Current events in the United States spawned this. Probably rushed, Idk, but, regardless, I'm not sorry.

Onward~

"Okay, but how many roses do you actually need?"

The woman called King quirked a brow as she thought about her friend Mary's question. She supposed she didn't need any roses — they were an extra expense, good for aesthetics and theatrics — but she couldn't help herself, as brandishing or giving out the flowers had kind of become a Thing.

Flex the pinpoint accuracy of her kicks?
Throw a rose and kick it out of the air like a badass.

Defeat an opponent in the ring?
Throw a rose at them.

Silly drunk at the bar?
Fuck it — throw a rose at them, too.

Of course, the Frenchwoman didn't have a never-ending supply of the things, so regular trips to the local floral boutique, which was recently renovated and under new ownership since her last visit, were a must.

"Not too many," she answered as she opened the door to the small shop. "Besides, you know I need to get at least a few rainbow-dyed ones. It's essential to my well-being."
"God, you're a dork," Mary said with a smile as she trailed behind King, who promptly walked to a display of lavish bouquets near the storefront's window. The bartender chuckled as she plucked a dozen deep red roses from a vase before quickly scanning the rest of the display for the rainbow ones she had become accustomed to buying around Pride, which were nowhere to be found. Disappointed that they had evidently sold out, she caught sight of some that were dyed varying shades of blue and adorned with glitter. She let out a delighted gasp as she took half a dozen from the display.

"Wow, those are really pretty," Mary commented.
"If you play your cards right I might give you one."
"Pfft. Might? We both know one of those babies is as good as mine."
"Only because I love you," King responded with a grin.
"Love you back. Done yet?"
"Yeah, I think this will do."

The pair approached the counter, where an unfamiliar man who must have been the shop's new owner stood, arranging a vase full of daisies. He looked up as King, who immediately felt something in the air shift, placed the flowers in her arms down.

"Hi —" she flashed a genial smile while pulling her wallet from her back pocket — "Just these today, please."

There was a strange moment of silence before the man looked King over and gave her what had to have been one of the most insincere smiles she had ever seen.

"Sorry," he started. "I can't sell you those. In fact, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."
"What?" King blurted, confused.
"Why?" Mary asked at the same time.

Wordlessly, the man pointed to a sign hanging behind the register that read, "No LGBT allowed."

"I don't — what?!" King sputtered, stunned as the man's eyes flicked toward the enamel bi-Pride heart pin she was wearing. Instantly, she thought of current events — specifically the court ruling that had just been handed down the day before that effectively legalized discrimination against the LGBTQ+ Community, and felt a little sick. Southtown — and California as a whole — was usually pretty liberal. This was… wholly unexpected.

"Your lifestyle goes against my beliefs, and I'm not comfortable selling my products to people of your persuasion," the owner explained, his tone of voice nothing short of caustic.
"That has literally nothing to do with flowers," King calmly responded.
"It doesn't matter. Your presence here isn't welcome."
"Okay, you know what," Mary said loudly while stepping in front of King, "I'm straight so I'll pay for these. Bb, go outside and —"
"It's fine," King interrupted.
"But I know how much you —"
"Seriously, it's fine. Don't give this bigot your money."

With that, the Frenchwoman abruptly pivoted and stomped out of the shop with Mary trailing behind her.

"Okay, that was bullshit," the detective started. "But are you okay?!"
"Je vais bien. Vraiment."
"Maaaaiiiisss..?"
"But nothing, Mare. I've spent years being treated as a second-class citizen; I'll get over it."
"Well, I know that but that guy still sucks and I want you to be alright."

King smiled, touched and appreciative of Mary's concern.

"I promise I'm alright," she assured her friend. "But I have to get to work; I'm already running late."
"Pfft, you're the boss, be as late as you want."
"I may be the boss but I have to be professional. I'll see you later."
"What do you mean 'see you later?' I'm meeting Terry over there, remember?"
"Oh. Oh, right. Hot date with Wolfy," King chuckled.
"Hot date indeed. Let's go, your highness!"

With that, Mary slung a burly arm around King, gave her a gentle shake, and escorted her away from the flower shop.

###

A short time later, King found herself with an odd abundance of free time despite it being a Saturday evening. As such, she busied herself with small tasks between customers (such as polishing glasses and restocking the wine cooler) while idly watching the flatscreen television that was playing a boxing card on ESPN. Every now and then she would look at a table not too far from the counter where Mary and Terry sat, drinking and laughing. It was adorable, but sadly, it made the bartender think about the earlier exchange with the homophobic florist and how horrible and unfair his stance was. Of course, it wasn't just his stance; the world was full of bigots — like her own aunt and uncle, even — but now, thanks to the ones who happened to be in charge, they had a right to be even more dreadful than they already were.

Frowning, King, who couldn't help feeling a slight tinge of envy toward her friends for being "normal," carefully placed a newly polished wine glass down and sighed just as Mary threw a hand up and waved at her.

"Yoo-hoo, barmaid! Come over!"

King playfully rolled her eyes and went to where the couple sat.

"Yes?"
"I see you looking all forlorn," Mary commented. "Is it because of what happened earlier?"
"It's fine, Mare."
"Sure, Jan."
"No, really, it is," King dictated. "Honestly I'm just more concerned about how I'm going to get roses in bulk now."
"That's fair," the detective said before sipping her cocktail.
"Ah, try not to sweat it, King," Terry spoke up as he untied and retied his long ponytail. "Guy's an ass. He'll get his eventually."
"I suppose, but it still —"
"Maybe sooner instead of later," Mary suddenly interrupted while grabbing King's arm. "Bb, look!"

King made a face as she turned to see what Mary wanted her to see. Her eyes widened; the florist from earlier stood just inside Illusion's entrance, looking around as if he had just found a new forever home.

"No way…!"
"You know what to do," Mary said with a grin.
"You're right," King said, her tone far off, as she watched the man seat himself at the bar. "My time has come…!"
"Wait, your time?" Terry asked. He looked from Mary to King and back again, his expression full of trepidation. "Time for what?"
"Shhh —" Mary leaned toward her lover and gently placed a finger on his lips — "just watch. Go get him, bb."
"With pleasure," King responded.

Almost giddy with excitement, the bartender quickly made her way back behind the counter, straightening her Pride pin as she walked. She knew what she was about to do was incredibly petty, but she couldn't help it; she had spent her whole life being underestimated because she was female and discriminated against because of her sexuality — which was something she didn't even flaunt in the first place. She had earned this, goddamnit!

"Excuse me? Bartender," the florist called while holding a few small bills up. "Over here!"

King casually strolled up to the shopkeep, who didn't seem to recognize her, and flashed him a broad smile.

"What's up?"
"One Old-Fashioned, please."

The smile never left King's face as she recalled the infuriating interaction she had had with this man hours earlier.

"I can't make that for you," she said sweetly, despite her anger. "In fact, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"Excuse me?!"
"Yeah," King dragged the word out as she grabbed a small sticky notepad and a Sharpie. Then, she quickly scribbled the words "No 'phobes allowed" before turning and sticking the note on the edge of the frame that displayed the establishment's alcohol permit. She casually placed the pad and marker off to the side, gestured to the sign, and then nodded at the patron, whose jaw had slackened.

"Your lifestyle goes against my beliefs and I don't feel comfortable serving you."
"My lifestyle?! What are you —?!"
"You're a homophobe. It makes me uncomfortable," King answered.
"That isn't a lifestyle choice!"
"Sure it is. You choose to perpetuate vitriol and hate toward people like me — people you don't even know — because, for some reason, you sincerely believe that our very existence somehow infringes on yours, but I have some news for you: who I'm attracted to has no bearing on your life whatsoever unless I decide to fuck your wife and take your kids. Now please leave my bar."

The florist stared at King in disbelief before rising from his seat. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, then opened it again, but no sound came out.

"You have fifteen seconds."
"This-this is discrimination!"
"Eye for an eye, asshole," King drawled. "Out."

With one last frown, the shopkeep muttered to himself as he left Illusion. King, meanwhile, walked back to Terry and Mary. The latter held her hand up for a high five, which the Frenchwoman quickly gave her.

"Nicely done, bestie! I love the part where you mentioned fucking his wife."
"Merci."
"Did that make you feel better?" Terry inquired.
"Much," King answered. Satisfied with the outcome, she made her way back behind the bar to pour herself a celebratory shot.

Fuck that guy and anyone who had a problem with who she was.

Okay.

That's all.

* "Je vrais bien. Vraiment." = I'm good/fine. Really. "Mais?" = But?

Fuck SCOTUS.

Cheers~!