[center][h2][i]- June 19, 2021 - Cypress View Retreat Center Parking Lot - Florida, USA - [/i][/h2][/center] A hard swallow. [color=A52A2A][i]Do it, mate. Get out the damn taxi. They paid to get you across the pond, and over here. Just step out the damn taxi.[/i][/color] Kerri didn't wanna move an inch, as stared out the window of her Uber, as she struggled the windows suddenly pulled down; the heated breeze made it apparent that her perfume was wearing off, and her deodorant was coming undone, allowing her undesired power to worsen inside the poor sedan she was in. It was at the level of terrible body odor, but mounting as the horrid heat of the Floridian spring was creeping into the nightmarish inferno of a Floridian summer. In a minute, she would be sweating more than any scent masking product could dream to disguise, and smell like a trashcan full of rotting meat. An uncomfortable cough was issued from the front seat, the old woman in the front seat was cherubic in patience and kindness, but, like any human with a working nose, she had her limits. Reaching into her bag of savings, Kerri fumbled out the fare from the airport terminal to the summit gathering point, and more to, hopefully, allow her a deep clean on her poor car. "[color=A52A2A]I don't know if this will help, but I hope it does,[/color]" Kerri says, as she fisted a crumble equal to $210 dollars, almost three times her fare alone. "Sugah, you don't need - " Kerri just insisted with a silent thrust and shake, "Oh, I hope these people can help you. They sound smart enough, but you know how smart people are..." Kerri opened her hand, so the exchange could be made, and then she reached into her bag to withdraw a disposable, medical mask. Donning the mask, she opened the door, and stepped out onto the gravel pathway that lined the throughway for cars. Shutting the car door, she looked back, "[color=A52A2A]Thank you, ma'am. I'm sorry about the smell.[/color]" "Don't worry none," the old woman said, her Louisiana drawl stronger than a cup of black coffee straight, "Just... get better, hun." [center][i]Get better.[/i][/center] Such hauntingly innocent words. As if, her affliction was a curable disease. "[color=A52A2A]Thanks,[/color]" Kerri says, offering a lame smile before she turned back to face the gathering. The shift of her clutch rattled the small cabinet’s worth of perfumes and deodorants that she carried; reminding her that she needed to reapply everything, and wash her shirt, if she even wanted the smallest chance of smelling tolerable. So, to the nearest bathroom she trudged - trying to avoid every look, comment, and question that came her way. It wasn’t like -- [center][h2][i]- June 17th, 2021 - Flaggins’ Flagons; Womens' Bathroom - Rural London, Britain -[/i][/h2][/center] "[color=A52A2A]--you’re not saying anything I haven’t heard before, luv,[/color]" Kerri ground out between clenched teeth, as she turned on a drunk woman with a little too much liquid courage in her system. "[color=A52A2A]Been in this hell o’ mine for a little over a month. Last thing I need is some slag, drunk off her tits, reminding me of the fact that I smell like a sun dried cat on Baker Street. So, if you have nothing better to do than waste my time, I would suggest parking your arse on a toilet, so you can dump your shitty opinions where they belong, and flush.[/color]" It was a rare occurrence for Kerri to speak in anger, much less berate a customer, but tonight wasn’t the night. Summer was coming, London was hot in the day, and she spent too much of her day sweating like a stuck pig, and stinking the same, to come to her night job in the blissful, merciful cold to deal with drunks and purists about her lingering scent of death and decay. Her superpower. Her goddamn SUPERPOWER. That’s what that damn talk show had called it. It had a more official term - [i]Americans loved their “official terms” for everything[/i] - but the world ‘round decided that “Superpower” was more marketable than “Plant Essence”. As one in the business of customer service, Kerri couldn’t argue that it wasn’t the better choice. It sure didn’t feel super on her end, however. Kerri looked in the mirror; taking in her visage - sunken eyes, dark circles, pale cheek, and bloody red irises... like something out of a trashy women's novel about vampires. Only, instead of becoming an unstoppable machine of sex and confidence, she'd transformed into a sweatshop on legs that grew the most unappealing of flowers. [color=A52A2A][i]God save the Queen [/i][/color], Kerri thought, as she pulled down an eyelid, and remembered the day her essence took root. It all started with her boss telling her -- [center][h2][i]- April 28th, 2021 - Flaggins Flagons, Office - Rural London, Britain -[/i][/h2][/center] "[color=C54B8C]--you look like shite, Rachael,[/color] proclaimed Daniel Flaggins, owner and barkeep of Flaggins Flagons, a Mom and Pop run Lord of the Rings themed pub tucked away, conveniently, in a more rural part of the ever-changing London. Kerri sighed, hearing her given name issued from the half-Giant ginger man's mouth - she hated her name for many reasons, and never went by it beyond legalese. Daniel, however, a polite man in any given situation, was one for the "proper protocol", which meant, despite her name tag saying "Kerri" it was "Rachael" to him. A fact that earned a sharp "[b][i]tsk~![/i][/b]" from his cosmically opposite, yet spiritually appropriate wife, Samantha, co-owner and head chef, as the flaxen-blonde Hobbit of a wife delivered an accompanying punch to her husband's solid chest. "[color=eedc82]It's Kerri, Daniel,[/color]" she roused, crossing her thin arms over her chest. Daniel looked down at her, and sighed. Kerri looked at the couple before her; the husband standing at 6'4", while the wife barely reached 4'9" - being a 1/4"too short. It was as if they were born to run the business they choose. A business she was poorly affecting lately. "[color=A52A2A]Sorry, sir. My flat, she's not the best. A/C's been down, and it's not particularly pleasant weather,[/color]" Kerri excused; honest truth shouldn't sound so pathetic, judging from the softening of the Flaggins' expression, "[color=A52A2A]I don't sweat this much, normally, though. Maybe, I'm coming down with something.[/color]" Samantha drew up a step-stool, and stood upon it, so she could be at Kerri's height; pressing a hand to her forehead, she frowned deeply. "[color=eedc82]Luv, you are roasting,[/color]" she says, drawing her hand away. "[color=eedc82]You shouldn't be working tonight, or tomorrow night, until your forehead isn't able to bake my hand like a Cornish hen.[/color]" Daniel took his wife's tiny hand into his giant hand, and whistled, "[color=C54B8C]That's a mighty fever, if I can still feel the residual heat,[/color]" to which a decision was made immediately, "[color=C54B8C]Sick leave, Rachael. Three days paid,[/color]" he ordered, "[color=C54B8C]We'll call you, and you tell us if you need more.[/color]" Kerri started to protest, but she knew better, once Daniel made a "shoo-shoo" motion with his hand; she'd witnessed the finality of that dismissal across several firings with her five-year tenure. Picking up her bag, she duffed her apron and cap, and bare her bosses a good evening. As she boarded the bus, Kerri tried to ignore the looks and whispers; unknowing that that judgement was the mere start of her problems... [center][h2][i]- May 5th, 2021 - Sunnyside Motel, Flat D-20 - East London, Britain -[/i][/h2][/center] This first day was hot. Insufferable, in its own unique way. No air conditioning, no breeze, just heat and stagnant air. The wretched smell of death clung to her. There was no way this was a regular Spring cold. Did a regular cold make your sweat slimy and sticky? Did a regular cold make you smell like death warmed over? Kerri had always been a sickly child, but this was intense. The second day wasn't better; rounds of cough syrup and handfuls of painkillers did nothing to quell the storm, as her nose couldn't take the smell her own body was producing, and retched up every meal soon after it came to settle. Something cosmic had been offended by her existence, as she spilled her guts over the edge of her mattress, and messed the floor for the nth time. This was no regular cold. The third day her fever broke, the combination of the day's heat and her body overheating, had turned her bed into a futile sponge. At the very least, she was too weak to throw up any food, because she simply couldn't rouse herself to eat any. What little of her lucid mind was able to focus was focusing on the rash of welts that were lining up her arms and legs; heat rashes, she told herself, logically. They had to be. By days four and five, it was obvious that was not the case, the rash's welt had grew in size and mass over the course of the two days, and by the end of the fifth - all too suddenly - split open to, quite literally, bloom into putrid flowers of muddy red with white lumps and bumps. Up and down her arms, the rash had ruptured into a field of these corpse-scented flowers, and had attracted the presence of flies. In her silence, for to scream would be to invite her empty stomach to empty further, Kerri could only issue her first of many prayers to the God she never had faith in before, as a rat crawled over her stomach. Upon the sixth day, buried beneath her self-grown field, Kerri felt her body lurch - like, she was yanked in a tug of war with only herself to pull. A pain unimaginable sat her up, and she clawed at her arms; fingers shoving, barely able to close, at the flowers. [i]Was she a corpse? Was she a zombie? Was she alive? What was happening? Why was it happening?[/i] Questions surged through her mind, a mile a minute, as she fumbled with the parasitic plant-life; knocking wilting blossoms to the bed, disturbing the gathering of flies, and sending the swarms of rats away. All she could focus on was getting every flower off. Skin torn were it was rooted, angry patches of red left to bleed for a moment, before healing with an alarming quickness. It hurt like every hurt combined into one, but she would power through. Her immune system seemed to externalize itself into a frantic attack on the external invasion, and she had no argument to cease it. And, on the seventh morning, like the God she never held much belief in, Kerri rested among a pile of decaying death flowers, rat droppings, sweat, and her own blood. The scariest part: she never felt better. May 5th, 2021, and Kerri felt like she’d been reborn a new woman. Had she been blighted by some Cosmic Entity, and purged of some terrible sickness, or simply incorporated it into herself, and it was now her terrible sickness? She had so many new questions, and no answers to any of them... That, and several missed calls from work. ‘[color=A52A2A]Perhaps, dying would have been better...[/color]’ Kerri reached for her cellphone, and redialed her bosses’ home number. “Flaggins Flagons, Samantha speaking!” answered the ever-chipper woman. "[color=A52A2A]It’s Kerri, ma’am...[/color]" the brunette croaked out, "[color=A52A2A]Returning your phone call...[/color]" "[color=A52A2A]I noticed that you -- [/color]" [center][h2][i]- May 9th, 2021 - Flaggins Flagons, Office -[/i][/h2][/center] "[color=eedc82]--called and called, and were worried sick about you![/color]” Samantha ranted, her tiny frame a heaving bundle of motherly terror that her husband knew to allow time to peter out. Samantha fancied Kerri something of a rescue, and took a vested interest in her; if not for their business and Daniel's actual ability to hold her back, she would have gone on a manhunt after the first day of calls missed. "[color=A52A2A]Sorry, ma’am,[/color]" Kerri mumbled, as she rubbed her arms; they weren’t sore, but she could feel phantom buds, like she could resummon them at-will. "[color=eedc82]You ought be! If you had only called us, we could have nursed you through such an ordeal![/color]" Samantha raved, as she stamped her tiny, booted feet. "[color=C54B8C]Sam, would you relax,[/color]" Daniel sighed, finally cutting his wife off her rhythm. "[color=C54B8C]Girl’s been through some kind of hell and back. Last she needs is you chewing her ear like a fresh steak,[/color]" he says, "[color=C54B8C]Rachael, are you fit?[/color]" Kerri nodded. Finally, a question she could answer. "[color=C54B8C]Schedule’s on the wall. Pick four days, then get on the floor,[/color]" Daniel says, no-nonsense, and to the point. "[color=C54B8C]Ask Mandy what section you can work in.[/color]" Samantha “[b][i]tsk~![/i][/b]” at him, and crossed her arms, "[color=eedc82]C’mere, first.[/color]" Kerri approached, as Samantha stood on her step-stool, and fully expected a slap in the back of the head; only to get her forehead pressed. "[color=eedc82]See about a washing up, first, and some perfume,[/color]" the flaxen-blonde sighed, "[color=eedc82]You’re a might sweaty and still smell like a bitta dead. You can use the guest washroom upstairs, and some of my perfumes.[/color]" Kerri looked up, tears well in her eyes, before she collapsed forward, and hugged her surrogate mother, in all but the legal sense; wailing a week’s worth of misery away into her bosom. Daniel sighed, for the years - now, one score - to which he’d been wed to his wife, she’d never made a lick of sense when it came to things of this nature, as she was ranting and raving a moment ago, and now as matronly and gentle as the Saint Mary. Rubbing his temple, Daniel took a seat in his lazy boy/office chair, and looked up. This was gonna be -- [center][h2][i]- June 12th, 2021 - Flaggins Flagons, Office -[/i][/h2][/center] "[color=eedc82]-- a long time coming, dear,[/color]" Samantha says, holding a small box of cash that had been amassed over a clear period of time. "[color=eedc82]The Americans are holding that convention at last for the people afflicted with this terrible plant business,[/color]" she says, "[color=eedc82]So, Dan and I started squirreling away a few dimes here and there, so you can go.[/color]" Kerri’s breath caught in her throat, causing her to almost swallow her strawberry gum. "[color=A52A2A]Ma’am, I couldn’t![/color]" she says, looking at the cash presented. "[color=eedc82]And, yet, you will,[/color]" Samantha says, sternly. "[color=eedc82]What happened to you isn’t fair, and, maybe, there’s nothing that can be done to change it, but... maybe, you can get some sense of control.[/color]" "[color=C54B8C]Control that doesn’t result in Sam or I getting a call from the police station,[/color]" Daniel says, cutting her off from saying that she had control. Kerri’s defense fell short of even existing, as her surrogate father read her mind; coming into their lives as a surly teenager and college dropout had given them a fair insight into her mind. "[color=C54B8C]It’s been five years, Rachael,[/color]" Daniel says, taking her hands into his, "[color=C54B8C]We’ve seen you fumble through the tail end of your awkward years, and stumbled into adulthood completely unprepared, but blossom, ironically, into a fine woman,[/color]” he says, looking at her firmly, "[color=C54B8C]Your parents, we might not be. However, we care in the same vein.[/color]" Kerri gasped, tears welling in her eyes. "[color=A52A2A]S-Sir...[/color]" she started, only to be pulled into a hug. "[color=C54B8C]Go to America, Kerri,[/color]" Daniel says, shocking both women in the room. "[color=C54B8C]For better or for worse, you’ll always have a home to return to. Flaggins Flagons is your home.[/color]" Kerri sniffled once, before she broke down, and hugged Daniel back even tighter. Behind her, Samantha joined the hugging and waterworks. Daniel sighed, more fatherly than disgruntled, and patted Kerri on the head. He would cherish the moment, since he wouldn’t seen Kerri for -- [center][h2][i]- June 19th, 2021 - Cypress View Retreat, Womens’ Restroom -[/i][/h2][/center] “-- a while,” a voice says, disrupting Kerri’s flashback, “Just staring into the mirror.” Kerri looked behind herself, and noticed that several women were staring at her staring into a mirror. "[color=A52A2A]’Ello, ladies,[/color]" Kerri chuckled, "[color=A52A2A]This is awkward...[/color]"