The Strange Affair of the Cursed Pot Plant
So, my mammie bought us this hyacinth in a pot. It’s very very pretty but smells like dead things. It was sitting on the kitchen window sill and every time anyone walked past it they made a comment about the unnatural reek emanating from it. Because of all the bad vibes being directed at the poor thing it began to wither. So I took it upon myself to save it from a life of verbal abuse and take it into work with me. What I didn’t know is that it’s also cursed.
So there I was, ambling along the path with my laptop bag over my shoulder, my lunch bag in one hand and the cursed pot plant in the other hand, with my lovely wife wandering along behind carrying my baritone.
The plant obviously objected to being removed from its area of influence because two seconds later I stepped on what can only be described as the only patch of ice in the whole of West Lothian, and down I went. The yoghurt in my lunch bag exploded, covering my lunch in banana flavoured goo, my laptop bag fell to the ground with a sickening crunch, and I sustained 2d4 hit points of damage.
The Hyacinth (purple) scattered to the four winds but, despite its best efforts was unable to drag me into its self-destructive attention seeking.
I was really annoyed – until, that is, my wife sent me a link to Virtual Florist. The meaning attached to a Purple Hyacinth is “I am sorry, Please forgive me”. Or just generally “Sorrow”.
I’ll think about it.