Hello! Another gift!fic here. This one is for Mr. Meenor, a wonderful editor of Mr. Ree. ^^ We can never forget the editor, right? Or else a key player wouldn't get the credit he/she deserves. Editors make even the best of the best fics truly shine, and we should never ever forget them! And that's something we can't take out. Mr. Ree's original ideas and stories are already in the top-to-top categories, and Mr. Meenor really got it over the edge phanomenal! So, good work, Mr. Meenor! Keep it up!
I do hope you enjoy this, Mr. Meenor! You got me to go through at least 6 draft ideas before I was satisfied. Anyway, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Disclaimer: I don't own DGM. If I did, well, the DGM fandom would never have made it to its present popularity.
Frozen Northern Oranges
"When I was young, I observed that nine out of ten things I did were failures.
So I did ten times more work."
— George Bernard Shaw
Everything was the same in the notorious Black Order HQ, a towering building that strangely resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa standing on a high plateau in the upmost northern parts of England. It was a normal day in a normal month – a day directly before the famed Ash Wednesday (1).
However, it was far from any regular day for quite a few people. It the day of Mardi Gras (2), when people would eat everything they wanted before the forty days of Lent. Naturally, in this tower filled with mostly Christians, people were eating as much as they want in the mess hall. Therefore, Jerry, the cook, was as busy as ever, but he wasn't complaining.
The problem was though, there weren't any oranges. Oh, no, they crates upon crates filled with the fruit, but there was one thing wrong with it. Nobody would ever want to eat such sour, bitter oranges for anything except marmalade or orange wine. Apparently, when Jerry had ordered for oranges, they had sent the wrong kind, bringing in sour, bitter kind instead of the common sweet ones. So, what could they do with all of these "bad" oranges?
A certain exorcist decided to take on the fun and easy way out. After arriving from a mission in Ivrea, Italy, she decided to have a festival she had attended for about one and a half days. When she had introduced this everyone had the expression of "What the heck are you talking about?"
It was the Battle of the Oranges (3).
"I think that's enough," Miranda Lotto announced, grinning at the large stack of bitter citrus fruits leaning against the outside wall of the gloomy Black Order Headquarters. Wooden boxes upon wooden boxes had a faint orange scent drifting through their wooden planks painted with the words "Oranges." In all honesty, the exorcist was quite proud of herself for being able to move half of the oranges outside, along with the help of a few fellow exorcists.
"When do we get to throw oranges at each other?" Lavi, a redhead exorcist with mischievous green eyes, asked enthusiastically, popping up from behind Miranda and almost giving the poor a woman an awful heart attack. He grinned, clearly enjoying thinking up plans to send his friends into an orange-barrage hell. "I wonder how many times I can hit Yuu . . ." he pondered.
"I'll make it so you'll hurt four folds over . . ." Yuu Kanda growled in response, his fingers itching towards the hilt of his sword.
"Now, now, Kanda," Allen Walker intervened, clapping like a teacher searching for attention from his class, "this is an Italian festival, not a 'learn how to kill people with fruit' lesson."
Lenalee mentally rolled her eyes as Kanda's barking retort barely registered into her head. "Well, I have a feeling that each exorcist will take an 'army,'" she began, ignoring the squabble near her, "but we only have 6 Exorcists present, counting you and me. But I know Brother will take one if I ask, so that leaves 2 free armies. Who are going to take those?"
"U-uh . . .!" Miranda stammered, her eyes widening like a cornered mouse. "I think Jerry will want to take charge in one of them, s-so . . .!"
Finally, a pale Romanian man carrying a final box of oranges trotted over. He gently set it next to the stacks, grinning. "Reever and Johnny both agreed to take over an 'army' together," he proudly announced, answering the rest of the question.
"Well, that settles it," Lenalee finalized, nodding in response.
"Yeah!" Miranda agreed. "I-I hope everyone will have as much as I did when I was in Italy!"
And the Battle of the Oranges, the biggest food fight originating from Italy, began right on the high plateau in the northern part of England. If nobody knew what was really going on, they would question the reliability of the Black Order, although some already did.
Oranges soared through the air: hitting people, flying over the edge, or getting crushed by heavy boots. Peels and rinds scattered across the ground, while the orange flesh were splattered in piles on the ground, building walls, people, and even windows (some being glass-less). Unlike the more famed food fight originating from Spain, La Tomatina (4), orange didn't color the people, nor did they burst upon impact. Actually, they hurt much more than tomatoes, but they were just as fun to chuck at peers.
People were definitely enjoying themselves, although they had a feeling that tomatoes might have been a better choice in artillery. Finders sputtered out bitter orange and hunted friends down for revenge. Many had stringy orange hanging off their faces.
'Generals' were extremely happy with the event, releasing stress on their peers in good humor. Lavi was ecstatic when he got a shot at Kanda. But the Japanese exorcist wasn't as joyful, chasing after the redhead with the same bruised orange in his hands. Allen decided to target Kanda in response, successfully saving Lavi who, in response, turned against Allen with a barrage. Jerry was just standing there, gripping a bitter fruit like a baseball as he waited to "snipe" someone while hiding out right in the open. Krory was screaming as he constantly dodged his fellow "enemies" threw fruit peels and insides at him. Reever and Johnny decided to assault poor Komui, complaining about how much paperwork they had to go through for the past months because of Komui's procrastination. The chief was dragged into this, complaining that he didn't get why they wanted to hold a food fight with oranges, of all things.
Unfortunately, not everyone was completely happy with this event.
"Come on, Miranda," Lenalee beckoned, tugging at Miranda's sleeve. "You were the one who planned it all, so you should join in the fun." She beamed, handing Miranda a semi-crushed orange.
"B-but . . ." Miranda stammered, "m-maybe I should have thought it through . . ." She sighed, picking at the goop in the inside of the half-orange. "These things hurt . . . Maybe I should have used tomatoes, like the Spanish people."
Lenalee rolled her eyes. "Come on," she breathed, although still keeping her smile, "don't back down now. There aren't any 'should have,' 'could have,' and 'would have' right now. It's the here and now. Besides everyone is satisfied with what we have now."
Miranda sputtered, "But—"
"Look, have fun, all right?" Lenalee interrupted. "They're just oranges. Nobody's going to get hurt. Plus, we don't have the equipment for a tomato food fight – we lack the gloves and goggles and, worse, the tomatoes." The Chinese girl bent down and picked up a fruit. She tossed it up a few times to test it out, waiting for someone to enter her range of fire. Finally, one oblivious, unfortunate soul entered the invisible circle. Smirking evilly, she did a wind up and catapulted the fruit into the air.
"Ow!" Allen shouted as he felt something hit the back of his head. He whipped around and proceeded to point at Lenalee with friendly anger.
"See?" Lenalee laughed. "No harm done."
"Yeah, I guess," Miranda agreed, a grin tugging on her features. She could see Allen making threats and waving his fist. She had a feeling Allen's little bluffs were more like jokes, judging by how Lenalee was giggling. Now in the same spirit as everyone else, the German woman used her broken orange and tried to hit her friend while two others soared through the air from the white-haired boy. After all, Lenalee was the "enemy."
"Lenalee!" a male voice cried while a man stopped the three "bullets." Komui flew in between Miranda and Lenalee and took all three shots. Allen's shots clipped the man's leg and arm. Miranda's, on the other hand, hit right in the middle of Komui's chest, making a giant glop of crushed orange on his white lab coat.
Dramatically, the scientist fell onto the ground, his glasses going awry. "Lenalee, go on without me!" he shouted, being the excitable man he was.
"Oh, my," Miranda said, blinking with amusement.
Lenalee couldn't help but giggle more. It was nice to have fun like this sometimes. "Oh, Brother," she sighed, bending over to look at her brother better and taking the giant pile of orange off his coat, "how I love you so." Juice started to drip between the girl's fingers, making them sticky, as her grip on the slime tightened.
"I love you too, my dear Lenalee!" Komui wailed in response.
In response, Lenalee announced, "Arvedse a giobia a 'n bot (5)."
And she dumped the glop right onto Komui's face.
It was night, and the stars shone in the night while the moon peeked around clouds. The Black Order stood how it did before, looming. But after the food fight of Fat Tuesday, orange almost glimmered like the stars from the ground and off walls and trees. Despite its new brilliant coat of bright color, the tower looked like a giant mess. A big orange mess, shining off the dark colors of before.
"Uh . . ." all 10 generals squeaked, blinking in horror.
How in the world were they going to clean this mess? It was as if a whole war had gone through the top of the plateau, and that wasn't too far from the truth. Instead of a morbid image, replace the blood with juice, bodies and corpses with peels and pulps, and broken artillery with broken fruit.
"We never think that far ahead, do we?" Reever observed, leaning against a shovel.
"No . . ." Johnny agreed. He was almost afraid that the chief scientist had done something to the fruit so it would glop together into some sort of monster from a ghost story.
"W-would that be my fault?" Miranda sputtered out, twiddling her fingers in shame. "I mean . . ."
"No," Allen said, "it was more fun than trouble. You never know . . ." He grinned evilly, almost starting to laugh as he added, "you can get some revenge . . ."
"Why do you look at me when you say that?" Lavi asked, although he was smiling as if he knew. Which he probably did.
"But then, we might just make an even bigger mess," Lenalee pointed out. "So, instead of standing around and staring at the mess," she continued, picking up her shovel so the black head was in the air, "I think we should start working."
Everyone picked up their shovels, groaning in complaints, but Komui, on the other hand, simply adjusted his pulp-stuffed glasses. "Well," he sighed, "Arvedse a giobia a 'n bot (5)!" With that he turned and started dashing off back into the Black Order.
"Damn you, get back here!" Kanda roared, waving his shovel as if waving a torch of hate at the scientist. And he, too, began to sprint back to the Black Order, if it hadn't been for Allen who grabbed the samurai's collar and wrenched him back.
"You're not going anywhere, Ba-Kanda!" Allen barked, letting go of the man's collar so the Japanese exorcist ended up flopping onto his back in a giant pile of pulp. "We'll get him back later."
Kanda glared up in response, his scowl deepening. He opened his mouth, preparing to let a nice flow of curses and swears stream out of his mouth.
"A-anyway," Miranda interceded, stiffening while her hands' grip on the shovel handle tightened, "even though it all looks disgusting, don't you think it makes the tower look . . . happier?" After a short pause, she quickly added, "You know, like a warmer, brighter color? All you saw was gray, black, white, blue, and some purple. Don't you think orange makes it look better?"
"I agree," Krory remarked, nodding. "Maybe we can plant something outside sometime," he suggested, bending over and picking up one of the more intact fruit. It was dented, one side squished beyond repair. But it was definitely one of the more "whole" ones in this field of massacred graveyard of citrus.
Immediately, Miranda's eyes lit up with excitement. Maybe she could be of more use than she was at this little "planned" event — the mess was definitely more than its worth, in her opinion. Maybe, just maybe, she could build up her self-esteem so she wouldn't always be leaning on her friends on some confidence boosts. Most of all, people could feel more cheery when they looked at this scary home of theirs. And she could be good at gardening. Nobody knew things until they tried, right?
"I can," Miranda immediately volunteered. When people glanced at her with confused stares, she quickly added with her hand outstretched a bit, "I can try planting something." She paused for a second, her fingers curling.
"Sure, of course," Allen answered, already starting to work on the stringy, juicy slime on the ground. As Krory tossed her the fruit, the British boy added, "It's going to be hard in this area, so I bid you good luck. I hope you will be successful."
"Thank you!"
Miranda worked hard trying to grow an orange tree. She had picked the seed out and decided to eat the orange due to the fact she didn't like wasting the fruit without using it for something (she sputtered out the orange in the end). Then she planted the seed a nice distance away from the tower and watered it. She knew that it was cold up on the plateau, but it couldn't be too bad, right? Especially since summer was closing in. So she pulled out the weeds and watered the seed every single day. That was it about planting, right?
Well, that was what Miranda had believed.
Days slowly accumulated into weeks, and weeks transformed into months. Spring came with wide arms, melting all the snow in a matter of days. Lent had long since breezed by. Even though the people were as happy as ever, not even a small green sprout peeked from the ground.
"What are you doing?" a male voice asked her one day.
Miranda whipped around, squeaking with surprise. She had no idea what the reason was, but she held her hands in the air as if she was surrendering. Who was it? Did someone else join the Black Order? Wait, but why hadn't she heard of him?
But, luckily, it was only Kanda.
"Well?" the exorcist asked, raising an eyebrow impatiently.
"Uh, planting an orange tree," Miranda replied, her hands slowly going down to her sides. "Why . . .?"
"Ugh, you're still at it?" Kanda growled, rolling his eyes. "I thought you would have given up already. Lent was done almost two weeks ago."
"S-so?" Miranda stuttered.
"Don't you get it? You can't plant citrus fruit in the north!" the samurai explained, already exasperated by Miranda's ignorance. "Not only that, we're up at a very high elevation — nothing can grow here except firs and pines."
"But I can try—"
"Chi, you can try," Kanda mocked, rolling his eyes. "How about doing something actually productive instead of wildly doing something as worthless as 'making the Order brighter' where you don't even have a chance."
"But I do have a chance!" Miranda argued. "If I work hard enough, it might just grow—"
"To get even a sliver of chance to at least grow a tree – and it bearing fruit is even less probable – you'll have to do some prior germinating from either a plastic bag, a paper towel, or a flower pot," Kanda informed, continuing to glare the poor German down. "Do you get what I'm saying?"
Poor Miranda was in shock after listening to Kanda spit information right at her. At a loss of words, she let her mouth hang open but tried to close it only to have her bottom jaw move up and down like a choking fish. Wait, was he saying that growing the orange tree was more than the simple "bury, water, nurture" thing? Since when were there germinating steps? She never heard of these!
But maybe Kanda was lying. He was notorious for his anti-social personality disorder, constantly putting his peers down. If he never treated anyone without being derogatory, why would it be any different with her?
"How do you know all this?" Miranda asked, clenching and unclenching her hands. She figured that the only way one would know would be advice from another or prior experience. Both possibilities were highly improbable. Kanda definitely wasn't the type to ask for advice, even if his life depended on it. Besides, she just couldn't imagine him gardening! Going down on his knees was like a fish climbing a tree! He would have to set down his precious Mugen onto the dirt, and his long hair would probably touch the grime. He rarely had the patience for people, much less plants; and cutting just seemed more his style rather than nurturing. He was just too proud to do such a humble, menial task like gardening—
"I like gardening (6)," he replied.
Miranda finally just let her mouth hang open. Well, that certainly caught her off guard.
"What?" the exorcist snapped.
"I . . . I just couldn't imagine you . . . well, gardening," the nervous woman explained, looking down at her twiddling finger. "You uh . . . Just don't . . . Seem like the type."
"Chi," Kanda scoffed, looking away. Without another word, he turned and marched off.
Miranda sighed, sagging. It seemed like everyone had some surprises in them, but that was why everyone was so fun to be around. However, something was bugging: was it really impossible?
She stood up and clapped the dirt off her borrowed gloves. Maybe she could ask somebody. Krory was always in the Order's indoor garden, so he must know something. And Lavi was always burying his nose in his studies and books, so he probably stumbled on some information along the way.
But, deep inside, something else was slowly eating away her determination: was her purpose for fighting against the improbable really . . . worthless?
Krory was in the indoor garden underneath the tower. Komui had just told him that Krory was going to be sent on a mission with Kanda and Allen in a while. So the vampire exorcist wanted to make sure his beloved plants were at top condition and in good hands before he left.
Suddenly, the entrance door creaked open. "Hello . . .? Is Krory in here?" a female voice called nervously, walking inside.
"Yeah, I'm here," Krory called back, setting down his tin watering can near his man-eating flower. "Do you need anything?" He started walking towards the entrance, leaving the flower for it to eat the metal container. Pushing some leaves out his way, Krory arrived near the entrance.
Miranda was in the doorway, twiddling her fingers as she glanced around at the large flowers. They looked awfully frightening.
"Hello, Miranda," Krory greeted with a smile. "Do you need anything?"
"O-oh!" the female exorcist squeaked, her eyes darting to look at Krory. "Hi!" she said, holding a hand up in a small wave. "I'm here to ask a small question." Then she started twiddling her thumbs again while jumping from one foot to the next.
"Sure. I'll be happy to help," Krory replied, smiling. Miranda smiled back and relaxed, and he suspected that she was worried about the horrifying flowers. "If the gloves ripped, I'll gladly lend you a new pair-"
"Oh no, it's nothing like that!" Miranda interrupted, waving her hands in front of her. "They're perfectly fine! I just want to ask you about something about gardening oranges . . ." she explained, letting her arms droop at her sides.
"Oh, all right. What will it be then?"
"What are the germinating steps?" Miranda asked.
"Oh, that? Well, there are two ways for that step," Krory stated. "People usually do it before letting the plant grow outside. So the plant's seed is assured to sprout. They either place it in a wet paper towel and a bag or they plant it in a pot to help it grow without the harsh environments."
Miranda paused. No wonder Kanda had said it would have been her best interest to have done that step before she attempted planting the seed outdoors. "Is it . . . necessary?" she asked.
"Well, no, not really," Krory reassured. "It just helps the seed to grow quicker. And it's easier to gauge your progress."
Miranda beamed, finally relieved of the gnawing feeling that she had done the "gardening steps" wrong. It felt nice that she still had a chance with her attempt to make the Black Order brighter. "Thank you so much, Krory," she said gratefully.
"No problem." He nodded. "Now, have a good day; I wish you good luck on your orange tree." He turned, waved, and went back to his flowers to find that his watering can was eaten.
Now, the next thing Miranda had to make sure: was it really impossible? Was her small goal really that pathetic?
"So the Boxer Rebellion had still continued after I had left . . ." Lavi muttered, perusing a textbook and rubbing his chin. He was sitting at a desk with piles of books and a top hat resting on the surface. The library was a mess, as usual, with papers strewn about and dried pens hiding underneath the white sheets. "Was this war so important that we left our studies of China—?"
Suddenly, there was knocking on the door. Lavi perked up and snapped the book close. He slammed it onto the top hat and dived across the desk for a different book. Oh no, Panda will yell at me for not studying the books he wanted me to read . . .! Lavi panicked, fumbling for the heavy book on the other end of the table. The door creaked open and Lavi shouted, "I WASN'T PROCRASTINATING, PANDA—"
"Lavi, am I disturbing something?" Miranda asked shyly, peeking around the door.
The redhead sighed with relief, slumping over the piles of books. "Oh, it's only you, Miranda . . ." Lavi breathed. "I thought you were Panda . . ."
"Uh, do you need Bookman?" Miranda offered, pointing out the door and willing to trot down the hall to bring the little old man over.
"No!" Lavi replied, straightening immediately. When Miranda subconsciously stepped back, he clarified, "I mean, no, you don't need to. He's going to yell at me for fooling around." The redhead laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head.
Miranda's mouth made a silent "oh" while she nodded.
Lavi sat back in his seat and turned around, leaning on an arm propped onto the desk to the side. "So, do you need anything?"
"Well, I just need to ask you a question . . ."
"Then ask away!" declared the Bookman apprentice, hand flicking from under his cheek and retreating back.
"Uh . . ." Miranda paused, looking down at her twiddling thumbs. She glanced up at Lavi, who raised an eyebrow with anticipation, before saying, "Do you think it's impossible to plant a citrus tree here?"
"Well, it is possible, but highly improbable," he answered, swinging his legs back under the table and leaning back into his chair. "There are a bunch of elements against it, but first off, we're pretty far north, so the days are colder than down south. Also citrus trees are highly sensitive to frost, and even if it does survive the colder spring and fall, it will get killed in the winters, when snow, blizzards, and ice are a common sight." Then he held two fingers up. "Two, we're at a very high altitude, where it's even colder with less air for the tree. It's at these altitudes where only plants like pines are able to grow." He set this hand down. "Does that answer your question?"
It's the same thing that Kanda said . . . Miranda observed sadly. "Yep," she answered, smiling. "Thanks so much!" She waved and slipped out the door.
"You're welcome." Lavi waved back, but the uncertain smile soon turned into a frown as his raised hand went limp. Wait, this doesn't have anything to do with the orange tree she's trying to plant, does it? he thought. He sat up straight and shrugged. Well, eight weeks (7) had passed a long time ago . . .
Miranda dashed through the halls. She had always known it would be hard to grow oranges in the area the Black Order was, but she was really wasting her time and effort on something that was almost impossible!
It wasn't like how people would be struggling to survive or protect. It wasn't like the dreams of little idealists who always expect the best. It wasn't like the admirable feats of the revered Allen Walker, when the boy exorcist won even against all odds. Her struggles had no point. Her goal had no worth. And she herself had no use.
Not only was she a waste of space, but also a waste of time.
Miranda stumbled over her area where the seed she planted just wouldn't grow. Her black eyeliner was smeared into two long lines down her cheeks. Sniffling, she collapsed onto her knees as she stared at the ground. Dirt. Nothing but dirt and a seed that would never sprout.
A bare hand dug through it.
"Miranda, you're so stupid . . ." she muttered spitefully, her hands going through the rough ground. "Not can't you do anything right, but you also waste so much time doing it!" The earth was packed over the ten weeks, and it was like digging through eroding rock. Miranda's fingertips bled and pebbles found their way under her fingernails.
"Miranda?" a voice called. But the German exorcist ignored the sound. "Miranda, what are you doing?" he shouted. Then boots scratched across the rocky ground as someone ran forward. "Miranda!"
When she finally felt her hand touch the seed, a hand wrenched her hand out, holding onto the crook of her elbow. Miranda glared up at the intruder. He was Allen Walker, who looked down upon her with worry.
"What are you doing?" Allen scolded, shaking Miranda's arm slightly in fury. "You're fingers are bleeding!"
"I'm pathetic and useless, aren't I?" she spat. "Admit it! I'm a waste of space! A waste of time! Stop lying!"
"No, Miranda, you are worth a lot more than you think you are!" Allen argued. "Now, tell me why you're doing this."
"What's the use!" Miranda responded, frustrated as she pulled her arm from Allen's hand. "I can't plant things correctly! I don't even have a meaningful purpose for all this trash effort! It will never grow! And even if it did, it's not going to have any use except sit there and look pretty!"
"Fine," Allen said. "Tear it up, but you'll rebuild it again, anyways."
Miranda shot up, tears still streaming down in blots. Without a word, she dashed off back to the Black Order.
Allen sighed, shaking his head. He was going on a mission to Spain, and this was the note he was leaving with. He could think up ideas on the mission, or Miranda just needed a time to calm down. There had to be something for a situation like this.
He bent down and searched through the dirt. When he found a misshapen white speck, he took it and inspected it. Afterwards, it was slipped into his pocket. He would find some use for it.
Then he looked up to see Kanda at the entrance into the HQ tower. Oh! I must be late, Allen thought, running up to the impatient samurai.
"Stupid Ba-Kanda," the white haired boy greeted.
"Stupid Moyashi. You have to bring a souvenir to friends and family every time you travel. It's dishonorable if you don't!"
Krory, Kanda and Allen had been dispatched for about three days before they came back. Komui had suspected that the Noah was going to get to it since the Innocence was attracting so much attention from the Akuma, but he had been wrong. The mission went abnormally smoothly, and only to realize that the Innocence was fake.
And Allen made sure he brought souvenirs from Spain, with a peculiar orange stain in his white hair. However, for some odd reason, they were all fruit, again as he said, "courtesy to the random fruit that came flying from a certain Japanese man." Allen gave Lenalee an apple, Lavi a tomato, Bookman pear, Finders grapes, scientists peaches, and Komui a plum.
But there was a special fruit he wanted to give to a certain exorcist.
"Miranda!" Allen called, trotting up behind the German exorcist. "I have something for you!"
Miranda spun around and greeted Allen with a nervous smile. "Yes? What is it?"
"Hold out your hand," he ordered. "Both hands," he added quickly.
Miranda did so, cupping them. She was confused on what it was he was doing. From all the talk around the Order, she suspected it was some sort of food he found in Spain.
Allen placed an orange in her hands.
She frowned, staring at it. This again . . .
"I know you probably don't like this gift much," Allen began, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "But nothing is a worthless act." His hand was in Miranda's other hand, and he smiled. "And this time, only be one hundred percent that it won't grow before you undermine it." He pulled his hand away and revealed a little white seed.
Miranda stared. She lifted the seed up to her eyes and examined it. Eventually, her bottom lip began to tremble and happy tears dripped from her chin.
"A life in your hands isn't something you can throw away."
A small sprout had peeked from the tip.
Notes: (If I got any information wrong, please tell me!)
(1) Ash Wednesday: For all those who don't know, it's the day that starts Lent. It's a very, very big day for Christians.
(2) Mardi Gras: French for Fat Tuesday. As said before, it's when people would eat everything and anything before Lent.
(3) Battle of the Oranges: It's the largest food fight in Italy, using the oranges. Although its origins are unclear, people claim it's to commemorate the city's defiance towards a tyrant. The celebration is the thousands of people dividing up into 9 teams and chucking oranges at each other. It starts on Sunday, and ends on the night of Mardi Gras with a solemn funeral march. Afterwards, the "General" of the "armies" say "Arvedse a giobia a 'n bot," which means "We'll see each other on Thursday at one," meaning the next time they'll have this festival.
(4) La Tomatina: A different festival, which is held in Valencia, Spain. It's a little like Battle of the Oranges, except it isn't commemorating anything, really. People just throw tomatoes at each other, along with a few other quairks, like climbing up a greasy pole or holding a "funeral" for tomatoes.
(5) Arvedse a giobia a 'n bot: As said before, it means "We'll see each other on Thursday at one."
(6) "I like gardening": Yes, it is canon! I was shocked off my feet at the news too. It said so somewhere in one of his profiles, in the hobby section. I guess . . . I was thinking it a lot like Miranda . . .
(7) Eight weeks: I don't know the accuracy of this, but people claim it takes 6-8 weeks for oranges to sprout.
Well, happy birthday, Mr. Meenor! I hope you enjoyed it.