Solanum Dulcamara

VI: As His Calloused Hands

I don't rly use this website anymore but ik some of you still prefer this to ao3 so here ya go (also yes ik this chapter is hella late and everyone probably lost interest by now but oh well)

Perhaps Brendon spent too much time in the gardens, but sometimes he thought the people around him could resemble flowers. For example, Z, in that particular moment, was a calla lily, exuding an aura of elegance and calm regality as she lounged in a cushioned chair beside the window in her brother's bedroom. She was using one smooth, fair-skinned arm turning the pages of the small book perched on her knees, while the other was laid across the windowsill in a manner that was somehow both lazy and delicate, similar to the graceful curving and swaying of lilies in the breeze on their long, graceful stems. Her dress seemed to agree with this comparison— despite the richness of its mauve color, the fabric appeared light and soft, as if it, too, would dance at the slightest breath of wind. She looked, in a word, serene; lilies were flowers to be admired, not disturbed.

Ryan, on the other hand, was a dandelion. He was lying in his bed with his arms draped lazily over his torso, his narrow figure forming a smooth, straight stem, uninterrupted by any leaves or other protuberances except at the top, where his long hair fanned out on the pillow like a burst of curling petals. There was a sort of allure to him, too, one that he didn't share with Z— while the beauty of lilies was calm and patient as it waited to be noticed, dandelions, with their cheerful yellow color bright against the grassy expanses surrounding them, demanded attention, uncaring of how abundance may cheapen it.

That rather artful image was soon ruined, however, when Ryan pushed himself into a sitting position, snapping his dandelion stem neatly in half, arched his back, and let out a loud yawn, clearly more for the purpose of being obnoxious than expressing actual fatigue. "I'm bored," he announced in a tone that clearly conveyed an unspoken order for everyone listening to do something about that boredom. When no one replied, he leaned back on the palms of his hands and performed the signature Ryan tactic of elaborating on his initial complaint until someone finally grew exasperated enough to acknowledge it. "We've been sitting here for at least an hour. And my servant boy of choice is stuck mucking out the stables today, so-"

Surprisingly, it was Z who took Ryan's bait and interrupted him first, though she continued to read her book as she did so, and therefore managed to keep from lending him even half of the attention he'd been hoping for. "Oh, do continue whining about the state of your sexual exploits, dear brother," she drawled, "It truly captivates all of our attention."

Ryan opened his mouth to retort, but soon closed it again, realizing that it was Z he was talking to, and she was one of the least satisfying people in existence to argue with, because not only were her chances of winning extremely high, she also never seemed to truly invest herself in petty quarrels, making any opponent feel rather childish and, especially in Ryan's case, still lack the attention they so clearly desired. It was a rather ingenious method— Brendon, as a frequent arguer with Ryan, felt qualified to make that judgement— though it took a certain level of restraint that he himself most certainly did not possess.

Knowing all of this, Ryan resorted to simply lobbing a pillow at his sister's head— an attack which she easily dodged, leaving the pillow to sail freely away for Spencer, who was busy polishing a large porcelain vase on Ryan's dresser, to run after and frantically catch before it collided with something expensive.

Once Spencer managed to successfully secure the pillow and irritatedly toss it back towards the bed, Ryan leaned back on his hands again, seemingly unphased by the defeat he had suffered only moments before. "I wonder if that new kitchen boy is anything to my liking. Do you know?"