Timber.
"Wait here," he told her as they reached Timber's only pub.
"Um... Why?"
"Why what? You're underage, you can't step inside. Wait here. I'll be quick."
"Here you go again, using a mission as an excuse for your shady trade."
"Whose profit pays for your comfy dorm room and lab flasks, kid. You're welcome."
He playfully patted her head and messed up her hair enough to make her wince, then vanished into the pub.
Two drunkards, one with a beard and the other with a face tattoo covering more than half of his face, were on their way out.
Zyma ignored them and walked to the bartender for business. But he quickly caught his mentee's gasp of shock from behind.
"Too small. Smaller than mine."
One of the drunkards said with a lustful voice, laughing non-stop at Acma even as he wobbly walked away from her.
Though Zyma couldn't see her face, he figured she would be petrified by the situation. Anger rose in him. He instinctively stepped towards the door, but was stopped by the bartender who returned with some items.
"That'll be 5000, Z."
By the time he'd finished the transaction with the trader, the drunkards had magically disappeared. Luck was on their side today.
She appeared uncomfortable. He felt a pang of guilt, as he had brought her here. To do her a favor, he pretended he had seen nothing.
He asked her to buy the train tickets back to Balamb as usual. She almost forgot to take the change from the cashier. He tried to crack some jokes, but instead of wincing in disgust or laughing like a maniac, she showed him nothing. Nothing. Her mind was not with his, and he was certain he wanted to remember that facial tattoo until his death. Seeing it twice would help him achieve that goal.
"Wait here. I forgot to buy something."
"What?"
"Flowers."
He grasped internally at his brilliant idea. Booze, cigarettes, mushrooms. Out of all the heavy stuff possible in a pub that a girl wouldn't give a damn, there he was, telling her that he wanted to risk catching a train to buy flowers.
"For my mom," he responded to her quizzical look.
"Oh. That's very nice of you. For what occasion?"
"Birthday."
When is it exactly? He had no clue.
"Do you know what kind of flowers she likes?"
That's indeed a good question. For a criminal.
"Roses," he blurted out the only kind of flowers he knew or should ever exist on Earth for the sake of mankind. Practical, one-size-fit-all for any occasions. It could a little weird for funerals, but hey, white roses might do the trick.
"Okay, I'll get them for you. Wait here."
He felt bewildered by her offer. While he was busy cooking up a reason to dispute the idea, she had already left with a good one.
"I'll get reimbursed from Xu, sensei."
Of course, he wouldn't believe such a rule-follower would waste Garden's resources for her mentor's mom's birthday's roses. He waited a bit before jumping on the roofs and chasing after her.
He rolled his eyes in disbelief as she headed back to the pub.
Not finding the ones she was looking for, she ventured into the gloomy alleys full of rats, cats, and broken glass. He could spot the drunkards from above, while it took her some time to locate them.
She stood there, staring at them, who weren't aware of her presence. Zyma played simulations in his mind. What's next?
After moments of Timber's sitcoms' level of suspension, she turned around and walked away. He scoffed. Of course. What did he expect?
Just as he tiptoed to get back to the train station before her, she made a sharp turn again and walked towards the drunkards without any sign of hesitation this time.
Her next words fell on deaf ears as the men paid no attention to her in their inebriated state. To make her presence known, she grabbed a wooden rod seemingly used for hanging clothes and poked their fat bellies, her mouth full of quotes from sexual harassment laws. There was one set of laws for women. Another for children. And two more versions for Timber and Balamb, respectively.
Zyma facepalmed. It was a good thing he didn't accompany her in this pathetic confrontation that would for sure ruin his reputation in this boring town.
The drunkards snapped at her. He worried they might grope her again, but quickly brushed it off. Based on his experience, lust wouldn't have a place in these poor bastards' mind longing for a yummy slumber after the booze.
Acma poked and talked. Then she poked and talked more. She demanded an apology, it seemed.
Not going to happen, Zyma smirked amusingly. This girl is a freaking weirdo.
The drunkards, annoyed, started to yell at her. Falling back in her typical nervous and defensive mode, she yelled back in a high-pitched voice, which drew attention from the whole town. Zyma sat down low, not wanting to be spotted by the crowd full of nosy housewives who always surprised him at their keen vision.
The villagers asked her what had happened. She hastily recounted the incident over and over again as new comers joined with fresh ears. Each time her version grew more descriptive with additional developments, making Zyma wonder if she could fill in the whole Timber Maniacs' issue for that month.
Under the townspeople's pressure, including the Timber Pub's bartender who threatened the drunkards that he wouldn't sell them alcohol if they didn't apologize to Acma, the bastards gave in.
Triumphant, she recited a few more doctrinal quotes and expressed her gratitude before parting the crowd. It was then that she visited the florist while Zyma made his way back to the train station.
"What took you so long?"
He feigned annoyance as she handed him the biggest bouquet he'd seen in his life - red roses sprinkled with white wild flowers.
"The florist lady was so thoughtful. She made sure to explain the meaning of all the flowers to me. Do you know that depending on the birth month and the initial letter of your name, there's a unique theme flower for that? Even for winter months, they've discovered a way to grow certain summer flowers. How amazing is that? All the girls and moms can decorate their homes and celebrate their special days with the flowers they love. Birthdays, weddings, graduation parties, you name it. All year long. Do you know that…"
She rambled on, unaware that he saw through her made-up story. He had to admit she had gotten better at lying, given her nonchalant tone and her ability to fill in any story with 'scientific facts'.
He smiled involuntarily. Taking out a piece of white cloth that he typically used to wrap his blade's handle, he covered the thorns of the biggest rose in the bouquet before giving it to her.
"Thank you. For the trouble."
She happily smiled at his gesture, a radiant yet humble smile that he swore no other woman, no matter how attractive, could match.
Gosh... He loves this weirdo.