Look, you didn’t want to be working a your ass off to pay rent, but that’s what happens when the fates hate or (for some damn reason) and even in the summer you can’t seem to catch a break.

Hair pulled back, tank top on with the thin apron of your uniform on while you grew flowers in the pots, the energy tingling under your hands slowly fading as you used off the extra that had been appearing since you were met with an ‘I read the clock wrong’ adrenaline rush.

Working at a flower shop wasn’t the worse, you just had to take allergy pills eight times every hour. What you hadn’t excepted was your current predicament.

The black cloak with golden lining was iconic in and of itself, but the silver mask with gold leaf trimming confirmed that this was who he thought. Icarus, one of the most fearsome villains in all of Pogtopia, had stepped in to a flower shop.

You focused on keeping you stare blank and straight ahead, channeling all the boring NPC energy that you could. Even when your knees shook, you ignored your fear in favor of running through every possible flower in the book you could throw at this guy’s face if you wanted to.

Icarus didn’t speak, but you could feel his eyes staring into your soul. Somehow that was infinitely worse than a conversation, because the villain’s eyes were pitch black. Not just the irises either. There wasn’t a smidge of white visible anywhere. The television broadcasts did not do this guy justice.