Marshall Lee Abadeer liked the florist next door. She was sweet, and pretty, and owned a fucking flower shoppe. Every time she opened her shoppe she would change the arrangements in the window to show all the pretty flowers she had. And they were gorgeous. Her shoppe had the usual roses and lilies and daisies and all those pretty ones, but she also had exotic flowers he'd ever seen before. Large multicolored ones with dots and big leaves, and small ones that looked like a bud hanging off a vine. He swore he saw one glow one time. A few days he was tempted to go in and tell her some cheesy pick up line like "hey baby, you have any short blond flowers with blue eyes for sale," or "are you a flower? Cuz, baby, I'd pick you,". But he never did. Why? Because she pretty much hated him.
Marshall owned a small tattoo parlor/piercing studio right next to her, and sometimes his kinda customers scare away her customers. Can you really blame them? What if you saw a tall, big, burly man with a burlier mustache giving you the stink eyes as he walked in to the tattoo parlor next door? You'd fucking run, that's what you'd do. Actually, Trunks is a sweetheart and has really sensitive skin, so he sometimes cries when he gets his ink done. He just has an eye problem. But that wasn't the only reason she hated. The one time they did talk he must've accidentally offended her, but he wasn't sure how. He faintly recalls saying something about tattooing being more exciting than silly flowers. After that is when she started ordering her exotic flowers. Marshall loved them, and she got twice as much business.
He had to talk to her. He'd go insane if he didn't. Every morning she would arrive before he did, already sorting the different flowers in the front as he walked past to his parlor. A few times he stopped to look at the arrangements and smile at the pretty colors, and then notice her glance up at him. Whenever they accidentally made eye contact she instantly looked back at her flowers. Maybe it was the glare in the window, but he thought he saw her blush slightly. He smiled and continued to his tattoo parlor to find Trunks already there waiting for him.
"Morning, Trunks. What's up?" Marshall greeted as he pulled out his keys.
"Morning, Marshall. I'm so sorry to bother you, but I think it's infected," he said pointing to the fresh tattoo he had received the other day. Marshall looked confused. Infected? He always cleaned his needles and tools, there is no way any of his customers had gotten an infection.
"Let me see," Marshall knelt down as Trunks pulled up his basketball shorts to showcase his inner thigh. He carefully peeled back the bandage slightly and looked at the red skin and pretty design. Trunks always got red when Marshall worked on him, he's got pale and sensitive skin. But this wasn't infected. He stuck the bandage back in place and stood up.
"Don't worry, Trunks, it's not infected," he assured him.
"But why does it hurt oh so much?" He asked, his southern accent starting to peek in his voice.
"The inner thigh is a very sensitive area on the human body, it'll take a little bit longer than usual for it to become completely pain free," he explained.
"Okay, thank you so much, Marshall," he grinned and shook his hand.
"No problem, Trunks. Come again whenever you please," he smiled and turned to open his parlor.
The day went on as usual. A few customers in the morning and scheduled ones from weeks or even months ago. Sometimes a tourist would come in with a bouquet of flowers and an ice cream cone from the previous shoppes and parlors down the strip. He'd only offer his smaller ones to those customers somewhere unseen so they wouldn't regret it later. Tourists only came a few times through out the month, but when they did come they were a bit annoying. They were so giddy and excited, and for some reason they thought Marshall wanted to hear all about their day in town despite the fact that he's lived uptown for his entire life. That's another reason he only offered his smaller ones. The quicker the better. Today he had a tourist and her sister, and they both asked for some kind of heart on their wrists. He did, and they paid and then left. They kept chatting about the blond in the flower shoppe, and how cute and old fashioned her store was. For once, Marshall actually listened to what they were saying.
At the end of the day, he sat back in his tattooing chair and sighed. The sun was setting and the flouriest was supposedly closing her shoppe about now. He knew because when she locked her door her keys would jingle and sometimes she'd drop them. He smiled every time she did. The jingling came just as expected along with the drop and her grumbling about her silly butterfingers when he heard a squeal. His eyes snapped open and he stood up. His front wall was made completely of windows so people could see his parlor better, but before he could peek out his door he heard giggles and relaxed.
"Fionna!" Cake squealed, tackling her short friend and giggling as she stumbled back and tried to regain her balance.
"Cake, what the fuck?" She hissed.
"Girl, I haven't seen you in weeks! What have you been doing?"
"I've been busy with the shoppe, I've been getting a lot of customers lately," she told her trying to pry off the tall, olive skinned woman.
"Really? You've barely even texted me! We need to hang out, and do something," Cake decided and hugging her tighter.
"Cake...please let go," Fionna begged. Cake rolled her eyes and released the blond, dusting off her shoulder and patting her golden locks.
"C'mon, it's not even ten. Let's go out tonight," she begged. Fionna shook her head.
"No, I have to work tomorrow," she informed her.
"No you don't," Cake replied. "Saturday's you get off, it says so on your window," she pointed to the cute little sign reading "open from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. everyday except Saturdays" with a smiley face at the end.
"Is it really Friday? I didn't even notice," Fionna muttered scratching her head in confusion.
"No way! You never said your shoppe was next to a tattoo parlor!" Cake exclaimed noticing the sign in front of the parlor.
"What?" She turned to see the parlor that Cake was gawking at. "Oh yeah, he moved in a few months ago. He's kinda annoying."
"He?" She questioned. Fionna nodded. "Is he hot?" Fionna blushed at Cakes blunt question.
"I-I dunno, I've only talked to him once, and he said tattooing would be more fun than standing in a pollen cloud," she grumbled at the memory. He had not respect for flowers, they were so much more than allergy machines. Just because he has them doesn't mean he can totally bash on flowers.
"What's his name?" She asked.
Fionna shrugged and said, "I dunno, I forgot." Cake rolled her eyes.
"C'mon, I need a butterfly on my neck," she said grabbing her pale wrist.
"W-what! Are you crazy! You're not just spontaneously getting a tattoo just to talk to him!" Fionna protested and tried to twist her wrist from Cake's grip. All attempts where futile, of course. Cake could probably lift a fucking truck if she put her mind to it.
"Spontaneous? I've been wanting a cliché butterfly tattoo since I was 12," Cake reminded her and dragged her to the parlor door.
"Cake, that's- ugh! No-"
Fionna shut up as soon as she was tugged in to the dense building. The walls were littered with tattoo designs and pictures of old customers (she assumed). He also had band posters and the little amount of wall that was exposed was made of brick. Dozens of binders were on table tops and there was a black chair in the right corner of the room with a light hanging above it. There was a table next to it as well along with a smaller one with his tools, and a counter on the other side of the room with a CASH register. It had a more modern feel to it than Fionna's small turquoise and white shoppe next door. The music sounded grungy and had a classic rock n' roll feel to it. It wasn't too loud, and it wasn't exactly what Fionna was expecting. She was expecting more of the "emo" and "punk" genera's, but this was a pleasant surprise.
"Sorry, store's closed," Marshall said from behind the counter. He was sorting out today's paper work and didn't even bother looking up at the two ladies. His black hair fell over his eyes and his tall lanky body was dressed in a grey flannel and black skinnies. Fionna felt nervous. He was actually quite attractive. Cake was speechless as well. She gaped at the beautiful stranger and tried to find something to say.
"Uh, Fionna wants a tattoo on her ass," she blurted. Marshall looked up and furrowed his brows, looking between the two of them.
"W-what! No I don't, you're the one who wants a tattoo!" Fionna blushed deeply. No way she would let him stick a needle in her ass. Marshall instantly recognized the flustard blond and quirked the corner of his lips.
"An ass tattoo? That's a painful place to get a tattoo," he said.
"Any place is a painful place to get a tattoo," she snarked and crossed her arms.
"Fionna, don't be rude," Cake whispered to her. Marshall chuckled.
"You're right, but some places are more bearable than others," he stacked up his papers neatly and set his pen down. "So, why are you really here?" He asked.
"I'm wondering that myself," Fionna grumbled to herself.
"Oh, I wanted to get a tattoo," Cake announced with a smile.
"On your ass or no?" He joked walking around the counter and over to his tools. She giggled.
"No, my neck."
"Small, or big?" He spoke while sorting out the colors and his tools.
"Uh, small," she answered.
"Well, since your order isn't too tall I can stay open a bit longer," he smiled and looked up from his hands. "What kinda design were you thinking?"
"Just a little butterfly." Marshall set down one of his tools he was cleaning and picked up one of the various binders.
"Okay then, let's get started."