s sketchbook placed conspicuously around the corner of the store, laying on the ground, and his kwami laid out some larcentic instructions for him to follow thereafter.

Probably against his better judgement, Adrien complied and brought the designs to some people on his father’s detail. They seemed a tiny bit annoyed to have been given such a complicated request with only a few days notice and no model to measure, but the team didn’t give Adrien too much trouble - just, he would owe them one, when the time came.

To make Marinette happy, he would have gladly owed everyone in Paris.

“... And that’s when I told her, no, that’s not Emmanuel Macaroon, it’s Macron! Silly Americans.”

The man laughed heartily before sipping from his drink, and Adrien gave an uncomfortable chuckle while scanning the crowds.

The room was a champagne supernova, from the literal bubbly drinks to the aesthetic of the party. Overcome with light, every surface shimmered, and even the air seemed to refract unusual, unnatural levels of beauty. From every glimpse of a photography flash, to waiter’s serving platters, to the glare of reflective makeup on the faces of caustically beautiful women, even to his own shoes, the room was bright. Blindingly bright. Toobright.

With another fifteen minutes of inane discussion, Adrien had basically scoped out the entire lobby. He spotted Chloe, running between Jean and her other staffers, Alya and Nino, whispering intimately by the side windows, his father, speaking seriously to an artist Adrien vaguely recognized, Macie and some other of the usual Gabriel models sticking close to the cameras, and dozens more faceless aristocrats.

No navy hair, no purple gown.

“And with a watch like this? I couldn’t believe it -” the man brandished his wrist, shining a Rolex in Adrien’s face. “The nerve of some scummy…”

“Excuse me,” Adrien cleared his throat, stepping around his unsolicited conversational partner. “I think I see someone I’ve been supposed to meet…”

With a quick flash of his model-smile, the blond made his expression apologetic and quickly walked to the windows along the wall, near the cafe.

“Hey, man!” Nino greeted, glancing over his shoulder when Adrien released an irritable exhale. Upon his approach, the disgruntled teen noted Nino had a hand on Alya’s hip, and they both looked a little dreamy. Stupidly happy.

Jealousy thumped in his chest a tiny bit, but he swallowed hard on the instinct.

“Hey guys! Alya, you look great,” Adrien greeted with a smile, and he meant it. She wore a flattering dress in a shade of gold not unlike her eyes, and it sat snugly over her curves. Nino winked at Adrien, nodding vigorously.

“Thanks, blondie,” she rolled her eyes towards Nino’s not-at-all subtle agreement. “You clean up pretty nicely, too.”

Adrien shot Nino a finger-gun, who shot him right back. “And of course, Nino, you’re the most handsome belle of the ball.”

“I was going to say the same about you, dude,” he feigned bashfulness, resting a hand over his cheek.

Alya cut in with a loud cough.

“BRO-cough-MANCE.”

The three laughed openly for a moment, and Adrien felt ten-times better already after abandoning the foul smelling jerk, though he expected to get a bit of a verbal lashing from his father afterwards. Surely, his perceived “rudeness” in walking away would prompt some sort of unnecessary drama in the whispers of the crowds, but talking with his friends eased Marinette’s absence by a few degrees.

“Something on your mind, dude?” Nino questioned after a moment, looking at him from above his glasses.

Adrien fidgeted a bit, ultimately burying his hands in his pockets. He felt Plagg roll over in his jacket.

“Eh, just, wondering if Marinette is okay… I saw her for a second, when she was done with the deliveries. But she had to go. I’m sure she’s fine, though! Nothing to really get upset over, heh.”

Knowingly, Alya smirked. “It’s okay to be a little worried about her, she’s your girlfriend. If anyone would understand, don’t you think it’d be us?”

He looked up and met both their gazes, relieved to find they were both absent of judgement. Indeed, Nino was giving him an uncharacteristically serious nod, a sympathetic brow raised high along his forehead.

“We’re worried about her too, you know? Working so hard all the time - she showed me her hand when I was there yesterday.” Nino paused, shivering for effect. “Yikes.”

“Yeah, but,” Alya crossed her arms and released a slow sigh. “I know Mari like the back of my hand, and I’m telling you, she would feel way worse if we just mope for her sake. She told me she isn’t coming, and that was final, so let’s at least try to have a good time.”

Adrien pursed his lips, unable to disagree. Marinette always burdened herself with unnecessary guilt, and feeling bad about it wouldn’t help anyone. But still, the only topic he could find interesting tonight was the one person who wasn’t there.

“When do you guys wanna head to the museums?” Nino offered after a pause, glancing at his watch. “It’s like, almost 6:00 now, and there’s a few places I for-sure want to hit up. I heard there’s supposed to be an impromptu show outside the Louvre around 11, and that’s where most of the food is supposed to be.”

“I’m ready to go whenever,” his girlfriend responded. “Mom said she’s going to be working all night so not to stick around unless we wanted to. Maybe 6:30?”

“That seems a little early, doesn’t it?” The blond suggested, trying to keep the strain of hope from his tone.

Alya gave Adrien a hard stare, eventually dragging her eyes to her purse, recovering her phone.

“Actually… yes… maybe that is a little early. There are, uh, rumors Ladybug and Chat Noir might show up to the party… I’d like to stick around and see if they’re true. Gotta do it for the blog!”

Confused, Nino looked down at the brunette, then up again to Adrien. “You didn’t mention anything like that before?”

“Oh, my mistake. I forgot we agreed that I would tell you absolutely everything. Cause a girl can’t have any of her own business.” Alya countered, raising a brow.

Nino had enough sense to know when to drop it, so he held up two hands in defense and chuckled uncomfortably. “Uh… heh… right. You do you, babe. We can leave whenever.”

Wearing a smirk, the girl titled her head to one side. “‘Whenever’ sound good to you, blondie?”

“I…” he blinked slowly, a little confused. “Sure. I’m not on any schedule… for once.”

Clapping her hands together, Alya’s voice returned to normal. “Alright. Then, for now, why don’t --”

“Adrien.”

Shooting to ramrod straight posture, the so-named teen flinched. The icy inflection, punctual and exacting use of syllables… it was a voice Adrien would have recognized anywhere.

Turning swiftly, he plastered on his most convincing smile.

“Hello, father.”

Void of emotion, his father’s face was carved from stone. “A word, please.”

Ah, crap.

“Sure. I’ll be back, guys,” Adrien half-waved to the couple, and they gave him some apologetic and encouraging hand movements as he was led away.

The pair made their way through the crowd easily, his father’s intimidating aura all but bending the bodies away from them. A few young women very clearly tried to step in Adrien’s path at first, so he made a pointed effort to stare at the back of his father’s well-combed hair instead, staying close enough that no one could “fall” between them.

They came to a stop at the bottom of the stairwell, occupying the space beside the bannister and a huge, immaculate arrangement of roses in a porcelain planter, accented by sepia ribbons.

Automatically, Adrien smiled. This was one he worked on himself with Juleka, as he remembered a few of the roses’ peculiar blossoms, some tiny swirling galaxy of ruby stars, twisting inwards with a sort of shyness that he would never have been able to identify a few weeks ago.

“Marinette prepared these,” he commented off-handedly.

Both men looked down into the overflowing, lovingly crafted arrangement quietly for a moment.

His father cleared his throat. “Speaking of which, I noticed Mlle. Dupain-Cheng is not in attendance tonight.”

“No, she might not come. Probably not.” Adrien made a face. “I don’t know.”

“Well, then that is a shame. It would have been a good opportunity to put those rumors to bed after your impromptu breakfast. An irresponsible choice, to dine outside, you know.”

The teen grimaced and looked away, watching the crowds instead of meeting his father’s piercing stare. “Yeah, I imagined it was sort of… irresponsible. Sorry, father. Sometimes I just... lose my head around her.”

His father didn’t respond at first, but when he did, Adrien was surprised to hear him laugh.

“You’re just like your mother.”

Adrien nearly choked on a sip of water, and the man just shook his head.

“Neither of you could reel it in, even to keep up appearances. Hopeless romantics, the both of you.”

Thumping against his chest, Adrien coughed a few times and stared at his father like he had just confessed to him that he was Hawk Moth. In return, the fashion icon only wore a small smirk and a thoughtful gaze, joining his son in his study of the crowds.

“As it happens, I did not come over here to ask about Mlle. Dupain-Cheng’s whereabouts, or to cause you an untimely choking death, son,” he paused, glancing sidelong at Adrien. The teen just gaped back. “I just finished speaking to one of the patrons for the Musée d’Orsay, and they mentioned their affinity for music; as it turns out, they know your piano tutor. An old friend.”

Adrien frowned thoughtfully. “Oh… that’s, um, nice?”

“That is not of consequence. Rather, I’d like for you to parlay with them for a little while; they’re a valued benefactress, and as it happens, a fan of the brand. Once I mentioned you were here, she requested to see you specifically.” His father’s tone did not leave it open to debate, and a no point had he phrased it like a request.

After Adrien did not respond for several seconds - he was still trying to appreciate his father’s anecdote about his mother - the man put a sturdy hand on his son’s shoulder and offered a thin smile. It was reminiscent of something like encouragement.

“I have every confidence in you, so no need to be nervous.”

“I… er, that’s…” The blond shook his head, trying to catch up. “No, it’s not nerves, exactly. I just wish I had… er, I was still trying to wait to see if Marinette was coming. You want me to go, like, right now?”

In lieu of an answer, Adrien gauged his father’s expression.

That’s a yes.

The teen scratched his cheek. “... Right, um, I can do that. Let me just take a second?” And he promptly downed the rest of his water, a little too cold and stinging as it chilled his throat.

His father nodded sternly and walked away, in the general direction of the piano. Probably to indicate where Adrien’s next move should be.

A slight nuzzle inside his front pocket garnered his attention, and Adrien held open the front of his jacket.

“Your dad is something else, isn’t he?” Plagg muttered, wearing a scowl.

Adrien licked his lips, and they already felt dry again.

“Yep,” he sighed, but tried for an exasperated smile. “But I’m sure it can’t be worse than that guy from earlier. I just… I’m not a huge fan of when my Dad does things like this. Did he even say the woman’s name?”

His kwami hummed for a moment (though it sounded suspiciously like a purr).

“Nope. You could always guess. I think the most popular names in France right now are Louise, and maybe Gabriel.” Plagg shrugged.

“You are almost impressively unhelpful, you know that, right?” Adrien remarked.

The black cat scoffed, but his tone was an octave or two lower than usual. “Geez, lighten up. You’re just upset because your little girlfriend isn’t here.”

There was a small edge to the kwami’s voice, and Adrien knew him well enough to know his tone. It was comforting to know that, in his own way, Plagg was actually attempting... sympathy.

“Maybe a little,” Adrien admitted. “But I’m sure I’m worrying over nothing. Let’s go find ourselves Loiuse-whats-her-name.”

“Don’t go falling in love with her,” Plagg tagged on.

Adrien rolled his eyes and stepped out of the slightly private corner he had occupied with his father, frowning in the direction of the grand piano. The very tips of his father’s pale hair could be made out above the crowds nearby.

Wracking his brain, the teen tried to recall some talking points that would make the next twenty minutes or so less painful. He’d gotten good at talking to strangers over the years, making pleasantries when necessary, but that didn’t mean he necessarily liked it.

Before passing through the last few meters of the crowd, Adrien swiftly checked his phone, hoping uselessly to see any sort of simple message.

On my way!

The dress was perfect. Thank you.

I’ll be there as soon as I can.

Nothing.

Adrien released a slow sigh and slipped the device back into his pocket, fixed his hair and readjusted his shoulders. Wearing a small smile, he stepped out of the tides of people into the small circle around the piano, eyes scanning for his father.

The man himself was easy enough to spot, but Adrien didn’t see any obvious “benefactress” waiting for him. A little inanely, he hoped that maybe it was an elaborate surprise and Marinette would be there, perched in pretty hues of purple, but there wasn’t anyone in particular - man or woman - looking back to meet his gaze.

“Well, well well. I thought that was you.”

Adrien winced, surprised to hear a wheezy voice sidle up beside him. It took him a moment of blinking and stepping away, fully appraising the woman, to realize who it was.

And his heart swelled happily in recognition.

“Madam Kleinstein!” Adrien exclaimed, loud enough that a few people looked. “I -- you? I had no idea!”

Chuckling, the woman winked up at him with a crinkly smile. Her tanned-skinned was covered by a dark, long skirt, colored like the sea at night. Her severely bent torso was draped in a woman’s blazer of the same hue, but the whole ensemble was surprisingly lively, accented by flashes of red from head to toe. Decked out in ruby patent-leather shoes and buttons of scarlet that down the front of her jacket, the old woman’s youthful energy was clearly reflected in her choice of dress. Topped perfectly by a dark pillbox hat teetering off one-side, with a gossamer mesh of red and black polka-dots that just skimmed her forehead, Adrien smiled at the reminder of their shared favorite superhero.

“I told you, it’s Cecelia. I don’t mind the reminder of my late in-laws - good riddance, I say. But please, for my own sake! I’m not old enough to be madam anything.” She teetered over to him and gripped his arm for ironic support, aged and wispy as she was.

Adrien laughed, his free hand moving to his forehead in disbelief. “I just - huh, wow! What a small world. I didn’t know you were…” Hesitating, he scowled around at the crowd, unsure of how exactly to label Madam Kleinstein’s surprising presence.

“Rich enough to rub elbows with this lot?” She suggested, making no attempt to keep her voice down. Adrien felt a bit embarrassed, but the woman was a whip and he knew there would be no culling her.

Instead, he opted to take his father’s advice to heart and walk her around the lobby.

“You could say that,” the blond offered with a sheepish grin as he led them back towards the front of the room. “Really, I’m just not used to meeting… people I know in ‘real-life’ in… this-life.”

He swept a hand across the room to demonstrate, and Madam nodded knowingly.

Patting his arm with one of her heavily-ringed fingers, she chuckled. “I thought you were Gabriel’s son when we met, so imagine my surprise when I find you working at Mo’s! Er, Marinette’s, that is.” She smiled thoughtfully for a moment, and they stopped at one of the many bushels of roses scattered around the room.

“Marinette prepared the flowers for the event,” Adrien commented as the woman leaned down to inhale their perfume.

Releasing a contented sigh, Madam Kleinstein plucked one of the many roses right out of the arrangement, taking it while they walked. “I assumed as much; no flowers in all of Paris ever bloom as well as her’s. Though I’m surprised she’s not here; I thought vendors were usually offered to attend most of these events.”

“Mmm…” Adrien frowned, unsure how to reply. He didn’t want to harm Marinette’s professional appearance by discussing their personal relationship with one of her clients, but he also didn’t want to lie to Madam Kleinstein. Part of him had a feeling she would see right through him anyways.

He answered slowly, matching their pace as they wandered the vast room. “She… well, she might be coming, but I’m not really sure. She worked herself too hard this week in preparation for this, I think, and might just want to take a break.”

Madam stopped a waitress and offered her the rose in exchange for some champagne. The service worker seemed confused but appreciative, and they were on their way again.

“Oh no, she’ll be here.”

They stopped walking.

“How do you know that?” Adrien asked, wide-eyed. “She’s got to be exhausted, it’s not like anyone would blame her for not coming.”

Madam threw her head back and laughed, squeezing his arm a bit to steady herself.

“Marinette is too much like Mo. And my husband, for that matter. They’re proud. If they have the chance to go above and beyond, they will. They always will.”

“That…” Adrien tilted his head to one-side. “That does sound like Mari, doesn’t it?”

The woman chuckled and shook her head, and they began walking again.

Madam had to crane her neck to look at him, short as she was. “Don’t be sour, Adrien. She’ll come.”

Pinking slightly, he just nodded and grinned, feeling a little silly. “Was it that obvious?”

“Oh yes, but it’s not your fault. Everyone is about as transparent as the stars at midnight when it comes to love.”

Adrien staggered slightly in their walk, surprised to hear her say the word. It’s not like he hadn’t thought about how impossibly in love with her he had fallen, but to hear someone verbalize it…

Ultimately unsure of how to respond, the teen settled on a stiff nod, continuing to stroll around the room. He felt somewhere between comforted, disconcerted, hopeful, and terrified.

After a few moments of silence, the pair slowed to a stop again before another arrangement, near the side of the room he had last seen Nino and Alya. This was one of the few that weren’t roses. Adrien didn’t know these by name, but they were pretty, tall white things with delicate petals.

Madam tapped her chin. “My Lucky Little Latanas are just lovely, by the way. I do appreciate a keen eye when it comes to my garden.”

“Oh.” Adrien blinked, looking between the array of petals and the tiny woman on his arm. “Of course. You could say it’s just a product of my good luck.”

Snickering, the woman nodded in approval and turned them around, looking instead out to the crowd.

“This isn’t my kind of party, you know,” she remarked. “I was hoping there’d be less photography and more… portraits, murals, art. The music isn’t half-bad, though.”

To prove the point, Madam eased her hold on Adrien’s arm and did the most comical rendition of “raising the roof” Adrien had ever seen in his entire life. Unashamed, he began to giggle, and the woman stopped to join him, grabbing her knees to support her own amusement.

“I know what you mean,” Adrien agreed as he regained his wits. “But for an artless party, it sure did draw a crowd.”

Madam Kleinstein smirked and raised a challenging, thin eyebrow into the creases of her forehead.

“Now that’s the right frame of mind!”

Adrien’s smile widened, half-covering his mouth to keep from laughing too loudly. “Well, you were right. No use being sour - I’m glad I Baroqueout of that mood.”

“Oh, child,” Madam cackled so hard she started to cough, and Adrien snatched some water for her from a passing waitress. She smiled and accepted, wiping her mouth. “That’s the good stuff. You should consider a career in comedy.”

The pair continued like that for sometime, slowly circling the room with a buoyant spirit about them - totally puerile compared to the otherwise imperious attitude to the room, but once the jokes were rolling, their infectious moods played off each other. Adrien wasn’t exactly competitive, but Madam Kleinstein was practically trying to out-pun him, and he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

They slowed after the second or third full sweep of the room, coming back to the piano where he first found the tiny Madam.

“Now, Adrien,” she frowned and lowered her voice for the first time all evening, and it struck Adrien as odd. He bent slightly to better hear her.

“Do you think you’d do this old woman a favor?”

“Anything for such a young beauty, Cecelia,” he replied with a wink, and her dark eyes rolled.

“Do you know much Debussy?”

“Debussy?” Adrien repeated, furrowing his brow. “Well, sure. Mostly his bigger compositions, so I’m not sure how much…”

Madam waved a hand to interrupt him. “That’s fine, that’s fine. Then you’ve got to know Clair de Lune?”

Scratching his chin, Adrien sat at the piano bench. “I think I know where this is going. Though I didn’t picture you as the type, Cecelia.”

The woman sat beside him on the end of the bench and smirked. “I’m a bit of a wild child, so Marinette’s said.”

“I wholeheartedly believe that,” he replied with a laugh, eyes befalling the keys.

A bit weary, Adrien began to play the opening notes softly, not wanting to distract from the overall ambiance of the reception. Only a few heads, nearest the piano, turned in their direction, so he continued the opening, the lightest droplets of melody tuning to life beneath his fingertips. Impressionist music, Debussy’s music was composed of tiny pieces, put together to make the whole.

Adrien did not notice, not really, as the familiar notes filled the air, imbued with purpose through his the keys at his hands or the pedals at his feet, but the room had grown nearly as quiet as Marinette’s greenhouse after a minute’s worth of playing. Party-goers seemed to halt breathing, and camera stopped shuttering. No heels clicked, and no chatter interrupted. Only, for a time, the sound of the chords and sighes of the melody, complexity developing in the second half.

Of any song Madam could have requested of him, Adrien was abundantly thankful it was one he knew so well; he still could not keep his mind from wandering, even as far as this night has taken him.

Marinette. Marinette. Marinette.

She was the 9/8th meter that drove the song, the pressure in his chest as the piano filled the quiet hall, and the breeze of confidence that let him command the attention of the entire room. She was the moon he had fallen in love with. Delicate, and yet, so clear, the notes were her midnight hair or the freckles, twinkling like stars along her nose. The brighter, bold sections was his breathing whenever she was inches away, and the soft recessions of sounds were the smile she wore whenever she waved him off.

There was no denying it, if there was any chance before. His pulse felt like the ocean tides, weaning under her influence, a beauty that had never been successfully captured by song, or painting, or words.

And so the song ended, only half as beautiful as she was.

After a pregnant pause, the room erupted into applause, thundering in what had been a peaceful reprieve from the material restrictions of the hotel lobby. For a moment, he had been at sea in the darkest hours of night, but now he was awake again, on the mainland, in the real world.

Madam Kleinstein beside him wiped a hand across her cheek. “It was Jules favorite. My husband,” she clarified. “Those white magnolias from earlier just, I don’t know, set me off.”

Wearing a careful smile, Adrien glanced over at the woman and patted one of her wrinkled hands. “It was a pleasure to play it.”

After some more clapping, the crowd finally receded to the same buzzing monotone it had established before he played the song, and the swingy band picked back up the burden of entertainment. Adrien felt strangely cathartic, like his stomach was churning from nerves but his heart had found some small peace.

Cat-hartic. He could practically hear Marinette’s voice in his head, joking with him the day this all started.

Standing from the bench slowly, Adrien was aware of dozens of eyes still looking his way, so he smiled politely around the room while helping Madam stand. She clutched his arm appreciatively, though Adrien hardly noticed - he was busy internally rearing up to hear his father’s voice any moment, quelling him for making such a scene.

“Um, Adrien?”

A soft chill passed by his ear, and the teen felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on-end.

That voice.

That sweet, caring, hesitant and imaginative voice.

He was saying her name before he even finished turning around.

“Marinette?”

And so she had come.

The dress had been stunning when the designers presented it to him; leave it to Marinette to create something so ephemeral and dreamy, so he had thought. Any expectations he had of how she might look wearing the dress, however, were completely devastated with a single glance.

Dark hair, pinned up elegantly to expose her shoulders and neck, the tresses were gathered into a low bun that rested above her shoulder blades. The darkness of the top of the dress clung to her creamy skin like night drags against the walls of a windowed room, subduing everything around her by degrees. A phenomenon of the prettiest kind, the gown became a cascade of skirt, lightening in its descent to the floor, and Adrien admired the way the fabric of the sleeves both hugged her upper-arms, only to float delicately away from her elbows. Most eye-catching of all, Adrien’s breath caught in his throat when he found her cautious smile, worn against pink, full cheeks.

“There she is!” Madam Kleinstein snapped him back to reality, and Marinette turned a few shades darker in recognition. “You’ve got yourself a real pretty girl, Adrien. She looks like she belongs in a museum with that dress. It’s a work of art.”

Marinette sighed, holding her forehead with one hand. “Madam, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a dozen times. Don’t encourage him.”

“N-no,” Adrien cleared his throat, barely managing to relieve the scratchy emptiness of his windpipe. “She’s right. You look… beyond perfect. Amazing. I can’t - just, wow.”

As if to prove his point, Marinette flustered at his compliment, looking straight at the floor and covering one cheek with a hand; Adrien could see it burning beneath her fingers.

He opened his mouth to say something, but he stopped when he felt an almost nervous twitching in his breast pocket. Annoyed, he lightly patted it to get Plagg to stop fidgeting.

“Um… Madam Klein -- I mean, Cecelia,” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, surprised to realize he was sweating slightly. “Do you mind if I have a minute alone with Mari?”

“Of course,” she smiled at the girl, who looked up at the mention of her name. “But don’t run off without saying goodbye.”

Making sure she was steadied, Adrien released the old woman from his hold and stepped forward to Marinette, carefully placing a few fingers just beneath her jawline. Her skin was smoother than he could have imagined.

They were both quiet, and Adrien was just fine with that. He was absorbing her presence, reveling in her really, really being here. Madam Kleinstein had said she’d be coming, but he hadn’t been sure. Now, seeing her up close, it was like a hole had been filled that he hadn’t even realized had been manifesting in his chest. She had little sprigs of green and purple flowers laced delicately into her hair on both sides, winding together at the bun between her shoulders. Her blue eyes were wide and full, turned up slightly at the corners to accent the curve of her smiling lips. Truly, she looked more like something out of a mythology textbook, like a sylph of the night sky.

“You came,” he eventually offered, not really thinking.

With a tiny nod, Marinette agreed. “I did.”

“The dress - you - you look really great. Did I say that already? Like, really great. Really.”

She giggled and brought one of her hands to the one he had nestled along her neck, squeezing his fingers. “Y-you did. Thank you, for the dress - for everything, really. I know I caught you earlier, but… you look handsome, too. The best dressed in the room, definitely.”

“Are you kidding?” Adrien croaked, forcing some air into his lungs. “You stole that possibility the moment you walked in. Just, wow. I can’t believe I’m dating you.”

Marinette lowered her neck into her shoulders slightly, adorably demure as she avoided his gaze. “Don’t be silly. You’re the model and the famous one here. Speaking of which, a lot of people are, um… looking.”

Attention flickering above her head momentarily, Adrien found Marinette’s claim to be accurate. Whispers were buzzing around them, and many eyes swiftly looked away when he glanced around. To his surprise, he locked eyes with his father - one of the few people who didn’t look away. The man’s lips were pursed, but he rolled his eyes and smirked before turning away, shaking his head.

You’re just like your mother.

Adrien slipped one of his hands into Marinette’s as he returned his attention down to her, easily lacing their fingers together. “Let them look.”

Bowing her head, Marinette just nodded twice and let Adrien lead the way, and he noted her movements were a little more stiff than normal.

“Are you okay?” He whispered, lowering his voice to her ear.

She shivered, though the room was plenty warm.

“I-I-I’m fine,” Marinette said with a breathy little laugh. “I’m just… happy. Really happy.”

That did it - Adrien was sure his heart stopped beating.

“Oh!” The girl at his side exclaimed, kickstarting him back into a living, breathing human-being. A man was tailing them with a camera, though she pointedly tried to ignore him. “I see Alya and Nino, over there.”

Grinning at the photographer, entirely proud (if not a little bit smug), Adrien stopped her.

“Is it okay if we let them take a picture of us? Together, I mean.”

She blinked at him a few times, appearing utterly confused, and her head tilted.

“I… sure, yes. Yes!”

“Yes! Thank you!” The photography exclaimed, unashamed to have been so easily caught, and instead he rushed up to them and half-knelt to widen his shot.

Adrien didn’t have to force his expression for once, though it was probably wider and giddier than was suitable for his usual photos. Beside him, Marinette appeared radiant, her smile reaching her eyes.

“Chaaaaaaaa’boy!” A voice called above the party-goers, many of whom turned and appeared offended at the source of the sound.

Half a second later, Nino bowled through the crowds and slammed into Adrien’s back, achieving maximum bro-hug capacity. Sensing the moment over, the young camera man bowed his head in thanks and began to thumb through his camera, scurrying back into the crowds.

Alya sauntered after Adrien’s attacker, but she went to Marinette and held the girl at arm’s length.

“Holy shit,” she commented. “Girl, you look hot.”

Marinette’s skin turned scarlet, from where her bodice hugged her torso all the way up to her ears. “Alya! Language!”

“Seriously. This justifies swearing, you look fucking amazing. Where did you get this dress? Did you make this?” As she spoke, the reporter-to-be wrapped Marinette in a hug, just as Nino released him.

Adrien piped up, smiling towards the girls. “I usually don’t condone swearing either, but she’s right, Mari. I can’t say it enough - 你看起来很美.”

“No offense friends,” Nino added, sweeping up beside Alya and swiftly wrapping a hand around her waist, reclaiming her by his side - the usually mellow brunette was so surprised she actually let out a tiny gasp. “While I agree, ‘Nette, you look amazing and thank god you ended up coming after all, ya’ll can’t hold a candle to this.”

He proceeded to plant a kiss atop Alya’s head, not sparing a care in the world for any of the people around them.

It’s not like Adrien could blame him, now that he knew how it felt to be in Nino’s shoes; he’d kiss Marinette every second of every day if he could get away with it.

“Are we still waiting for ‘whenever’, blondie? I think we’re about ready to go. I don’t know how much more I can take of being in the same room as Chloe, even if the room’s this big,” Alya said darkly, looking around in case the so-called blonde was afoot.

“I can be ready in a second, I just have to let Father know, and tell Madam Kleinstein goodbye... and give my regards to Chloe, so…”

Marinette and Alya exchanged a glance, and Nino responded, “I’d be exhausted if I had to put up with half the stuff you do, man.”

“Eh,” Adrien shrugged. “I don’t mind. Mari, do you want to come with me?”

She looked at Alya as if requesting permission, and the brunette just chuckled and nodded. Swift as the wind, Marinette came up beside him and carefully took his arm, much like she had several nights ago when he visited as Chat Noir. It was an attachment of security - one of trust. Adrien never wanted to let her go.

They started their salutations with Chloe, as she was the easiest person to find. The girl was storming around in her heels, spending the entire evening on the warpath, and her gown was a massive, golden ensemble that took up enough room for two people. It reminded him vaguely of the infamous one dress from the dance scene in Beauty and the Beast, though by the looks of it, Chloe’s was tight enough to be suffocating.

When Adrien managed to catch her attention, he felt a bit sad to see how strained she appeared. In no stretch of the imagination could he guess that party-planning was a laissez-faire sort of commitment, given the insight he had from Marinette’s work… and that was only one aspect of the huge affair.

At least she smiled when he approached.

“Adrikins!” She leapt at him, throwing herself into one of her iconic, overbearing and ridiculous hugs. Still, Adrien hugged back, happy to hear a familiar pitch in her voice.

“Hi, Chlo’.”

Marinette cleared her throat quietly. “Hello, Chloe.”

The blonde scowled as she pulled back from Adrien, glancing to her side with a look of distaste. “Oh. Dupain-Cheng…” her lip curled momentarily, but she flickered a gaze towards Adrien. “... Hi.”

Adrien, sensing the tension, decided to be the one to steer the conversation. “Well, I just wanted to catch you for a second. I can see you’re super busy, but, the party is a huge success. You did a great job, and the whole place looks amazing.”

Frowning, Chloe pulled out her phone. “Ugh, thanks, but no thanks. Everything is a disaster - you wouldn’t believe the behind the scenes nightmare --”

“Adrien’s right, Chloe.” Marinette interrupted, sounding a little exasperated. “It’s actually really lovely. If there’s anything going wrong, you wouldn’t know it from the guest’s perspective. I’m happy I got to see it. You’re a very talented planner.”

Chloe looked as if she’d been smacked, eyes wide but pupils tiny, confusion creasing her forehead. After a beat, though, she whipped her hair around slightly and resumed her usual attitude.

“Well… whatever. You’re… you know, thanks, I guess. I’m glad you both liked it.”

Turning his attention to the girl by his side, Marinette wore a huge grin and her blue eyes sparkled under the chandeliers above. Adrien felt like he’d had three cups of coffee for how fast his heart was beating, and they quickly bid Chloe farewell and sought out the next individual on their list.

They didn’t have to look far, thankfully, because Madam Kleinstein found them.

“Gosh, you kids look cute together. Almost as cute as I did with my husband.” She remarked, shuffling towards them with another champagne flute in her hand. Though her irises were dark, they turned spirited and humorous whenever she smiled.

“Madam,” Marinette whined slightly. “Please. I may be here as Adrien’s guest, but I’m also on business.”

The woman waved Marinette off, shooting the blond a wink instead.

“What’s that saying - all fun and no play? You’ve done great work here,” Madam Kleinstein said with bright tone. “Now you can sit back and enjoy it!”

“Heh, well, about that,” Adrien commented, scratching his cheek. “We’re actually going out - to the museums and stuff. Like you said, these parties…”

Madam grimaced. “You don’t have to tell me twice. But if I can insert a small recommendation, be sure to stop by Musée d’Orsay at some point this evening. It’s one I’m particularly drawn to.”

“Well, then,” he replied with a knowing smile. “We’ll have to be sure to pencil it in.”

Marinette dropped his arm and threw her hands up. “That’s it - I’m leaving.”

“Such a temper! Color me sympathetic,” the old woman laughed, and Adrien couldn’t resist joining in. Sometimes, eliciting Marinette’s chagrin was too tempting, just to see how far she’d go before snapping back. It was one of the things he admired most about her; true to her convictions (misguided they may be when it came to humor), she took everything in stride and never truly harbored any anger. Indeed, she might not have a single unkind bone in her body.

“Ahh, but really, we should go find my father. We have some friends waiting for us,” Adrien said pointedly, garnering him an appreciative smile from Marinette that twisted his stomach into the most pleasant sorts of knots.

The tiny woman placed a hand on her cheek, studying the two seriously. “Sure, sure. Just be careful out there when it gets later. Maybe I’ll come by the shop sometime this week to get something for inside the house.”

“Of course,” Marinette said with a wistful tone, taking a step forward and gently holding one of the woman’s hands in both her own. “You take good care Madam. You can always call ahead if you want an appointment.”

Warmly, the two smiled at each other and said their goodbyes, and Adrien found Marinette’s bandaged hand a few moments later. He began to lead them towards the edge of the room as the volume of the music and pressing bodies began to increase incrementally, the space officially beginning to transition between refined reception and party proper.

“Thank goodness,” the dark-haired girl said quietly once they reached a tall column on the outskirts of the crowds. Curiously, he looked down at her with a brow raised, and Marinette held two hands in front of herself defensively.

“N-not that I’m unhappy to be here! J-just, you k-know, I’m no-not much of one for parties. You know?”

Winding a careful hand around her hip, Adrien pulled Marinette a little closer so he didn’t have to raise his voice over the din - surely, for no other reason than that.

“I was thinking the same thing. Just got to find my Dad and we can go” He stated, catching a sly glimpse of her in his periphery. With rosy cheeks and averted eyes, she was breathtaking, and it helped to bolster Adrien’s confidence to know he had that effect on her.

Absently, he pulled her in a little closer.

Marinette twisted her mouth in focus, glaring over the crowds on her tiptoes. “I don’t… hmm… oh! Is that him?”

Following her extended hand, he indeed spotted his father across the room by another fashion designer, one he had worked with on collaborations many times before.

“Yep, let’s go.” He directed them through the crowds, trying to stay close between jarring laughter and clinking glasses and weaving through rivers of wealth beneath the air of excess. In a word, the room was overstated, and stuffy and exaggerated by consequence, but Marinette didn’t seem to have any trouble. She dipped and dodged away from waiters in time with him, skimming over the marble tiles without crinkling a single corner of her dress. They stopped to take some more pictures, this time with a group of children dressed in what reminded him of flower girls and ring-bearer boys, almost like Marinette, and almost like him.

Giggling and holding hands with the kids, Marinette had a particularly difficult time parting with their unexpected friends, leaving them with a quick lecture on talking to strangers.

“I’m coming - just, hold on!” The girl swatted a hand at him, which he caught and held, stupidly pleased to catch her blushing. “T-that’s right, kids. We were happy to play with you, but just be careful! Not all adults are as nice as Monsieur Agreste here, so be sure you feel safe when you’re talking to people you don’t know.”

“Okay okay!” Most of them grumbled, giggling and gasping when Adrien took the chance to place a swift kiss on Marinette’s cheek, entirely embarrassing her in front of the group of children. He felt pleasantly smug with the look she shot him.

“Don’t go yet,” another one of them whined, pulling on the hem of one of Marinette’s loose sleeves.

Carefully, she swiped some fringe from her own eyes and lowered herself to the little girl’s level (partially, Adrien assumed, so as not to tear her gown). “Sweetie, you’ve got lots of friends to play with here. We’ve got our own friends waiting for us. Just remember to be careful and play nice.” Marinette smiled and patted the girls dark brown ringlets.

Shyly, the child twisted away from Marinette, voice relcutant. “Ooo-kay… But you’ll come back and play later?”

“Maybe,” Adrien offered over Marinette’s shoulder, helping her to her feet and giving her a moment to smooth out the tulle of her skirt.

With some difficulty, the pair finally managed to part with all the kids, receiving lots of vigorous waving as they went.

“God, those kids were so cute,” Marinette said with a breathy sigh, reorienting herself.

Adrien took the chance to look around, and thankfully, his father was still absorbed in his earlier conversation. He set the path forward again, near the front of the room.

“They really were,” he agreed, squeezing her fingers. “You’re great with kids.”

He felt her arm move slightly, suggesting a shrug. “Babysitting. You learn to speak their language.”

Teasing, Adrien flashed her a grin. “So that’s French, some Chinese, flowers, and child - any other languages you know that I’m not aware of?”

“Klingon.”

Adrien was so surprised he stopped moving for a second. “Really?”

“Nope!” Marinette strode right past him, leaving him scrambling after her as she approached his father - rather boldly, if he were to judge.

Adrien caught the tail-end of his father’s conversation as he hurried after Marinette. She was standing a polite distance away with her hands behind her back.

“... And then this season’s line is -- oh, a moment, Marc.”

The men turned towards them, and Adrien gave the designer a friendly wave and smile.

“Adrien! Bonsoir! It’s been awhile.” Marc, a man a few years younger than father, strode forward and shook his hand very tightly.

Burying the instinct to wince, Adrien tried to return a friendly amount of pressure. “Yes, hello. Sorry if we’ve interrupted.”

“Not at all,” Marc insisted, attention turning to Marinette beside him. She appeared to be visibly shrinking under his gaze.

Placing a hand on her upper back, Adrien tried to be encouraging without becoming completely distracted by the feeling of her exposed skin, soft and warmth beneath his fingers.

“This is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, my girlfriend. We were actually planning to leave to see the museums in a few minutes,” Adrien turned his gaze to his father, wondering if the man picked up on the unasked question in his tone.

… If that’s okay?

“Well hello, mon belle fille. Are you one of Gabriel’s models?”

Adrien noticed his father’s brow flatten slightly, but Marinette responded before either had a chance to say something.

“Um, no. Just… I’m Adrien’s, uh, classmate. We met… at class.”

“I see,” Marc answered with a little smirk. “And that’s a lovely gown, I should add. Who is it?”

“...Who?” She repeated, blinking. Clearly, she’d never been asked such a question before, and Adrien frowned as her discomfort became more and more evident

He cleared his throat. “Actually, Marinette designed this herself. She wants to work in fashion someday.”

Marc stood back, surprised, and looked towards his father. “Really? This isn’t one of yours?”

“No. Mlle. Dupain-Cheng is extremely talented, especially for her age.” As ever, Adrien’s father’s tone rang with finality, and the man could only nod.

“Now, Marc, as I’ve already asked once, could I have a moment with my son and Mlle. Dupain-Cheng?”

“Oh, oh yes - my apologies. Take care, Adrien, mon belle.” The man waved them off, attention automatically being dragged to another person-of-importance just around the corner.

“My apologies, Marinette,” his father said, eyes narrow. “Marc is an old colleague with a good eye for the trends, and a terrible capacity for etiquette. I hope he did not offend you.”

His father bowed his head slightly as a show of respect and it was hard to know which of them was more shocked.

“Now,” his father stood upright again, voice a gunshot over the din of the idle party. “You were saying something, Adrien?”

Adrien blinked, forgetting himself, and shook his head. “R-right! Sorry, um, that was… weird. Anyways… Marinette and I are going to go out and see the museums with Alya and Nino. Is it alright if we leave the reception now?”

Beside him, he noted Marinette looking at their shoes, black tresses turned up to face the ceiling. Even just the glimpse of her face, though, showed that she was wearing a huge smile, and, wow, Adrien realized his heart was positively hammering in his chest. When did that happen?

Adrien’s father glanced at his watch, than up again at his son, who tried his best to look neutral, if not a little sensitive.

“Naturally, I would prefer if you stayed a little longer,” he sighed. “But I can see you’re both anxious to leave. Your bodyguard will be with you two and your friends all night - given the circumstances, I feel that’s only fair.”

“Yes,” Adrien said immediately, hardly caring. He was gripping to his good luck and intended to let it ride.

“I’ll have Nathalie communicate with him to keep… some distance, so you’re not uncomfortable. But I’d feel much better knowing he’s with you - let’s say, at minimum, one room away?”

Marinette looked up and nodded vigorously. “Yes! I’d feel better that way, too.”

His father looked amused. “I’m glad we’re all in agreement. Then, this is adieu for the evening. Thank you, Marinette, for agreeing to come tonight, even if it was brief. And, Adrien, be sure to have her home for her curfew. Keep your phone on at all times… and don’t lose it this time, if you don’t mind.”

With a hint of red tinting his cheeks, Adrien heard Marinette tried to stifle a giggle beside him.

“Yup, noted, and noted.” Eager to go, Adrien extended his arm for the girl at his side. “Shall we?”

“Oh - yes, sure. Thank you, Monsieur Agreste. Have a nice evening.” Marinette smiled and bowed her head politely, and his father offered them a nod before walking the other direction.

Adrien was quick to lead them away after that - away from the people and pageantry, thankful they were already near to the front of the building. Marinette had consigned her purse, so Adrien waited at the exit patiently, and he could already see Alya and Nino outside by the car. They were giggling and pointing at Alya’s phone, by the looks of it.

A little nudge against his chest grabbed Adrien’s attention.

Quickly and without looking down, he tried for his best sort of “ventriloquist” answer - that is, without moving his lips.

“What’s up?”

Plagg’s answer was louder than he expected.

“I’m thinking this is where I’ll duck out! Course, I’ll stay near, blah blah, keep and eye out, blah akumas. We’ve basically got this down to a science, right?”

“Err…” Adrien felt his forehead dip, but was determined not to look down. “I guess that’s okay. But seriously, if I need to transform, you have to be around. Okay?”

The cat grumbled something unintelligible before construing a proper response. “Sure, sure.”

Adrien offered a roll of his eyes and closed his jacket as Marinette approached. As she neared, the bow of her lips curved into a simple, gentle smile.

“Ready to go have fun?”

Adrien wanted so badly to kiss her. So, so badly.

Instead, he choked out an answer and turned to the doors. “Yes.”

Bonus Scene (1):

Thursday afternoon, approx. 5:30 PM

Tikki frowned, watching Marinette’s classmates hard at work from inside the greenhouse. “Come on, please, Plagg?”

The cat’s head was in her lap, and she was patting behind his ears.

“Hmm…?”

“Were you even listening?” The red kwami asked, now annoyed. She continued to scratch though, and she had to admit the tiny purr rumbling in his chest was sort of… cute.

“Yes.” He opened one green eye, looking up at her. “You asked if I could rope Adrien into a silly plan to steal his girlfriend’s sketchbook, try to convince him to convince other people to magick up some dress for her, all for a party she might not go to, and my kid’s insisted it’s okay if she can’t go. Did I miss anything?”

Pursing her lips, Tikki looked outside after Marinette again, watching her lean over Juleka’s shoulder attentively.

“Just the part where you’re a real jerk sometimes,” she muttered in a low tone.

“C’mon, Tikki,” he said, sitting up and turning to face her. Today, their place of hiding had been the creepy crawly vines that hung above Marinette’s desk. “I’m just being realistic. Imagine - me! Realistic.”

Instead of meeting his green gaze, knowing that he was right, Tikki just bowed her head and picked at a fallen leaf. “I just want her to have this. This one night, Plagg. Doesn’t she deserve that?”

The black cat did not respond for several seconds, not until Tikki finally looked up at him with wide eyes. She was certain she looked terrible, worried and exhausted as she was for her charge. If Marinette wasn’t well rested, neither was she, and it was starting to fray her usually solid nerves. Slicing open her hand had been the straw that broke the kwami’s back.

“It’s not that she does or doesn’t, Tikki. But that’s not our job. You said so yourself - we maintain a balance, right? We can’t mess with fate like that. She’s not supposed to go.”

“Balance…” the kwami repeated, finally sighing and resting her head in her tiny paws. “You’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry. I just feel so bad for her - especially after that akuma. Marinette just needs a break. So much for my good luck, right?”

She glanced up from her palms with a wry smile, and an unsettling grimace stared back at her.

“What?” Tikki leaned back slightly.

“Yes, we can’t go… intervening in fate. That would be bad.” Plagg spoke slowly, nodding his head. He tapped a paw on his knee, legs crossed. “Our chosens have to manage themselves.”

“Thank you, Plagg, I got it,” she snapped at him, only feeling more guilty when he flinched. “S-Sorry. This isn’t your fault.”

“It’s not,” he agreed. “But it could be.”

Now it was Tikki’s turn to grimace, turning her gaze over the ledge of the hanging planter again. Adrien was laughing along to something Kim or Rose just said, and Marinette looked chagrined but… happy.

“What good could possibly come of that?” She eventually asked, not liking the mischievous look spreading on his face.

“Well, if things were to be thrown off balance by one of us - say, Adrien happens to find your girl’s sketchbook in the alley and being gently encouraged to go along with this plan… Well, to maintain the rightful order of the universe, you’d have to act, take something away her subtly, to equalize his gain.”

Tikki blinked a few times, sure she wasn’t hearing what he was suggesting. “You mean - intentionally disturbing the roles of the universe, for our gain? Plagg, that’s the worst idea you’ve ever had!”

In a totally predictable fashion, the black cat’s smile just widened and he shrugged. “What’s the fun in keeping order for thousands of years if we - if they - don’t occasionally get something out of it? You better figure out something to keep from her, because I’ve already made up my mind. Now you’ve got to keep me in check, or this is on you.”

“P-Plagg!” She exclaimed, feeling her face warm a bit from the smug look he was giving her. “That’s… that’s underhanded! You can’t force me to…”

“Do you want to risk fate?” He wagered, whiskers bristling in amusement. “Because it’s fate now that she goes, unless you’re going to stop her.”

“I -- that’s… ugh!” Tikki dropped her face into her hands again, but this time, it was to hide her smile. “You’re unbelievable…”

“I know, I’m great. Adrien says that exact same thing all the time.”

Raising her head to chastise him for being, well, himself, Tikki was surprised to be wrapped into a soft, gentle hug.

Plagg snuggled into her shoulder, squeezing her tiny frame close.

“Marinette’s not the only one who deserves a break. Let me do this for you.”

Surely, the warmth from her cheeks must have been burning Plagg’s fur, but Tikki let herself smile anyways. She yielded to his suggestion, squishing her cheek against his shoulder and hugging him back, tightly, happier than ever to have his support.

“I… okay, Plagg. Thank you.”

After a brief pause, he pulled back and his whiskers tickled her face. He smiled at the sound of her giggle, and Tikki just felt her skin darken into deeper shades of scarlet.

“Do you know what you’ll give up? What’s something you give Marinette, maybe something everyday?”

The kwami wracked her brain for a moment, taking Plagg’s paws in her’s without a second thought. “... I guess, I guess I could stop giving her advice for a few days. Just sort of be there, instead of being there for her…?”

“That should be perfect,” her black companion nodded seriously, raising one of her paws to rest on his cheek. He closed his eyes and smiled at the contact. “Let me be there for you, and for her, this time.”

Bonus Scene (2):

Thursday Evening, approx. 8 PM

Adrien, literally, couldn’t thank them all enough.

“Thank you, thank you all so much. I can’t tell you what this means to me - even you just considering it. Thank you!”

The boy turned to Jacque, the head of the design team, and bowed his head politely. “If you make a decision, please give me a text or call. I’ll be sure you’re all paid overtime for your hard work, and I’ll definitely owe you one. Anything, anytime.”

The team of designers exchanged some heavy, doubtful looks, but politely waved off Gabriel’s son. It’s not like they could do much against the boss’s kid, though it was frustrating that he asked them not to tell Gabriel about it, either. Talk about a Catch-22.

“Welp, let’s put our heads together. He thinks we should mix them,” Rachel stated as she brought Marinette’s sketchbook to the center table, and the other five gathered around. “It’s not a bad idea, but it’d be more work. I’d say we go for this one instead?”

She pointed at the black, thinner and sexier dress in the book, and there was a general murmur of agreement.

“I’ll admit, she’s got talent,” remarked another designer, fixing his glasses as he peered over the purple design. “It’s sort of a shame they didn’t plan better. This one would have been a fun one to make. Nothing we can do about it now, though.”

“Right,” Jacque said with pursed lips. “Let’s go with Rach’s suggestion. We do the black one. Adrien will deal with it.”

“What will my son deal with, exactly?”

All six of the team practically (and in two cases, literally) leapt in the air at the sudden, sharp voice at the other end of the room. They were positioned around a long conference table, and at the other end, framed in the doorway, stood one Gabriel Agreste.

“M-Monsieur Agreste!” Rachel bowed severely. “What a surprise! Our apologies, we don’t have the samples ready quite yet.”

“That’s alright,” he said, tone so icy it made the team’s blood so cold. “What was it you were saying about my son?”

Several of them met eyes, all of them anxious and desperate. Gabriel Agreste was not the sort of man to lie to, and eventually, the tension hummed their general agreement.

Fuck this. Not worth losing my job over.

Jacque, as the team leader, cleared his throat and took a step forward. “M-Monsieur Agreste, your son, he just… that is to say, you’ve only just missed him. He brought us a request for a design, and asked that we stop all other projects to work on this by Saturday afternoon. We - I didn’t, rather, we did not know if it was... approved by you yet...”

As the man’s speech puttered off, it was accented by the sharp click of Gabriel Agreste’s heels on the tiles, and those on the left side of the table nearly fell backwards when he approached.

The man picked up the sketchbook with a skeptical look. “Is this what he requested?”

“Yes, sir,” another designer answered meekly. “He asked if we could combine them, and make the dress by Saturday, without any sort of model or measurements. It is reportedly for, um, Adrien’s… friend. I believe her name was Mary. We w-were going to, fairly, I’d say, pick t-the black one. It should be… simpler.”

“Simpler.” Gabriel repeated flatly.

Rachel nodded furiously. “Y-yes sir. We don’t want to take any time away from the Autumn project, so we’ll do the fastest and best job we can on the black one.

In the same tone, Gabriel inspected the sketches closely, bringing the book close to his glasses. “Yes. Why don’t you finish what you’re working on for the Autumn line.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Of course! Right away,” Jacques agreed fiercely, hugely relieved. “You heard him, Rachel, you go --”

Gabriel continued as if he hadn’t heard Jacque at all. When he looked up from the designs, his mouth was set to a hardened frown. “I will be back in an hour or so with a mock-up of the gowns, combined. See to it that they are completed by the latest, Saturday morning. This is not an ordinary gown - so, as usual, not a stitch out of place.”

Ghostly white, Jacque blinked furiously from the man to his team, all who looked about as deadpan as he was.

“Do you understand? This gown must be perfect.”

After a pregnant pause, the tension positively suffocating, Gabriel simply marched back out the way he came.

“Perfect,” he repeated. “And don’t mention a word of this to my son.”

Gabriel promptly closed the door behind him, leaving a room full of shocked, speechless - and soon-to-be relentlessly focused - designers in his wake.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculers #miraculous #miraculous fanfic #marinette dupen-chang #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien x marinette #adrinette #adrien agreste #adrienette #adrienette kiss #gabriel agreste #tikki and plagg #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #chloe bourgeois #language of flowers #flowers #flowershop au

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tinetillerprice-blog · 6 years ago

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Tine Tiller Price In Pakistan

Plant specialists are exceptionally specific about their greenery enclosures or yards. They would prefer not to make any bargains and that is the reason they ensure that they are just utilizing the best machines that could give great outcomes. As a matter of first importance, they attempt to find out about each new innovation that is entering the universe of planting. They ensure that they can locate the best answers for make their garden look immaculate. Aside from that, they don't falter from purchasing any new machine or apparatus that can help them in improving their patio nurseries a place. A tiller or cultivator is likewise one such instrument or machine that helps the nursery workers in keeping up their garden in an effective way. They essentially work by furrowing and developing the land. They additionally help in expelling the weeds once the yields begin developing. This will at last keep the products or vegetables from harm.

There are diverse kinds of tillers accessible in the market. Some must be utilized with the assistance of gas, while others could be utilized with electric power too. Aside from that, they are additionally classified based on their ordinary capacities. For instance, raise tine tillers are utilized for pivoting the land and making it delicate and prepared for development. A back tine tiller can simply be begun by pushing a catch on it. You can move it one way for inverse revolution and after that you can turn it the other way. Along these lines, it will work in clockwise and anticlockwise heading in the meantime. This will in the long run help in furrowing your property and making bed for planting. Raise tine tillers have turned out to be critical for the nursery workers, as a result of their work productivity while developing. This machine can make the whole procedure of manor and development truly simple for the planters.

A back tine tiller is viewed as a moderately new innovation that has been created with the end goal to streamline the whole procedure of development, as basic tillers were not ready to give the required outcomes. The customary ones can just work one way with the assistance of their haggles can't utilize them in the retrogressive movement. Along these lines, they are not ready to indicate great outcomes. Then again, raise tine tillers can be turned in inverse ways, which make an upper-cut activity on the dirt as it gets spread in various ways. This will at last make the dirt more fleecy and it would be prepared for development. These tillers are anything but difficult to utilize and you don't have to put any additional power to push them.

Raise tine tillers have picked up prevalence, since they can help nursery workers in performing different cultivating undertakings. You needn't bother with a standard tiller on the off chance that you have a back tine one. It additionally can develop all the more area and one can utilize it to till a place where there is in excess of 10,000 square feet. Aside from that, it is substantially snappier and less demanding to utilize. These are accessible in various styles, so there is adaptability of choosing which one meets your necessities. A couple of styles accompany variable stakes to oversee how profound entrance the teeth will make in the dirt. Some accompany sharp edges and a security monitor to keep a likely mischance amid the use of machine.

It is smarter to take the counsel of a specialist as they will have the capacity to propose you the best machine for cultivating. You have to ensure that you have comprehended the whole system legitimately. The counter pivoting activity of a back tine tiller is its one of a kind offering point and this is viewed as the fundamental explanation for their huge ubiquity among the plant specialists.

Sultan Murati is a devoted cultivator and does surveys about garden tillers and different apparatuses. To discover more data and rebates on back tine tillers, visit his site at BestGardenTillers.com.

https://farmequipments.pk/implements/tine-tillers/

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chittaranjaninfotech · 5 years ago

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Agriculture equipment at Best price

Seed Drill

Seed Drill is the case of current day and eager agriculture.Seed Drill machine supply via Benson Agro having two type 5 Tyne Seed Drill and 9 Tyne Seed Drill. This machine use by way of rancher for Sowing of grain. This is minimize time and labor required for the planting of grain.capacity for seed 35Kg and for compost 40Kg. Its weight is 310Kg. Its working territory is 2 Acres for each hrs.

Yield Harvesting Machines

Yield Harvesting machines use for the accumulate special assortment of grain crops. These variety of machine have excessive potential and work with fast. During harvest the yields it have no damage of yields. The Benson Agro Engineering comprise Mini Combine Harvester and Reaper Harvester with good cost. It utilized for a broad vary of yield collector like Pepper , Paddy ,Wheat , Soya , Grass, and so forth. It reduce time and labor and supply extra yield in much less time

Paddy Rice Trans-planter

Paddy Rice Trans-planter provide through Benson Agro Engineering is use for the property of rice vegetation it planting flowers two line at equal time. It is guide paddy rice trans-planter. Its weight is 18 to 20kg.This is grow to be trans-planter easy and straightforward.

Garden Mower

Mower are manufactured first time in Quite a whilst by way of Benson Agro Engineering which utilized for the reducing of grass in backyard in equal measurement. It sorted on premise of tallness and width of slicing backyard grass.

Force Weeder

Force Weeder is having excellent factor like Simple layout for this reason low preservation cost, More yield as a result fee sparing, No people required consequently independence, Easy to work, Most giant - Reasonable expense. Force Weeder is Useful for Inter Cultivation, Weeding, Mulching, Cultivation inner the besin of the plant and Spraying of pesticides.

Electric Shredder

Is beneficial for Organic Farming And Wormy Composting. Complete the Nature Cycle. Return the normal assets to the nature itself. With the help of our destroying innovation, produce your personal prepares (Compost) from plant cutting, dry leaves, wild grass and different home squander. In the event that the association is right (2/3 profoundly nitrogenous inexperienced waste,1/3 waste timber containing carbon),there is insurance plan towards over the pinnacle dampness and drying out. It is precious for Dry and moist leaves,Agriculture. Garden squander, Plant pruning, and so forth and it is tremendous for Soil receives wealthy due to mulching, Saving in water,Soil stays wet,Weed obligation now not grow,PH esteem is activated.

https://bensonagro.com/home

Paddy Thresher

Paddy thresher is useful for expel the extend groom from Paddy Plant .It have 1000 - 1500 kg/hr sifting capacity.It gathering with 0.5 to 5 HP Single Phase engine. Subsequent to using this we get 250-300 Kg/Hr acquire with out grom.It supply extra yield than general way. Paddy Thresher have extra benefits like Efficient Threshing,Reduce Labor,Low Grain Loss,Complete Threshing.

Types of paddy thresher -

Engine Paddy Thresher,Electric Paddy Thresher, Paddy Thresher With Winnowing Fan.

Winnowing Fan

Winnowing Fan used to separates Unwanted Shells& Particles From Seed.The Power Operated Winnowing Fan required electric powered pressure and Manual Winnowing Fan labored with labor alternatively each are compelling for expel undesirable shells and particles from seed.Utilizing Winnowing Fan efficiently evacuate of shells & undesirable particles from seed. It have much less area required to work and does not want to reliance on everyday air.

Grass Cutter

Grass Cutter are utilized for the slicing of grass It cut back the human endeavors and its yield is faster than human. Grass Cutter are utilized for thick trees & vegetation like wheat, paddy, soyabean and creature grub crops.

Raised Bed Planter Machine

Sudden Environmental Changes, lowering precipitation and different such wild elements are representing brilliant Agricultural misfortunes. There is a gigantic want of motorization of dry land cultivating in world.The Specialty of this grower is that it can plant large assortments of yields like Maize, Soyabean, Greengram, Blackgram, Tur, Groundnut, Sunflower, Cotton, Sorghum, Mellet and so on a raised mattress and concurrently make wrinkles, Using Raised mattress Planter, Planting must be feasible at a range of column dividing extending from 8" to 18" even though the profundity of planting can be saved up to 2"to 4". In this way after germination, regardless of whether or not the downpours lengthen upto eight to15 days, the want of resowing is stored away from.

For more details: https://bensonagro.com/

#Lawn Mower #Hand Tools #Power Weeder #Electric Shredder #Paddy Thresher #Winnowing Fan #Seed Drill #Harvesting Machines #Grass Cutter #Paddy Rice Trans-planter #raised bed planter machine

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livingcorner · 3 years ago

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10 Wood Pallet Ideas for the Garden

One of the most overlooked sources of recycled materials in the garden is the humble wood pallet. Millions of wood pallets are used in the retail industry to transport goods, and they often end up clogging the landfill. In addition to being a source of free raw materials and a way to recycle in the garden, making things for the landscape out of pallets gives you a product that no one else has. Put your signature on one of these wood pallet garden ideas (starting with this creative planter idea!), and see what you can do with a few tools and a little sweat equity.

Garden Walkway

Funky Junk Interiors

What happens when a garden path isn’t just a way to move through the landscape, but becomes a focal point in itself? Funky Junk Interiors shows that even when dismantled, a wood pallet can serve as a stunning design element in the garden. Although a wood pallet walkway will help your garden by keeping you from compacting wet soil, it’s best used in a low-traffic area of the garden: no heavy wheelbarrows or garden carts here.

You're reading: 10 Wood Pallet Ideas for the Garden

Because pallet boards are thin and already weathered, a bit of preparation can help your path last beyond a few seasons. Rather than laying the pallet wood directly on the soil, excavate the area a few inches underneath the path and backfill with gravel. This will help water drain away from your path, preventing rot.

Wood Pallet Garden Walkway from Funky Junk Interiors

Garden Bench

Our house now a home

After a hot day of pulling weeds and fighting insect pests in the garden, a rest on a garden bench is a well-deserved treat. At first glance, a wood pallet might not seem like it has the potential to transform into a beautiful piece of garden furniture, but as the blog Our House Now a Home proves, some inexpensive paint and a few throw pillows can turn scrap wood into an Instagram-worthy seat in your landscape.

Building furniture from wood pallets requires some shooting from the hip, but the results are limited only by your carpentry skills. Look for free woodworking plans or youtube tutorials to remove some of the guesswork. Once you’ve mastered the bench-making basics, you may even decide to attempt a garden rocker or recliner.

Wood Pallet Garden Bench from Our House Now a Home

Read more: How to prepare a raised bed for spring planting

Garden Swing

The Merrythought

There’s nothing new about the garden swing, but a garden swing bed is the best thing since spiked lemonade for true relaxation. Buying a fabricated garden swing bed can set you back at least several hundred dollars, which is a real buzz kill for the lazy gardener. The Merrythought used 2 x 4 lumber to reinforce two wood pallets and topped it off with a mattress covered in vinyl zippered mattress covers. You could also make your own cushion with outdoor patio fabric if you’re handy with a sewing machine. Make sure you use rope with a high working load limit and have a suitable branch to hang this beast from, as it will weigh several hundred pounds when occupied.

Wood Pallet Garden Swing from The Merrythought

Raised Garden Bed

Ma Passion Du Verger

The raised garden bed isn’t going anywhere as a method to practice intense flower or vegetable gardening in a small space. The soil in raised beds warms up quickly, the elevation raises vulnerable plants away from ground-dwelling plants, and the loose, friable soil you add to raised beds promotes the healthiest root systems on all types of edibles and ornamentals.

Line your raised bed with landscape fabric to keep the soil from migrating out when you irrigate your plants. The ideal height of a raised bed is 6 to 12 inches, but you can go higher if you reinforce the walls with staking to prevent outward bowing.

Wood Pallet Raised Garden Bed from Ma Passion Du Verger

Continue to 5 of 9 below.

Compost Bin

Lovely Greens

Who needs a compost bin in the garden? Anyone who has a bottomless appetite for soil-boosting humus, also known as black gold for the garden. You have several choices for compost bin construction when you start with a wood pallet. A heavy-duty pallet can serve as one of three or four sidewalls of a bin, attached with brackets or simply wired together. If the pallet is coming undone, dismantle the boards and attach them to a frame you make with 2 x 4 lumber pieces.

Gardeners with small plots can get by with a single bin, but those with larger spaces can reap the benefits of an open-sided three bin system constructed of pallets. The first bin holds fresh garden waste and kitchen scraps, the second bin is used for moving and turning the decomposing materials, and the third bin holds finished compost ready for use. A three-bin pallet system isn’t much to look at, but you can pretty it up by planting a few flowering vines around the outside, which will flourish from the nutrients within the bins.

Wood Pallet Compost Bin from Lovely Greens

Wall Planter

Creative Homemaking

Vertical gardens are the solution for homeowners who desire flowers, herbs, or vegetables but lack the space to grow them. A living wall may consist of a pallet you fill with soil and plants, or the pallet may serve as an anchor upon which you attach pot-holding clips. These planters are very heavy when loaded with wet soil, so mount them securely with cleats, large wood screws, and metal brackets; or, rest the bottom of the pallet on the ground for added support.

Wood Pallet Wall Planter from Creative Homemaking