Aeris Gainsborough was the flower girl from Sector Five. Despite the miraculous quality of her flowers, how fresh and how good they smelt, she was little known outside of the Sector. The rich on the upper plate in Sector Eight knew of her from the times she sold her flowers there. But she was easily lost in the slums; no angel of slums like some girl over in Sector Seven. A mild curiosity about who had earned such a name. Not important; becoming easily lost in the crowd was all to her advantage after all. She grinned as she uprooted another few flowers.
Few would guess at how little effort she put into growing the flowers. Most would have the impression of her as a tireless worker, someone who toiled day and night to keep her flowers growing. That in itself was impossible for most; the impression from those aware of her was that she struggled to perform such a minor miracle – that a lapse in judgement would bring her entire enterprise and her garden into ruin. They were at least partially right; losing the flowers would bring her enterprise into ruin, but they were not her focus.
How much effort did the flower girl have to put in to grow all these vibrant flowers? How much effort to make them blossom and produce such amazing floral scents? How special was she? Special enough that growing flowers took practically no effort at all. The Planet took care of the growth for her – a lesson soon learned after early experiments in Mom's garden. Break up the soil, plant the seeds, murmur the phrase her mother taught her years ago, give them some water and wait. A few days later, the latest seeds would sprout and provide another cluster of flowers.
Enough flowers for now. Aeris swiped her hands on a rag, paused to survey the garden again. Some more soil on that edge would work – and if she took those flowers to the Upper plate, she could probably charge double for them. Some extra money at least. She wandered through the door and into the back of the church – and the true heart of the operation. The second set of flower beds lay hidden down on the level below the main floor of the church. Getting down required a certain amount of clambering and leaping to avoid the broken sections of the staircase. So far this seemed to have proved a sufficient deterrent against anyone locating the more secretive garden.
Aeris disguised the padlocked door as best she could manage; despite the stillness in the main church, old habits forced her to look around before unlocking the door. The thick smell of her crop rolled out as she opened the doors. The weeds grew in long rows, the plants towering up almost as high as the heat lamps. While the garden above could rely on the sunlight that found its way beneath the plate, these required artificial stimulation. Almost absurd to put any effort into growing these plants; their slang name was incredibly apt. They were weeds and would grow if left to their own devices. With her influence, the plants would be taller than her within two days.
All she had to do was prepare and dry the leaves and distribute the results into various sized bags. Her garden served as a good cover for how long that stage took – more effort than growing any of the plants involved. The flowers gave her a reason to talk to strangers in the street and for strangers to seek her out. Easy to hide other things beneath the colourful flowers – and beneath a fake bottom on the wicker basket she carried over one arm. The strong floral scent helped mask another, more suspicious smell.
Aeris Gainsborough was the flower girl from Sector Five if you saw her. If you knew her – or knew a friend of a friend who knew her – you would know that asking to buy a certain variety of flower would not necessarily get you the right species. But clasped against the stem would be a plastic bag with her other product. Aeris had never tried the stuff herself; something about not making use of your own product – a motto she adhered to. But the people of Midgar wanted it – some insisted it was all that could get them through the day – and that her specific blend was the best anyone had ever tried. She charged more for those on the Upper Plate – to her initial surprise, she sold more of the weeds to them than anyone in the slums. Money for little effort; who was she to refuse them?