[Left outside Lucrezia's door are two chocolate covered cherries wrapped in a baggie and a small sketch with only the name Angela ♥ scrawled in the lower right hand corner.]
[There's an awkward pause where he debates between the words "girlfriend", "lover", or just saying her name, but after a huff he just spits it out in a rush:]
I'm telling my girlfriend I love her.
[So fucking awkward he should've used text.]
What's, um. A romantic way to do that. On the ship. Can't just show up and give her the damn flowers.
You must take the to the gardens. To one of the floors where there is not much crowd, and you must hold her hand as you walk and kiss it when you come to a half. And then, you must look her in the eye and tell her you love her.
[That pessimistic thought trails off when he realizes that this entire conversation is doubly embarrassing. He has to attempt to say her name, to Lucrezia Borgia, great.]
Her name's - Heather. [Except it sounds like Hederj when he says it.] Can't pronounce it right. It's... she works in the Gardens too, you've prob'ly seen her.
[About .02 seconds after he says that he 1) feels bad and 2) recalls that floriography was a Victorian thing and that Lucrezia is decidedly not a Victorian thing.
And then he thinks that Lucrezia would probably love floriography.]
Ah. There was a - practice. Called floriography. Assign meanings to flowers instead of saying shit out loud. Red tulips - [breathe man] - declaration of love.
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