Author's Note: I know, I know; it's short. My excuse- I've been under a case of mild depression for a few days, and I have two half-written oneshots with no real conclusions in sight. I figured I needed to post something or slam my head repeatedly against the nearest wall.

If anyone's interested in the Valentine thing, check out my oneshot 'Of Pink and Poetry.' I promise it's a *lot* longer than this.

Eve, thanks for the prompts. :)


Lavender

"So, where's your boyfriend?"

Rachel, who'd been in the middle of her fifth prospective sketch in surrealism, looked up with a wince. She'd known Jeanne had been itching to say something from the moment she'd walked in through the door. It had been two hours since then, and her fidgeting had only increased.

"He's around," Rachel said as nonchalantly as she could manage. It was technically true, even.

"Around?"

"He's sort of caught up in something involving his stepmom," Rachel nudged the flowerpot, just to make sure it was there, "He'll be back eventually."

"Okay, then," Jeanne said, adjusting her sketchbook and gesturing towards the coffee table, "It's just, you know. There was that whole Valentine thing, and there're those roses and I thought I could actually meet him for once."

"You're not missing out on much," Rachel assured her, "And the roses are from one of my Dad's business partners. Nico's not very good with flowers."

"Really?"

"He hates 'em," Rachel nudged the flowerpot again, "They tend to wilt within two feet of him."

"I see. Um… the lavender seems to have survived."

"Yeah," Rachel regarded the flowerpot critically. Were there less petals now than there had been two hours ago? Did that make it worse or better than the dandelion crisis? Crisises? Crisisi? Hang Latin plurals, anyway.

"Jeez, Rachel. Can you stop being so cryptic?"

"The Oracle thing tends to rub off on you."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Do you like the lavender? It's cute, isn't it?"

"What does the lavender have to do with anything?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you.


Pain

"Isn't there some sort of cure for this?" Nico asked. He'd wanted to demand, but asking was pretty much all he could go for now.

"Burnt toast, I think," Rachel whispered back, "And stop shouting. My head hurts."

Nico grunted. To roll his eyes and reply that his head hurt as much as hers did and it was all her fault in the first place anyway…

Frankly, he got tired even thinking of not thinking it. Ow.

"Do we have burnt toast?" He asked.

"Who knows?" Rachel said, her head slumping back onto the Monopoly table, "I can't believe we got wasted over Monopoly."

"I keep telling you- you take it entirely too seriously."

Rachel grunted, "I vote scrabble."

"I'm dyslexic… even thinking the word gives me a headache," Nico mumbled, "Ow."

"We wouldn't have got wasted if you hadn't argued over the whole Mayfair-vs.-ParkStreet thing."

"Park Street?"

"Park something. Who even care- ow," Rachel winced as something drove a spike through her head, "Seriously, ow."

"I can't even argue," Nico observed with disbelief.

"That settles it," Rachel muttered, "We ban Monopoly."

"Ow. Seconded."