It was not yet winter, not even the end of Vortas, but the creeping chill was still more than what Yazad would normally put up with without additional layers of clothing. Therefore, for today, his set of liveries was topped with a coat matching his peacock green ribbon in color. It was not closed all the way around his body, allowing him a degree of freedom in movement, but the front opening also meant that his coat was flapping every time a gust of wind blew through the street they walked. His companion, with his lack of an actual coat, did not have the same problem.
"I do not understand why we must be out looking for florists. There is one not too far away from the house." Sophronios would have sounded as if he was grumbling if his voice was not inherited monotonous. The suit he sported -a deep blue one that was many hues darker than his eyes- was just the first thing that he could manage to wear when the passive was insisting that he accompanies him to a walk through The Stacks, looking for florists of all things.
"Naturally you do not understand, this is why it is my responsibility.” Yazad retorted with a chuckle and a dismissive wave of his hand. But of course the obsessive galdor would not understand the need for some visual appeal in a house that he barely left except to be giving classes at the Brunnhold campus. The younger of the two, however, saw things differently. He did not mind going through a bit of legwork and trouble to get exactly what he wants and nothing less. “The florist you mention is...acceptable, and nothing more. One would want more than the same three types of flowers to decorate a home with. And before you begin protesting--no, roses and peonies are not the same. Just as plums and apples are not the same." Yazad delivered the words in the assured tone of a man who was certain that he had made a convincing argument. Because, as far as he is concerned, he did.
It was not only the vases that he wanted to fill with all sorts of eye-pleasing flower arrangements. Yazad wished to obtain at least one potted plant for his own room and to inquire about their options if he was to have a few more flower beds arranged in the house’s little yard. That would be another thing for him to explain the need for to Sophronios, but it should not be a difficult thing to do. The sign of a Palazzo di Rhodon establishment told him that they were not in a familiar part of The Stacks, though to be fair, very few parts are.
"What did you just say?" Sophronios responded with a snap of his head, eyes widening slightly in a look that Yazad knew all too well.
“I said many things, sir." The shorter of the two males replied cautiously. Ah, here it comes. It was rather optimistic of him to think that they can just have a normal walk to a florist and then get back home for lunch.
"That part about roses and peonies not being the same. Indeed, they are not, but roses and plums are of the same family. Not the same genus, perhaps, but what if--" The blank look visibly displayed on Yazad’s face did little to deter Sophronios from his mumbled rambling. "I must look into this." The galdor stated, turning around and walking back through the alleyway in haste.
“Sophronios Adolphus Logarchon!"
"I will be at my office."
And with that, Yazad found himself alone in the middle of a vacant alley, no longer with a more navigationally-gifted man to help him, and slightly frowning in disbelief at the other’s act of betrayal. The urge to follow Sophronios back home just to tell him how awful he is -although Yazad felt no actual anger- was stomped down, and the passive simply closed his eyes and began to draw in a long, calming breath. It was easy enough for him to pull from his seemingly endless well of patience, but it was still a disappointment for his morning to not go as he hoped it would. Alas, this was nothing new, and life must go on. This was nothing to be bothered about, and everything is fine.
When the man’s pale green eyes opened again, they picked up an almost missable, tiny blur of black down on the cobbled path. It took less than a few seconds for the realization to set in, and for fear to spike almost uncontrollably. Yazad’s reactive shriek was muffled quickly with the hands he clasped over his mouth, his eyes flying wide open as they watched the abominable creature scutting about the ground. For a moment, the passive was frozen in place, his body screaming for him to run away, and his mind telling him to not turn around lest the vile cockroach comes for his back.