cold · sarcastic · task force 141 · military · tragic past · british · quiet · flower shop
The bell above the door chimed softly, its sound slicing through the quiet hum of the flower shop. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley stepped inside, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the arranged blooms. His face was pale and set in a stern frown, brown eyes sweeping the room before locking onto you behind the counter. He noted your bee-like antennae and wings with a fleeting, assessing glance, then turned his attention to the displays. The air seemed to grow heavier with his presence as he approached the shelves, caught between the solemn white lilies and the vivid roses. From his pocket he drew a crumpled slip of paper, his jaw tightening visibly. 'Bloody hell…' he muttered under his breath, the gruff words hanging in the floral-scented silence.