An Introductory Note from the Author: After careful consideration and in response to reader comments, for the sake of clarity I have reverted all characters' names to their cannon versions/spellings regardless of whether that name was historically/geographically common at the time. (For those interested, the originally-conceived tweakings are on my Tumblr account.) The gents tend to refer to one another by surname. Hope this helps!

'Flowers' revealed so far: Iris - Ymir; Peony - Mikasa.

Chapter 4: Pearls
(Armin Arlert)

Thankfully, the Iris was no longer on the table; after returning with and distributing their individual drinks, she had sat herself on the back of the booth, draped her long legs over Hoover's shoulders and crossed her ankles over his stomach. The young man was motionless apart from the steady rise and fall of his brandy glass, sweat beading on his forehead as the girl's hand trailed idly through his hair. He looked as nervous as Arlert felt – his own legs were beginning to shake and ache from the strain of holding himself rigid and far back into the booth.

I still can't believe this, Arlert thought, taking another sip of the potent plum wine. He glanced down the table to Smith, who was exchanging low words yet again with Ackerman.

"So," Springer spoke up, swirling his Sidecar in his hand and adopting a confident smirk as he leaned back in his seat on the other side of Yeager. His green eyes sparkled as he looked across the table. "You're the Iris, huh?"

The Iris hummed an assent, leaning close to Hoover's ear and nuzzling against it. Hoover jumped and nearly dropped his brandy.

"And we've heard there's a Peony," Kirstein nodded to the glass of plum wine that the Asian girl had brought them, sitting next to his Black Russian. He turned to Smith on his left, "What's with this 'garden' business?"

"Is it so unusual to hear a woman's loveliness recalled as a flower?"

Arlert turned to the melodious new voice approaching their table, and was taken by surprise in quite a different fashion from that he'd experienced with the Iris. This time, the voice belonged to a delicate young woman in a full-length, corseted pale pink and ivory satin evening gown; her creamy skin was complimented by matching long gloves and a cameo and pearl collar nestled against her neck, and her sugary-blonde hair was coiled on the top of her head in the more traditional bouffant. Her blue eyes were lowered demurely but a sweet smile was on her face. While pleased, Arlert was confused – he was looking at a lady. What was she doing down here?

"May I?" she said to Braun, nodding at the seat beside him. He rather violently shunted over to make room for the comparatively tiny woman, who perched gracefully next to him. "Thank you."

"Let me guess, another flower?" Springer beamed and cast his voice in Smith's direction.

Smith merely smiled and took a sip of his claret.

"Astute of you," she smiled. "I'll let you have three guesses as to which I am, and if you don't manage it, we'll have to come up with a suitable forfeit."

"Rose?"

"Try again."

"Err…lilac?"

She smiled more strongly, the apples of her cheeks swelling and glowing. She shook her head and it made the loose tendrils of her hair dance.

"I daresay I'm not a flower person," Springer conceded.

"Anyone else care to hazard a guess?" she asked the group. "Though I'm sorry to say your friend has used up your other two chances."

"Gentlemen, this is the Lily," Smith said as he set down his glass.

"That's quite the spoilsport of you, Smith!" Braun said. He turned his attention to the low, lace-trimmed neckline of the Lily's gown, "I was quite looking forward to what was in mind for a forfeit."

"You don't look like a whore," Yeager observed.

Arlert grimaced. "Don't you think that a bit rude?" he exclaimed in a hiss.

"I appreciate your concern," the Lily reached a gloved hand over the table and touched his arm lightly, "But your friend isn't out of line, exactly. I am and I am not what I seem." She let her coyness sink in with her listeners, and then leaned back and against Braun, taking his arm in a familiar way. However, her gaze rose to the Iris as she continued, "No doubt you've noticed that there are many kinds of desire, and thus different means of satisfying it." She looked at Yeager, "I am merely one taste, one flower. You have all been invited here to indulge – or discover – your own. And naturally we're here to help in any way we can."

"My dear," Smith began, "I've heard tell of a new arrival. Might you tell us more?"

"Ever-focused, aren't we?" she giggled. "Oh, I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. But look – they're changing the band now. The show should start soon."

Arlert looked around and saw, in the far right-hand corner nearly obscured by the carousel, the suited figures of the jazz band were mulling about, gathering their instruments and packing up. Other instruments that he couldn't readily identify were being brought in to replace them.

"Lord Stohess! You're back!"

Arlert returned his gaze to his left, where a brunette that he could not see very well was running around the back of the booth on his side. She emerged beside him – a corseted showgirl in orange, black and scarlet, average height with a candid face. He could smell traces of opium on her. Her brown eyes were instantly on Smith.

"I'm so glad you came; it's been a while!" she said.

"As I am too," he smiled back at her.

"And you brought friends – how fun!" she looked around at the gentlemen and there was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes that made Arlert uncomfortable. He hoped she didn't try to sit on him. Or beside him, for that matter. Her breasts were nearly falling out of the black feather-trimmed corset as she leaned over.

"Good guests," the Lily began, "as I am the Lily so is this the Poppy."

The Poppy straightened at her nickname and struck a pose, relaxing one leg to cock a hip, her arms arching over her head. She gave a giggle and a grin and shimmied the long ruffled bustle behind her. Springer whistled at her and she responded by blowing a kiss in a playful way. Arlert caught the shimmer of a pearl bracelet on the black satin of her left glove. "I do so love parties!" she exclaimed, bouncing her bare shoulders.

"Get ready for a bit of rough and tumble with that one, boys," said the Lily. She plucked Braun's vodka from the table, angling herself so her back rested against the table and she faced him. She held it to his mouth and he sipped with a wolfish smile.

"Oh, I'm not that bad," the Poppy chided her. Arlert twitched as she planted a gold heel on the seat beside him and climbed up, picking her way over him and Yeager and then up onto the table. At their exclamations she laughed gaily and did a little spin. She moved next to the back of the booth, tottering on its narrow ridge of soft upholstery.

"You're going to fall!" Arlert couldn't help but blurt out.

"But there's so many of you here to catch me!" She hopped back to the table in front of Springer and laughed again. She crouched down in front of him and let him look all the way up her thigh to her waist. "It's you, is it?" she asked. Her hand groped behind her through her skirts and procured his Sidecar, the yellow of the orange juice in it seeming even brighter against the orange of her corset. She maneuvered herself to first sit on the edge of the table and then, without spilling his drink, slip off it into his lap. Springer laughed somewhat nervously but also appreciatively, and he took his glass. She leaned her elbows back on the table and hooded her eyes at him as he drank.

"Quite the variety of women you seem to have collected, Smith," Kirstein said. He shifted slightly away from Springer and fished his own drink out from under the hem of the Poppy's skirt.

"A poor hobby if you ask me." Arlert was surprised to hear Ackerman finally chiming in, albeit so bitterly. He knocked back his iceless whiskey and clapped the empty glass on the table, before speaking sideways to Smith, "No doubt you'll be wanting a private show for this newcomer, so if you'll excuse me – I've no taste for yet another garish display. Enjoy your last acquisition." To Arlert's surprise, he climbed up and over the back of the booth in order to get out, and was soon lost in the dim light.

"What's with him?" Yeager mumbled as he took a sip of his own whisky. The ice chinked in the glass.

"He prefers his tastes to be catered to in private," Smith said.

"He actually has a taste? And here?" Hoover managed to speak – although, Arlert suspected, if only to distract himself from the way the Iris was smoothing over and massaging his shoulders.

Mild laughter.

"So how exactly does one…have one's tastes catered to in private?" Springer asked, his free hand sliding testily over the Poppy's waist. "The rooms around the edge of the room?" he suggested.

"The suites," the Poppy chuckled low in her throat, pushing her face close to his.

"After the show, no doubt you'd like to take your pick of what The Carousel has to offer," the Lily chimed in. "The individual boudoirs are where we can get to know each other better."

"And before you get anxious, these lovely ones aren't exactly mine," Smith continued. He had a content smile on his face as his eyes flitted between the three women. "I do like to share, after all."

"Is this all of them?" Yeager asked, sounding somewhat worried. The girls laughed at him. "Well, them and the Peony or whomever, from earlier."

Smith smiled enigmatically. "Look for pearls. And yes, those four, plus one other, and perhaps," he lifted his gaze to the gilded carousel ever-rotating in front of them, "perhaps one more."

Arlert remembered the pearl on the hairpin in the Peony's hair; the two pearls above and in the Iris' navel; the pearl choker around the Lily's neck; the double-stranded pearl bracelet on the Poppy's wrist. And there was one more? Maybe two? Were the pearls a gift from him?

"'Perhaps one more'?" Kirstein repeated skeptically.

Smith raised his voice, "One more indulgence before I pack in my wicked ways, of course!"

The girls cooed and whined.

"And it's not going to be with one of these beauties?" Braun asked, taking hold of the Lily's tiny waist and lifting her onto his leg.

"We have the whole night to find out," Smith answered.

"May end up being with the new girl, right?" the Poppy suggested. Arlert couldn't quite tell if there was a sadness in her voice.

"If I ever see her!" Smith teased. "I'm beginning to think she doesn't exist, and all of you are telling me tall tales!"

"Oh ye of little faith," the Iris goaded, leaning her head to and fro as though stretching her neck. "I'm sure she'll be worth the wait."

Arlert picked up on the slight tinge of sarcasm and bitterness in the Iris' voice, and wondered why that could be. But before he could contemplate further, the lights that illuminated the carousel dimmed, drawing their attention. Although it did not stop its rotation, its tented top separated into sheets of fabric that were drawn out of sight, revealing a two-tier, smaller stage. Voices hushed, allowing the short, plucked notes from a mandolin to rise slowly into the air like sparks in the near-darkness.