A Very Normal Flower Girl Named Aerith

Maybe Vash was already planning to head into the saloon, maybe not. But here's what seals it: beside the doorframe, off to the side, easy to miss is a tiny little shoot of green, and on that shoot of green is a tiny little spot of yellow. It's so, so small, but unmistakable none-the-less. Through the cracks, out of the direct sun, is a yellow flower.

Inside the establishment, some commotion is ongoing- not a fight, no raised voices, barely worth noting really. The rest of the patrons seem to not.

A woman, a server in her 30s, probably, is speaking to a younger woman seated at a table. The waitress looks normal enough: dressed practically, hair pinned up. There's something strange about the younger woman, though. It's not clear at a glance exactly what that strangeness is. Maybe something about the cut of her dress? The fabric used to make her hair bow looks uncommonly fine, but the rest of her look isn't so outlandish. Maybe it's the brightness of her eyes: how they seem to almost emit their own light, even in the daylight. Maybe it's the glass bobble tied to the bow, how it seems to hum and simmer with . . . what? What is that? And is that unnerving scent of ozone coming from her?

Maybe it's the strange expression on her face, wonder and confusion and consternation in equal measure. Like she's trying to make out good news, but good news served over a signal too weak to be completely understood.

"Look, sweetheart," the waitresses is saying, "you seem sweet, but if you don't have money, you have to leave."

The woman tips her head, concentrating like she's trying to understand an unclear message- like she's trying to hear something very far away.

"Do you... have any family around here? Any friends?"

Another moment of incomprehension passes, before the girl seems to finally understand. She smiles, placatingly.

"Ah- no. No, no family here, I don't think. Or maybe you are? But you're probably not," the waitress doesn't seem to love this reply, but also doesn't stop the girl from standing and making her way to the exit. "Well, it's alright, it's alright. They're doing their best," she mumbles almost to herself as she approaches the door.

The waitress looks, well, like it's not the first time she's had to kick someone harmless but broke back out into the sun, and she looks like she hates it every time.

Left behind where the young woman was seated is a single yellow petal.