For Bellabelgium : If you give me leave :｡･:*:･ﾟ'☆
[After a long time of debating with himself, Norway has retreated into the kitchen to think, and to busy his hands, and to put off doing what he'd wanted to do. But after setting a batch of butter cookies in the oven, he's left with nothing to do but face what he'd been putting off before.]
[The flowers sit on the table. White carnations and a few sprays of heather, tied fast with red and white threads. Norway takes them in his hands and wonders if it will do well enough. No, there needs to be something with it. A note of some sort. Fine. He takes a small note-card, and writes her name on it. He tries to think, and at a loss, gives up and writes the first suitable quotation he can think of:]
'Tis sweet, the rare occasion when our hearts can speak,
Ourselves unseen and unseeing.
Till now I spoke haphazard -
But now methinks I find speech for the first time.
My heart has clothed itself with witty words
To shroud itself from curious eyes;
Impelled at times to aim at a star,
I stay my hand and cull a wildflower.
Your name in my heart is a bell,
and it swings and chimes when I think of thee;
Ever the bell shakes when your name rings,
and to me all that is thine is sweet.
[Well. It will do. He slips the note onto a blue string, and ties it fast to the rest. He whistles low, and when the fairy appears in the air in front of him, he says -]
Callin' in a favour, if you wouldn't mind. What we talked on earlier. [Pauses, listening] ... No, and I don't plan on signin' it, neither. Not that it's any business of yourn. Now, she won't see you, but make sure she gets it, ya' ken?
[Evidently, it is understood, as the fairy disappears, and the flowers with it, and Norway finds himself wondering if she'll realize it was him, or if she'll drive herself mad with guessing.]
[ooc: flat view]