Sumi had taken care in dressing that day, pulling out her favorite dress, the dusty lilac making her skin glow like a fresh peach, especially once she applied a careful stroke of raspberry blush, high on her cheekbones. A soft, pearly pink for her lips,a touch of shimmer down her nose. She brushed her dark hair until it shone, clipping it out of her eyes and leaving it loose down her back. She wanted to glow for him.
She couldn’t deny that she had spent a significant amount of time thinking about the handsome naga, slightly annoyed that all of her time was being eaten up driving back and forth to Bridgeton when she should have been having coffee with him, meeting him for dinner, letting him show her all around town, and then learn what kind of noise he would make when she licked the seam in his scales. There was a sex toy shop in town, because of course there was. Sumi already knew that the toy market could cater to any appetite, that porn existed of every species on the side of the veil, and although she was dying of curiosity, she had refrained from looking at any of it. She wanted to be surprised and delighted by him the way she had been delighted by the rainbow play of his vivid scales, his friendliness, and the delicious sparkle of his eyes.
Although, she would have been lying to herself to pretend that she didn’t wish she had maybe been brave enough to stop into that toy store, particularly late at night, when she was in bed. Her vibrator got her there reliably, but it wasn’t as exciting as wondering what his cock would be like. The only thing she knew about snake and lizard folk was that there was an enormous variety, there was no telling what his might be like.Fringed, frilled, covered in spikes?She had no idea, and with each day that passed without them having made good on their promise to get together, she lost a little bit more sleep and her vibrator got an even harder workout.
It didn’t help that she didn’t have any distractions.
Sumi didn’t want to pry, but ChaoticConcertina had barely been online in the past two weeks, and she hoped that everything in his world was well.I hope he’s having a good visit with his daughter. I hope his dad is okay,she thought to herself,turning away from the sight of her beautiful flower shop to carefully pick her way out the back entrance, following the same path Hedda had taken. The front of the building was wrapped in construction plywood. There was a door, but she didn’t like using it, not yet.
She didn’t have anything left to do that afternoon, not until Hedda provided her with the names of applicants to call, and she knew just how she would fill the time.
Glancing in her rearview mirror once she had arrived, she examined her teeth, ensuring they were clean and not spotted in pink lipstick. The Perfect Petal loomed before her, and there was no time like the present to put her love life on the same fast track as everything else.
There was a little girl standing in front of the register, filling in a box of envelopes, when Sumi came through the door, a clanging little bell announcing her entrance. Her dark hair was twisted up and clasped with a pink bow claw clip, one that matched the pattern on her oversized open cardigan, pink bows on white, over a simple T-shirt. There were more than a dozen beaded friendship-style bracelets interspersed with jelly bands on her slender, nut brown wrist, and on the countertop, her cell phone rested on a metallic stand, encased in a MochiBunny cover.
Sumi grinned. The girl was a few years younger than her former students, but clearly a budding fashionista with a clear understanding of the current trends. The hem of her pink and white cardigan was where her outfit ended, her violet scales taking over. She undulated as she filled the box, a soft sway, turning when she heard the bell.
His niece? His daughter? OMG, you are going to be the best stepmom in the world.After all, she had an excellent model, for her own stepmother had been wonderful.You can go shoppingtogether and go to the movies and have dance parties to the Epoch movie.
“Hi,” the little girl called out, grinning broadly. “Welcome to The Perfect Petal. Is there anything I can help you find today?”
At that, she couldn’t hold back an appreciative laugh. “I don’t think I need any help, but I have to tell you,” Sumi motioned to the girl’s outfit, “your drip is impeccable. Super coquette.“ She would never let anyone claim fluency in slaying was an unworthy skill, for the girl beamed, her smile stretching from ear to ear, revealing miniature fangs.
“Thank you! I love coquette so much, that and berrygirl, but I don’t see people here wearing it as much.”
Sumi laughed again. It astounded her how fast this particular generation changed and adapted. Preppie now referred to expensive athleisure wear in bright, punchy colors and clear tote bags with varsity-style lettering. Then there was the wild of branching off of what she considered girly — ballet core, coquette, strawberry girls. If Gen Alpha did one thing well, it was apply labels to every little deviation.And this is why representation matters. This is why human schools hurt more than just the non-human kids.
“Did you get the bow tumbler?” She might not have been the most passionate teacher in her former building, and never referred to herself as an educator, but the one thing she had always done well was paying attention — who was friends with who, what girl grouped with bullies, noting it was frequently an overlap with the same group of girls who were another classroom’s teachers pet — to what they were all frothing for.
Evidently, she had guessed correctly, for the naga girl threw up her hands, moaning as if she had just been stabbed.
“Nooooooo! It’s sold out everywhere. I thought I would be able to find one here, but they don’t even have the stores that carry them.”
At that, Sumi huffed.Yeah, because they’re all terrified of chain stores for some reason.
“I have my strawberry Simon cup, but it’s not the same.”
At the sound of the girl’s dramatic cry, a man came lurching around the corner, the precise naga she had come to see.
“Are you okay?” Ranar demanded, his tail moving him so much faster than she thought it should have been able to. “Is something wrong?”
She had only a moment to admire the two of them together. Sumi could see that this girl was obviously his relation. She shared his thick fringe of jet black lashes and had the same angular face, although the scales on her tail were lighter, brighter, absent of the splotches of inky blue.He wouldn’t have asked you out if her mother was still in the picture.
He turned a second later, his eyes landing on her immediately. Sumi held her breath, her face aching from the force of her smile. He was just as gorgeous as he’d been that first day.
At least, he was until his eyes narrowed, his entire face transforming into a look of abject hostility.
“Ruma, go in the back.”
“But I’m—“
Sumi didn’t understand the language he spoke, a quick susurration over his shoulder, little girl stiffening, doing as she was told a moment later. He kept his head turned, watching the girl slither away, waiting until the door had swung shut behind her. The little girl threw one last look back at Sumi, her eyes raised, before vanishing completely.
“You have a lot of nerve coming in here. What are you here to do, steal my car? You gonna ask me if I have tips on how you can drive it first?”
His words hit her like a fist, his displeasure to see her there dripping from every syllable, emphasized by his snarl. Sumi tooka step back, feeling as though the bottom of her happiness had just fallen out. “What-what do you mean—“
“What do Imean?“ Ranar looked at her incredulously. “Is this a joke? Is that what this is to you? A sick joke? You come in here and play coy and ask if I have tips about running a flower shop and you didn’t bother mentioning that you were already under construction four blocks away? You know, you may have fooled the planning commission with your little claim that you’re an independent store, but you don’t fool me. Call yourself anything you want, but we both know the truth — you’re running a bouquet sweatshop. It doesn’t make a difference how many layers of pink paint you want to slap on it.”
