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#wow this one was a toughie since harry and lizzy don’t rlly have a rapport
even-disco-baby · 2 years
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YOU — “Did you become a gardener because of your grandmother?”
THE GARDENER — She looks taken aback by your question. “I’m sorry?”
YOU — “Your grandmother who taught you about the nutrients in the snow.”
THE GARDENER — “I got that part, thanks. I just…” She shakes her head with a quiet breath.
EMPATHY — She just thought it was a strange question for a cop to ask.
THE GARDENER — “Yes, it was because of her.” Her expression flickers just slightly. “*For* her…”
DRAMA — There’s more to this cute grandma story, sire.
AUTHORITY — Who cares about her grandma? Tell her to cut the bullshit and stop wasting your time already!
“Cool. Sorry, I don’t know why I asked you that. I actually don’t care that much.”
“Okay, let’s cut the bullshit. Are you really a gardener?”
“You sound sad.”
THE GARDENER — “Do I?” She smiles shyly. “Sorry. I was getting nostalgic.”
DRAMA — She’s laying it on a little thick, but she isn’t lying. You touched a nerve.
YOU — “Was she a gardener, too?”
THE GARDENER — “…She wanted to be,” she says, her voice measured. “But we rarely end up where we want to be, wouldn’t you say?”
INLAND EMPIRE — Yes. You would. You don’t even remember where or who you hoped to be, but it can’t have been anything like *this.* No one would ever want to be you.
“Yeah. You’re right. I mean, look at *me.* I hope I didn’t end up like this intentionally. That would be pretty weird.”
“Hey, it’s never too late to give it a shot.”
THE GARDENER — “I mean, it is for her,” she says drily. “She’s dead.”
EMPATHY — Oh.
YOU — “Oh.”
THE GARDENER — “Why are you asking so many questions about my grandmother, anyway? I can assure you she didn’t put that body in the tree. On account of being dead.”
“You never can tell. She could have faked her death. I have to explore every possibility. I’m told that’s what detectives do. And also that I’m a detective.”
“Okay, you got me, I don’t actually care about your grandma. I care about why you’re spying on us.”
“Just curious. It sounds like she meant a lot to you.”
THE GARDENER — Her expression flickers again, almost imperceptibly.
COMPOSURE — She’s trained herself well to keep a straight face. Strange for a gardener.
THE GARDENER — “…She still does,” she admits quietly. “She gave up her home and her garden to take care of me. And then worked herself to death, quite literally.”
EMPATHY — There’s bitterness in her voice, but not toward her grandmother. More likely toward the job that wore her down to nothing.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Without the speed and the nicotine and the booze to smooth out all those harsh edges, you would have been worn down to nothing by now, too.
“That’s the economy for you. She should have worked on her hustle.”
“I totally understand. Being a cop is really hard.”
“Well, at least *you* ended up where you wanted to be. I’m sure she’d be glad that you became a gardener.”
THE GARDENER — Slowly, like the snow on the breeze, her gaze falls from you to her gloved hands. Her face is still as stone.
“Yes,” she says hollowly. “She would.”
EMPATHY — And that’s what makes it all so much harder.
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