The Flower Woman

The time had come. Fischer, the director, was writing something on his garnet oak desk as she walked in. He had asked for her to come alone. The room's dispersed lanterns included dimly lit sepia globes, carefully placed to kindle a sedating warm hue against the dark rustic structures surrounding them. 

A woman had just put down a book a few feet away from Fischer. In her hair, right out of a painting, was a glowing blue flower of which contributed nicely to the ever so disconcertingly romantic atmosphere. 

Quinlin approached the desk where Fischer hadn't stopped writing and introduced herself with an unswayed tone. The flower appeared to subtly jerk back from the corner of her eye, suggesting an unpleasant shift in energy. 

Quinlin kept focus on Fischer through his disconnected introduction. The woman went unintroduced. 

"I'd like to audition for the role of Frost." 

"How many acts have you performed for a crowd over 500?" Fischer sharply replied with a light tone. 

The woman chimed in, "Not any that I've heard of. That's quite a feat in itself." 

Quinlin looked over to see a disdained face of which repelled her eyes back to Fischer. "You can decide how much that matters after you see me audition."

"Little miss naive, look here."

Nostrils near flaring, Quinlin exhaled as her eyes were dragged back to the flower woman, now with a condescending head tilt.

"You would say we should be accountable for a girl with no background based on an audition? Just how many livelihoods would be in jeopardy if you were to crumble upon the thousands of eyes from all directions?"

Glaring at the woman as if transparent, Quinlin assured, "Not everyone needs experience to have necessary composure." 

The woman touched her chin to look intrigued. "So you're a fearless little cupcake, no way you'll get gobbled up, huh."

With that, Quinlin's feelings were solidified, she'd glare down the brat until Fischer intervened or until that smug facade cracked. 

The woman tilted her head to the other side, "If Frost were here, do you think she'd want a little girl to play her?" With no response, the woman turned her eyes and tilted head to the side as if listening intently. "Hmm?" 

The flower's pistil faced Quinlin with a hypnotizing aura and her eyes fell to a brief ensnarement.

 The woman, deceivingly calculating, glanced back to Quinlin just in time to catch her gaze, prompting a flustered blink back towards Fischer. 

She looked for words to salvage her flash crashed self-esteem. "Mr. Fischer." Teeth grinding in a moment's pause in attempt to restrain her burning eyes from veering, she continued. "I'd like for you to believe-" 

Eyes gave way to impulse and were met with a smirk, "Handled," It read.

"..That.. Freemon has your best interest by sending me here." Some words may have oozed aggravation but if noticeable, there was no way of knowing as Fischer hadn't so much as altered the flow of his pen. 

"Freemon?" The woman snorted. "That snake in the grass. So sad he's not here to talk our ears off with mumbo jumbo. Speaking of which, you wouldn't have happened to fall victim to one of his bloody awful contracts, would you?" 

Quinlin felt a wave of anxiety. "You've no reason to say that." 

Giggling, she responded, "Don't I?" The muted sheen of night rested malevolently in the window behind her. "How exactly do you not hear a peep from anyone who doesn't get far under his contracts? Huuuh, darling. Why might that be?" 

Fischer writes a few more words before falling back in his chair like an innocuous villain. With a soft sigh, he studies Quinlin, seemingly awaiting an interjection. "Reputation by stranglehold," Fischer amusingly asserts, clearly entertained by the discomforted face of the poor guest.

"Regardless, I'm here to audition and I'd like an answer." She wished to sound less agitated, to not have not looked at that damn pretentious flower.

"Little miss naive.." 

That tone of pity was the last straw. Before the chance to continue, Quinlin stormed out. 

"That repugnant fucking human," She thought to herself, imagining the things that mouth was about to go on about. "You're easily lured, baited, can't understand what things entail, can't be trusted."

Away from home, school, anything of familiarity, she stomped on with a red array of static erupting through sensible concerns that dared sprout from what just took place.