Owner	Pose
Molly	The gardens are starting to bloom in riotous profusion. Winter stops one day and spring shows up just like that. Despite being the Lady of Winter, Molly actually revels in having bare arms in the sunshine. It may be too early to truly be warm, but who cares? White cloudy drifts of blossoms enfold several mature trees in a quiet park in the corner of Gotham, one of those spots where someone tried to beautify an empty lot. Cherry blossoms are already fading and the slightest breeze sends a hundred petals every which way. A few spiky tulips stand in a box, escaping being picked by local children or a rabbit that bounds away. How did a hare get into Gotham? Who knows. It's now a hare with a frosted white tail, its back fur on legs and hindquarters frosted to a bristly crackle. "Do //not// eat the flowers!" she mutters, waving her hands to shoo it on. Several alpine blooms have forced their way through the cobbled brick pavers, edelweiss and snow-in-summer poking out, snowdrops in a pretty row.
Michael Carpenter	"You sound like your mother," says a familiar voice behind the Winter Lady. His daughter. Michael Carpenter stands there, hands at his sides and head tilted just to the left. A fatherly light dances in his watery-blue eyes as he watches Molly. "She's proud of you, Molly... whatever you might think." Michael is dressed for work -- his 'day job', construction -- but has his white tabard slung over one arm. He may have been doing his 'other' work at the same time.
Till	Well isn't THIS darling? It's pretty lot of flowers. So of course it's going to attract attention. Looks like a brown-haired boy in some beat-up clothes. Maybe about 17? Teenage at least. He's sort of just... iiiiiinching his way over closer to the tulips. Like he's trying to keep from being seen. So of COURSE this makes him all the more obvious...
Molly	When someone hasn't expressed what she is to her parents -- Eep -- Molly can fall back on 'Harry made me do it.' Her hands fall to her sides, caught a little red handed, and she stares flat at her toes. Pink rises to her cheeks, the flood of a rose blooming on that all too pale, perfectly pearly skin. The twitch of her shoulders definitely captures the sense of being caught, and she takes in a deep breath, turning to face down her father. For the moment, Till is a funny little bubble in her general senses, one that she still isn't used to sensing without having the Sight wide open. "Mom thinks I've gone off the deep end, and good morning," she says, her wavery blue hair the embodiment of an ocean at the tropics, the heart of an iceberg. Nothing new here; she usually has some weird colour going on. This probably takes hours to get. "I know she loves me. I also know she really wishes I didn't study with Harry, and instead was going to get a nice job and meet a nice boy and was..." Underline it, normal, when neither of them are. "Or got called to help you out. I swear, my grades are fine." Oh yes, that's the sound of a barely older than teenager, all right, and one wearing a mantle that keeps throwing flowers everywhere. White, delicate blue, soft yellow, pink blushed, they're just carpeting the ground at this point and probably will assault the tulip box any second from now. Because a carpet of snowy flowers, totally subtle.
Michael Carpenter	Michael notices the teenaged boy enter the gardens, and lifts an eyebrow. He has no notion that the youth is Fae -- not at this point, at the very least -- but smiles and nods his head in welcome. Turning back toward Molly, he lifts his eyebrows and the corner of his lips pinches together in a rueful half-smile. "Aren't you helping me?" he counters. "Not every knight was a man or woman of the Church -- and not every warrior for God is a knight. You are where you need to be, Molly. Your mother knows that too." Glancing again at Till, he remarks: "Hello. Come to admire the gardens too?"
Till	Flower-on-flower violence! Such terrible! But the boy creeps closer to the box with the tulips in it, and sits down. He seems pretty harmless. Though he's definintely watching the girl whose mantle is throwing flowers. Something familiar about her. Familiar and kind of scary, to be honest... And then suddenly there's someone calling out to him. The boy seems... a little startled. Maybe. Just ever so slightly. "Gah!" he squeaks, and scrambles to his feet. "Um... y-yes, I did. Th-they're very pretty. Are they yours?" he asks Molly and Michael, bright green eyes looking from one to the other. Till is still a Fae, and still trying to learn how people, well... 'people'. Inwardly he hopes he's not being too odd, but he hasn't had proper contact with mortals in years.
Molly	She may lack pointy ears without the proper mirror, but a Sidhe is a Sidhe is a Sidhe, no matter how one cuts it. "Dad, I'm not sure I even help myself most days. It's a win to get my boots laced up in the morning." With probably thirty grommets, this is no simple task of pulling it on. "So, you out for a walk or breakfast? We could totally go get some pancakes. I know a place around here with really good waffles." The very notion brightens her grin, even as she turns to face Till. And the moment of sheer terror goes through her like a rattling pulse of electricity, lightning from head to toe and up again into the clouds. A mask slides into place, a bit of a smile on blue-painted lips. The Goth and party girl element is strong with this one, but clearly she is related to Michael. It's plainly carved in their mutual features. "Wow, someone else actually gets out into the park before ten, cool." She tips her head and gives a wave. "Hi there. The cherry blossoms are very pretty this time of year, and no, I just came to look at them." She waves a hand at one of the branches covered in candy pink petals. "It's much more interesting to look at than cement walls or the 43rd Street Station. I don't think the trash guys have come down there in like three years." The wrinkle of her nose speaks volumes. "My dad and I were admiring the plants. Free space, feel free to enjoy yourself, right?"
Michael Carpenter	Michael smiles at the boy's question regarding the flowers, and then replies: "They belong to their Maker, son. The rest of us... are just blessed to enjoy them." Glancing back at Molly, his eyes light up a bit and he nods his head. "Waffles sound delicious. I've hardly stopped moving all morning..." To the boy, he adds: "I'm Michael, and this is my daughter, Molly."
Till	The boy seems to relax a bit more when Molly greets him normally. So far so good, no one seems to suspsect anything. So yeah. His hands are still stuffed in his pockets, but at least he's calm. Now he's an only SLIGHTLY nervous teenage boy. Looking between the two? Yeah, Till can probably see the family resemblance if there is one. Molly indicates the flower petals on the trees, so the boy looks up... and smiles. It's got an odd quality to it, that smile. Ever seen someone just incredibly at peace with the world? One of those sorts of smiles. Michael's words get a tilt of the boy's head. "Hm. Never heard anybody put it like that before." But he nods. The introduction gets a smile. "I'm called T...Trevor. Trevor Blomgren." It's not a lie, he IS called Trevor. When he's like this. It's not his NAME, but that's what he's CALLED.
Molly	Combing her fingers through her exceptionally long, variegated blue hair gives Molly time to be Carpenter daughter, apprentice, and university student instead of a host of other things. She opens her mouth to say something, but the apparent contentment on part of their fellow garden-goer causes her to fall quiet again. She reaches out to take Michael's hand with a light squeeze. "Nice to meet you, Trevor. Dad, we could have waffles here. I bet they'd do carry out if I ask nicely enough. Would you be willing to entertain Trevor if I ran off and got some?" Bargains aplenty hinge on careful wording.
Michael Carpenter	"...'whereby some have entertained angels unawares'," replies her father -- quoting Scripture, obviously, and referring to Trevor. "Of course," he continues. "Run along." Hospitality is a Carpenter specialty. That should come in handy when Molly ends up running the Winter Court... Now //there's// a thought to give the Old Man pause. Turning his gaze toward the young fellow with them, Michael inquires: "So what're you doing with yourself, Trevor? You look like you'd be in high-school -- am I right? Also... would you mind if I sat down? I've been on my feet since before sunrise." He looks behind himself for a bench upon which to sit.
Molly	What really ought to frighten Michael, if ever he knew it... provided he survives long enough, Molly's going to be the Mother of Winter. Ask Harry about that some time, assuming Harry isn't running for the hills saying it wasn't his fault!
Till	'Trevor' seems to look a little confused at Molly's words. 'Entertain'? That sounds suspiciously like hospitality, doesn't it? Till isn't sure. But hey, he's here for the flowers, and he's not being asked to leave, so he stays! When Molly says something about leaving to get waffles, he offers, "Take care on the road." Michael's statement gets a blink, though, and he tilts his head again. "I'm not an angel. I'm just... me." He shrugs a little. Though he tenses up a little at the question. "Well, um. I'm not really doing much with myself. I'm a little older than I look." All of that also completely true. As for sitting down? "Oh, that's all right. It's not my space." And it's not. Though even if it was he wouldn't object to someone sitting down. But he does look to turn the conversation away from himself. "You've been walking all morning? What do you do that you have to walk all morning?"
Molly	The road isn't very far, all things considered. She has a very short distance to traverse, no more than a block down and one over, to find a cafe serving up hotcakes, griddle cakes, waffles, and crepes. With a modest selection, it won't win any brunch awards but it counts as a good bit of food, and no one is going to look astray at her for being dressed... interestingly. Her black lacy skirt and the leather halter top don't constitute fine attire in some places' books. She scoots in to make the request: three waffles, fruit on the side, syrup in plastic containers. Just to be safe, she orders only seven syrups for one of them. You never know who wants their waffle floating on a maple sea. Her hands slide up and down her biceps, fingers splayed out, and she waits in the cramped entry, doing circles. The need to tighten the glamour around her is spontaneously reflexive, erasing any possibility someone points and shouts, "It's a faerie!" Because seriously, it's hard enough to be just this side of legal in this day and age. Ten minutes will come and go before the meals are ready, and another five to ten for the jaunt back. They have time to talk.
Michael Carpenter	"I'm a carpenter," Michael replies. Then he shrugs a bit. "And I like to help out at our local church when I can." He might've said 'doing the Lord's work' but as it tends to come off a bit pretentious... he decides not to. "There's always something to be done..." The man's smile turns a bit more rueful. "Sometimes very early in the morning." His eyes narrow a little bit, and he studies Trevor's face a bit, after sitting down comfortably. "It sounds like you're between jobs. Are you looking for work then, son?"
Till	In the meantime, while Molly's getting the waffles, Till sits down next to the box of tulips again. He scoots closer to them, as if he just wants to be near them for some reason. He's careful not to disturb any of the other flowers in the garden. Because... tulips. They remind him of where he was born. Red tulips especially. Till nods to Michael's answer. "Oh, that makes sense. Lots of lifting and moving things, climbing ladders and stuff," he reasons. He blinks at the question of a job. "I never really thought about it," he answers. "I guess I'm just... still seeing the world, you know?"
Michael Carpenter	"What do your parents have to say about it?" Michael replies. Despite the words chosen, his tone is gentle and laced with curiosity. His eyes narrow again at the increasingly-peculiar boy, but he draws no conclusions. As for the question... he genuinely wants to know what Trevor would answer to it. "You seem to like flowers," Michael remarks with a look at the tulips. "Have you considered being a gardener?" As he attempts to help the seemingly-young man, Michael ticks off a number of details in his mind: the boy isn't in school, apparently, doesn't have a job... and where do his parents fit into all of this?
Molly	Syrup galore, berries, and how on earth did she walk out with the whipped cream can? Apparently she did. Molly meanders her path through the cafe with a plastic bag full of three Styrofoam containers and triple that in maple syrup. Another bag dangles from her wrist with the collective fruit and cream. Anyone who wants to rob her is going to be finding themselves out of luck, unless they belong to the Lunchtime Bandits or something. Yonder she goes, and after a moment, Molly goes scampering at a good clip down the sidewalk, heedless of the fact she could just possibly trip or be run down by a James Bond-esque movie being filmed somewhere. The gardens give a bit of a screen, but it's hard to miss blue-haired punk princess. Stealth is not her forte when delivering a meal of gladness.
Till	"My parents aren't really... a constant presence in my life," Till responds, choosing his words carefully. "Not like most people are used to parents being in their childrens' lives." He doesn't sound to upset about that, actually. It sounds like it's perfectly normal for him. "It's not so bad. I can take care of myself." As for bieng a gardener? 'Trevor' smiles. "Sometimes I help grass and flowers in parks and stuff when it looks like it's dying." Pause, headtilt. "I guess that's not quite the same as being a gardener, though. I never thought about it before, but I will now." Molly's return draw Till's gaze to her. He actually doesn't seem all that surprised at all the things she's made it out with. He does however, offer, "Greetings again!"
Michael Carpenter	"Do you have enough syrup there?" Michael inquires of his daugher once she has returned. "Does this new 'job' of yours come with cravings?" He smiles warmly, and motions for Molly to comes over by the bench. "Thank you," says he with a nod. "I'll -- ." The man's phone rings. Looking crestfallen, Michael fishes the cellphone out of his pocket, looks at the name on the screen, and then lets out a breath. "I'll just be taking this... Save me some waffles. Trevor -- pleasure meeting you." At that, the carpenter walks away, puts his phone to his ear and replies: "Michael here... Yes, it's done. They're safe..." Then he is gone.
Molly	The bright-haired girl comes scampering up to the garden just to see Michael turning away, busy with the tether that keeps him linked to family and business matters. A slightly crestfallen look comes and goes. How often does the daughter of a big family get her father to herself? Her mouth crumples for a moment, but no more than that, as she slips back through the open pathway. "I came back as soon as I could. These things take forever." The plastic bags rustle and she sets both of them down. "Seriously, I just wanted enough to avoid a second trip. No reason to make it creepy." Eyes rolling, she decides to sit on a bench, her skirt spread around her. "Sorry about jetting out of there too fast. I wanted to make sure food was had. And now food is, I suppose. Would you like some? There's cutlery in that second bag."
Till	'Trevor' actually seems to breathe a sigh of relief when Michael's phone rings. He couldn't be completely sure, but it did feel like he was being grilled there for a few moments. Still, when Michael goes to take the call, Till offers just the same as he did with Molly. "Take care on the road," he says honestly. He moves to assist Molly if it looks like she needs it. Though when she offers him a waffle, he blinks. He's not sure where this falls in relation to gifts vs. hospitality, actually. The space doesn't belong to either of them, and Till isn't sure if it's neutral ground or not. In the end he decides that it's 'Trevor' that accepted, not 'Till'. 'Trevor' is a regular human boy, even if he doesn't actually exist. Probably splitting hairs in a VERY DANGEROUS way, but meh. Live for the moment, right? Also those berries look really good. "No problem. I've been in those places before. They're pretty packed, yeah. Especially around this time." So saying, he'll head over to where that second bag is, and start getting the cutlery out. He'll offer a proper set of it to her to. "Here you are." And he'll sit with her on the bench, if there's room.
Molly	Rather than give the same path of conversation, Molly pulls out one of the containers with a waffle in it. She portions out a bit of the fruit, and pops the lid open in her lap, taking care not to spill anything on her clothing. Assistance may mostly be the matter of the bag. "You and my father had a good conversation. Pretty entertaining when he wants to be, right? I'm satisfied if you were." The negotiations do not need to be especially difficult. More peculiarly, if that's her father and he is entirely human, and she is entirely not under the glamour, then it begs questions about her mother. Especially given the start of their conversation. Still, the Supreme Grasshopper gives a smile. "I didn't know whether berries or bananas or nuts were acceptable so I brought all of them." No offense done, one has to hope, even if it means she's a pack mule now. A nod to the park follows. Taking the silverware in plastic grey, she nods. Saying thanks is dangerous even if it makes her sound utterly rude. "Pretty awesome garden, isn't it? I don't think I ever noticed it here before."
Till	"He is," Till agrees. "I think he was a bit worried about me being out by myself, though." He brightens up a bit. "But he did give me an idea, so that's good!" THe whole 'being a gardener' thing. Maybe he can establish 'Trevor Blomgren' as a proper identity, and make him a gardener or something. That way he'd have a proper cover story. Berries, bananas, and nuts -- oh my! Till smiles. "They're all good," he says. He'll fix himself a bit of waffle too. He likes a bit of waffle with his fruits and nuts. And whipped cream. Ahem. the subject of the garden gets a nod! "It's the first time I've seen it too," Till agrees. "I hope it stays around though. It's brightens the place up a lot."
Molly	"He has a lot of good ideas, alarmingly. Most of them are actually feasible and concrete, too, as opposed to the whole 'Change your life' without any actual specifics." Cutting the waffle into quarters makes the knife squeak on the Styrofoam, but nothing pierces the bottom to threaten Molly's skirt, so she is all right there. Opening a little tub of berries, she pours them out, mostly strawberries in syrup with blueberries added. Lots of whipped cream is par for the course, and the cold metal tube can pump out basically way more than anyone actually needs. She waits her turn, anyways, because Charity Carpenter's polite manners up against faerie laws mean //nothing//. Charity's law wins. Always. "Do you know of any other good ones in the area? It's pretty chill around here, and I can always use somewhere to sit and watch the roses." The pun is not intended, or is it? "Sometimes the city feels a bit... suffocating, I guess, so I do love these little secret spaces that pop up."
Till	Till nods. "That's the difference, that those ideas can work normally," he says. "It's not stuff that has to magically happen, just POOF. That's not good. People can't rely on things to just POOF, happen." That much he knows anyway. Humans tend to do things the hard way, even if they have a choice. Something about them wanting the satisfaction of having done it the hard way instead. It doesn't really make a lot of sense to Till, but he's observed it anyway! As for other gardens in Gotham? He pauses in eating, to think. "Well... I don't know. I haven't been in the city long." Also not a lie, even if it's not the whole truth. "I'll keep my eyes open, though. Might start making a few more of my own, if I can find a few places for some."
Molly	"People don't like 'poof.' It breaks their way of thinking," Molly murmurs between bites of delicious waffle, a bit crispy and a little cooler than she might prefer, but waffle is waffle. All good, even when soggy under the weight of strawberry syrup not made with anything particularly real. "Sometimes it feels like we expect instantaneous results. Bad thing, it sets up the erosion of patience. Or it feels that way. I mean, it's good to want quick responses and reactions, but some things take time to come to fruition. Like cake. Or a waffle. Ten minutes, crispy perfect. Five minutes, eww, it's still gooey." She stuffs another fork full of goodness into her mouth, chewing politely, dainty almost. Manners are important, after all. "You know, there are these... clubs? Or volunteers, and they go try to turn all the derelict old spots around the city into something nice. Could be up your alley if you think it sounds like fun. I know the university has one. Or sometimes the parks have these little signs telling everyone 'Thompson Avenue Garden Club maintains this place' or whatever. Just a thought." Hello, blueberry!
Till	Till nods to Molly's words. "Patience is important, even if waiting sucks," he agrees. And he wrinkles his nose, making a face at the thought of 'gooey waffle'. "Yecch! People can get sick eating raw batter, can't they?" Something about eggs not being good to eat raw? And the suggestion... that gets some thought. "Hm. Might not be a bad idea," he notes. It's worthy to note that he doesn't talk with his mouth full either. Hence why his further response is a little delayed, because food in mouth. "I'm pretty good with plants. I might be able to help out an organization like that."
Molly	Solemn agreement there, a nod. She gives a quick thrust of her fork into the waffle and brings a piece to her mouth, munching away with the self-same satisfaction as a cat going after the cream. "Yup, basically all of that. And no wonder you can be patient if you like plants. Seeds and bulbs don't turn into plants overnight. Not usually. I heard there was a lab where some seeds were crazy fast growing, like kudzu, and it sort of took over the whole lab." Her shoulders tremble, and then she laughs. "Can you imagine, punching out from work at 5 and the next morning, finding your entire office covered in a great big hedge like from Sleeping Beauty?"
Till	Once more, Till nods. "They take lots of care," he notes. "Water, food, love -- same as people, you know?" Though he makes a confused face at the mention of plants taking over a lab. "That's what happens when you mix nature with unnatural stuff. Nature gets mad, because nature's not supposed to be unnatural."
Molly	"I think we need a few less nutrients in the soil and a lot more in us. Also, patience, because trees don't generally throw spears at one another or something." She shakes her head slightly and then goes back to hungrily downing the rest of the exquisitely balanced berry goodness. With the melting whipped cream, this is truly bliss, and something she can use to fuel herself for days. Or an hour. Her gaze flickers lightly across Till and then off to the cherry blossoms overhead, whole handfuls of petal snow gathering in wilted drifts that joyously resembles the snow piles she used to jump in as a child. Not so long ago, really. "Nature has a kind of balance, or that's how it looks to me. We keep doing all this stuff to the earth, like pouring out hydrocarbons and fracking the bedrock or trying to desalinate seawater because we pumped out everything in an aquifer. And nature compensates, though maybe not in ways that are good for //us//. I really don't want to see the reign of the Carboniferous for us. It didn't turn out so well for earth. "
Till	Till listens to Molly speak about people. It's a bit of a sad look he's got on his face as he listens. "I'm... still pretty young, so I don't know a lot about people," he admits. "But I've seen lots of examples of that." Frown! "I don't like it, but that's how people are, I suppose." Her words of the earth compensating? That gets a tilt of his head. "I've heard it said that people are a disease the earth has. And if the earth really IS like a big body, the way it works... it's going to try to stop the things that are hurting it, right? So... I suppose that does make sense, right?"
Molly	"It's not like I'm so much older than you are. But it just... I don't know, I try to pay attention to people when I'm not thinking about things." Folding up her container, Molly stows it back in the bag atop the other cooling waffle box. She will seal with that later, but the fruit, they can eat that on their own. She shakes the bag a little. "If you figure life is all the same to the Earth, we're no different from amoebas or velociraptors. We live inside the sphere until a big rock or a plague or a snowball effect takes us all away. No species has existed from start to finish except really simple bacteria. So the notion the Earth is just gonna up and eradicate all its diseases doesn't feel right," she says, sounding a little less certain to the latter. But not fully, because there is a sense of how things are slowly fitting together. "Until anyone talks to the planet, anyways, we're going off speculation. I pretty well feel the planet tolerates everything on it with equal levels of patience, as long as life continues. Everything comes together, sooner or later."
Till	The mention of age gets a bit of a smile. If she only knew. Then again, Till's not even two-hundred years old, and that's pretty young for a Fae. So... yeah, she's not wrong, even if it's just from another perspective. He'll finish his waffle, too, and then shift to sit tailor-style on the bench, pulling his legs under him as he listens further. "And sometimes the 'diseases' on it change," Till points out. "Kind of like... when trees go away, the monkeys learn to walk. When trees come back, the monkeys will learn to swing in the trees again. When water comes back, they'll learn how to swim."
Molly	Bright eyes glittering, Molly tips her head back and sighs slightly. "Diseases change. Sure, do I want to think that humanity is going to way? No, it sounds pretty sad, but I believe the earth is going to continue and do just fine. I've been told wiping out all life is pretty difficult, and the planet, that's nearly impossible. I mean, Mars sized planet crashing into us or something." Her shoulders skim up higher and she tips her head backwards. "We are an adaptable, skilled race, though."
Till	"I think so too," Till replies. "People are as smart as they are stupid. When it becomes obvious that the things they're doing are hurting the world, eventually it'll have to stop. Even if the world has to reach up and smack people!" He grins then, the thought of, say, Mother Nature picking up certain politicians and giving them a right good spanking an amusing one to consider.
Molly	"If the earth shows up to smack people, I'm going to see about that Stark guy putting rockets to the moon. Totally. I'll just take a little holiday." How on earth Molly can afford space tourism is unclear, but hyperbole is something that makes sense, given the bold strokes of discussion. Her fingers still comb over her glistening, bright blue hair, lapis sweeping aside to reveal aquamarine and jade and countless other shades. "So what's it that you do?"
Till	Till blinks. "...But there's no air up there, is there?" Hyperbole seems to be a little beyond 'Trevor', if the confused look is any indication. Though watching Molly run her fingers through her hair... Till looks at her hair... and then just kind of starts to stare. It's very pretty, the play of colors through her fingers... Then he registers she's spoken again, and he looks up at her face again. "...Huh?" He takes a moment to replay the last few moments of the conversation. "Oh uh. Not really much," he says. He perks up. "But I have some ideas now!"
Molly	Molly looks up at the sky. "No, there's no air around the moon. But in one of those space craft, they have a totally normal environment, just like down here. That makes the travel pretty safe. I'm fairly sure no one can breathe in space." Molly the girl isn't much different from Molly the Winter Lady, though a dull gleam of her thoughts pings on the notion she //might// get up that high or step out into space. And then what? Poof? Turned into stardust? Bad ass wizard girl? The smile is a little bemused at the notion. Life is so messed up, but she nods to him. "That's cool."
Till	Till looks up too. He's not sure what he expects to see. Maybe one of them passing overhead? "I wonder how they do that," he says. "You'd think the air would get breathed up and then there wouldn't be anymore in there to breathe. It's like a tin can, right?" Idea-ping! "Oh! Do they use plants? They breathe in what we breathe out."
Molly	No plane but an awful lot of flowers really, and maybe a bumbling bee on its way to collect fresh pollen for the Queen. Better than an icy dragonfly sitting on Molly's shoulder, annoying her with its needs. "They clean the air. It goes through scrubbers and other systems to make sure it stays mostly clean. I mean, it's canned, sure, but you can safely breathe it as long as the aircraft keeps working. It's no more a tin can than the Statue of Liberty is a doll because it's pretty dang big. They condition the atmosphere, and I'm sure they have plants to help on any space station. Not really my forte."
Till	"Well, I mean, it works on the sampe principle, right?" Till asks. "Keep the stuff inside from spoiling because of the stuff outside? 'The stuff inside' being people and 'the stuff outside' being an environment that they can't survive in?" Though he does nod. "Plants would be a big help on a space station, I bet -- ooh. Things float up there though, I don't know if they'd survive not knowing which way was 'up' and which was 'down'." Till can only imagine it's very disorienting.
Molly	"Plants would, though it means you have to be prepared to bring up soil and water, and those are really expensive. Getting anything into the air is supposed to be rather expensive, because everything is based on weight." Molly scrunches up her brows, and then casts a smile. "I think they would do just fine. We put plants in space since, like, the Sixties. A long time, I think, all things considered." Confirmation she is very young indeed. "Now I'm going to have to write a letter or something to Tony Stark. 'Do you put plants on your space stuff?'"
Till	Till nods. "Dirt's heavy when there's a lot of it," he confirms. Her mention of the sixties gets a pause. Till's eyes roll upwards, as if he's thinking about something, and he starts counting on his fingers. "...Fifty years?" he asks. "Close?" As for plants in the space stuff, "I bet he does. He's one of those rich guys, right? Plants are something that make things look pretty, and rich people like when things look pretty."
Molly	Molly takes her bag, and nods. "Yeah, he's definitely someone rich and very interested in the world being in order. Or something; I mean, he's a playboy and a general billionaire and stupid smart. If you meet him, tell him your ideas. He probably won't be offended. He seems like a big picture thinker." Her hands wobble slightly. "Anyways, I need to be moving on and getting my butt in gear on some chores and errands. Not fun, but what else is new. Good to meet you, you know?"
Till	Till nods. "I will," he promises. And as she makes her farewells, he smiles. "Good to meet you too. Take care on the road." That seems to be his preferred farewell phrase. Then he remembers something else. "Oh! And thank you for the waffle!" Manners, after all! He waves as she departs. ...Though once he's alone? He's probably going to make with the tiny and fall asleep in one of those nice tulips over there...