A bee and a Flower - Emma's dillema

”How come a bee girl like you is taking the bus?”

In the years since The Event, Emma had been asked that same question enough times that her stinger started to get twitchy when she heard it. She peered longingly out the window, to where she could see the faint shape of her new apartment building in the distance, and tried to ignore the question. Tried.

“Is it because you are too fat to fly?”

Emma spun in her seat, instantly incensed, “It’s not fat, it’s just fur!”

The lady who’d been pestering her turned out to be an old shrew in the literal sense. The hairy old woman stared down her long nose at Emma, face twisted in a bitter scowl, “Then get a trim you hippy! Or are you wasting too much time to be able to do that by riding the bus instead of using the wings god gave you?”

Emma felt her wings vibrate in outrage, her abdomen spasming with busybody-stinging intent as all four of her fists clenched tight on various handholds. Emma very carefully took a few deep breaths to try and reign herself in, and then simply glared at the old rodent.

“Listen, ma’am,” Emma very carefully emphasized the word, “I work across the city. Flying twenty miles takes far more effort than you’d have to make to run that distance... or to keep your mouth shut and mind your own business.”

The shrew gasped, apparently gobsmacked at Emma’s audacity. Emma would have savored the silence except someone at the back ruined it by chuckling and saying, “Bzzz-nass.”

Just like that, Emma realized she was done. One hand pulled the ring cord, the other three gathered her things, and she hastily marched to the exit door of the bus, her body literally humming with annoyance.

The shrew didn’t take long to start a tirade about respect and the youth these days, which Emma determinedly ignored. A teen at the back was chanting “Sting her.” Over and over again. The time it took for the bus to make it to the next stop seemed to stretch out like taffy, until when the bus doors hissed open Emma had managed to achieve a pure state of absolutely no patience. 

Practically exploding off the bus, Emma’s wings spread wide… until she saw that bitter excuse for owl feed glaring at her through the bus window. As much as Emma just wanted to fly off, away from her annoyance, she refused to give the old crone the satisfaction. Scowling mightily, Emma tucked her wings back in, and petulantly began to march down the sidewalk in the general direction the bus had left in.

Emma carefully smoothed her fur down to calm herself, muttering, “I’m not fat. I’m just fluffy.”

As she walked, Emma tried to reason her way through her frustration. Not for the first time in recent memory, she tried to remind herself that most people didn’t understand what it was like to be a bee person, that ignorance in people was to be expected when people like Emma had only existed in their current forms for a few years. She also had to admit to herself that she had made ignorant assumptions about other non-humans as well.

But lately it was getting harder and harder to work past those ugly feelings, especially when stress at work was ramping up. Emma once again took a deep, shuddering breath…

Then Emma caught the scent of something on the wind that made her forget the bus incident entirely. All her momentary concerns slipped from her mind, like water from an upturned bucket, as an amazing floral scent assaulted her senses.

Emma immediately stood ramrod straight, head on a swivel as she tried to home in on the intoxicating aroma that seemed to speak to her very soul, antennae atop her brow twitching searchingly for information her human eyes couldn’t perceive.

Emma was half a block down the road, wings buzzing and carrying her at a low hover before intellect regained the reins instincts had managed to to wrest away from her. She felt a short wave of embarrassment that the scent had managed to drag her away like a cartoon character following the scent of a pie, but she had to admit the sweet aroma hanging in the air was absolutely amazing.

To say that Emma, as a bee girl, liked the smell of flowers was like saying arachnes like bondage. She felt embarrassingly stereotypical, but it was shamefully true. Emma could visit a greenhouse and leave practically high on the scents, arms full of planters and wallet empty. But whatever was giving off what she smelled at that moment was like hearing the Beatles sing ‘Yesterday’ after only hearing bad karaoke renditions all her life.

Emma landed, and took a peek about her to see if anyone caught what she was sure was a moderately embarrassing moment. Luckily no one seemed to be staring over much. Then she hastily hurried off, letting her antenna steer her towards whatever it was that was giving off that absolutely wonderful scent. 

Her investigation eventually led her to a tiny, aged one story house on a massive lot with a tall but run down fence. Emma didn’t notice much evidence of a gardener within, the yard was overgrown and infested with weeds. There were no flower boxes or beds in evidence, and for all intents and purposes the place looked half abandoned. The fence, almost eight feet high, completely blocked any view from the ground level.

Emma frowned, weighing her options. Obviously she could fly high enough to peek into the yard, but then it would look (correctly) like she was snooping. Casually she tried to circle the place, to see if there was a place she could steal a sneakier peek. In an alley behind the home Emma found her opportunity, a large, almost cartoonish knothole in the fence just a little below eye level.

Emma crept up to the hole, more excited than she could understand, and silently bent down to press a curious eye to the fence. 

But then Emma froze in shock for several long seconds, cheeks flushing bright red, before she pulled back swiftly with a choked squeak. Mindless of who might be looking, her wings burst into motion, and Emma quickly vanished into the sky in the general direction of her home.

Inside the fence and beyond a knothole, in that messy and chaotic yard, a massive flower with purple petals stirred. Inside the flower’s center, where there would normally be stamen, was the hunched over torso of a very naked woman with green tinted skin, who turned her face and opened her eyes in the direction of the sudden buzzing noise that had woken her from her sleep.

__________

Emma did a bit of anxious panicking when she got home.

Never, in her life, had she felt like as much of a pervert as she did at that moment. She dearly, dearly hoped that no one had seen her actually peeking at a sleeping naked woman. Worse, what if the alraune caught her staring?

Glancing about her apartment, Emma could swear all the various flowers in the room were staring at her. Judging her. Full of shame, Emma began to tend to all her plants in penance for her perceived sins.

Under the shame, shock, and confusion, the memory of that glorious smell still lingered. Emma could feel it at the back of her brain, a tiny taste of paradise hidden by a dilapidated old fence. Undeniably the flower girl had been the source of the immensely attractive aroma, and a nagging instinct within Emma was already kindling the flame of temptation to return.

With a pent up sigh, Emma casually lifted a potted lily, her lips opening gently as she did so. She leaned over just a bit, and casually extended a long, nimble black tongue inside the flower, hungrily searching its depths for the sweet tastes she found herself craving, ever since her change, as a form of comfort food.

Of course, she usually tried to satisfy that particular desire in private these days. Especially after one notorious visit to a greenhouse that she was now banned from. The Event had been a tough time for many people who were coming to grips with new instincts.

In trying to satisfy her sweet tooth, however, she found her mind wandering to the idea of a more plentiful source of pollen and nectar. With a sigh Emma realized that this particular dilemma would probably be made worse by comfort food, instead of better. Reluctantly she pulled out her cell phone, unlocked it, and began tapping on her phone app.

The phone rang once, and Emma hoped someone would pick up. A second ring found her regretting making the call. The third had her wondering if she should hang up…

It was too late, “He-llo my sweet girl!”

Emma squirmed a bit in place, “Hi Mom… are you busy?”

“Of course not ho… Emma,” Emma’s Mother stumbled a bit. Once upon a time she loved to refer to Emma as ‘Honey’, but that nickname had become super awkward. Habits were hard to break, especially for older folks, and Emma’s mom made a reasonable but not always successful effort to stop.

“What do you need, daughter dearest?”

Emma wandered over to her bed, and flopped down on her belly, “I… think I have a problem. A… well, a… you know, problem.”

Emma buzzed her wings briefly to illustrate her intent. 

“Ahh,” Emma’s mother paused, sounding hesitant, “... well, I can certainly try to help, Emma. At least as much as I can.”

“Thanks Mom,” Emma said, writhing a little on her bed, “ I know you don’t always understand… bee things. But… I really appreciate that you know me as a person rather than, you know.”

“Go ahead, tell Momma whatever you need to say.”

Taking a deep breath, Emma bolstered herself to take the next step, “So… there’s this girl…”

There was a single breath of silence as Emma tried to compose her thoughts, which was fast broken by the hooting laughter of her mother. 

“Oh my god Emma, is that all? You had me thinking this was some sort of extra-species thing, not a good old fashioned crush!”

Emma felt her wings vibrate self consciously as her abdomen bobbed and twitched in mild irritation, “It’s not a crush mom, I don’t even know her!”

“It’s always a crush until you know them, sweetie pie, and then it’s either love or disappointment.” 

Emma rolled her eyes, “You don’t understand, Mom. She’s an alraune!”

“And that’s a problem because… why?”

Sighing, Emma rubbed her face into a pillow for a brief frustrated moment, “It’s a nonhuman thing mom. They’re half flower people, like… a giant flower from the waist down.”

“... she’s still a person though, isn’t she?”

“No… well… ugh, Mom, just google it later, please? The thing is, she’s a giant flower,” Emma carefully emphasized the last two words.

“Oh…? Ohhhhhhhhh.” 

Emma nodded reflexively, “You get it? I only caught a whiff of her, and now… now I… Mom, she smells so good.”

“Are you saying…” Emma’s mom cleared her throat very carefully, “ are you saying you want to… uhm… eat her or something, honey?”

“I don’t eat flowers Mom!” Emma buzzed angrily, “I just like to taste them.”

“Oh, so this is a gay thing.” 

“No mom! It’s different, I’m not, like, attracted to her in that way…”

“Emma, where do you think you’d find a plant girl’s nectar?” 

Emma blinked, catching her mother’s carefully neutral tone. A suspicious thought crept into her mind, “Mom… why…?”

“Well, sweetie, I’m retired, curious about my daughter, and I do actually know how to google things about my daughter’s new species. Because some of us don’t just assume we know everything about being a bee person. Emma.”

As each word her mother spoke was rattled off, Emma began to squirm and wrap herself in blankets, becoming a warm and cozy regret bundle.

“You, uhh… did… that huh? I… didn’t think there’d be that much to learn about… my kind, so far on the internet…” Emma admitted.

“There wasn’t. But people are learning and talking about new things every day. That google… algo-thingy seems to like telling me about articles about extra species all the time. It also sends me a lot of news about various medications, but I do not know why they’d be sending me to pages about erectile dysfunction, your father’s…”

“Mom, please!” Emma interrupted hastily, “what did google say about… you know. My… flower girl problem?”

“Well, Emma… you have a crush.”

Emma just went limp in frustrated despair, “But I only saw her for, like, two seconds!”

“Oh Emma. Different people fall for different things. Some people feel attraction because of what they see, and some people fall for what they hear. That’s not you. Your kind may fall for what they smell.”

Emma blinked. “Oh.”

“Oh indeed.”

Emma peered down cross eyed at her nose, then briefly up at her antenna, “So… uhm… what… do I do about it?”

“Well, why would it be any different than any other relationship?” Emma's mother sounded exasperated, “Just find an excuse to talk to her, and see if you click before you lick.” 

Emma’s mother chuckled a bit, and Emma let her, awkwardly silent.

“Well, it’s not that easy, Mom,” Emma admitted hesitantly, “I kinda. Don’t know who she is. I, well, I smelled her, but I thought she was a regular flower, right?”

“... riiiight…?”

Emma squirmed, “so… I kind of just peeked into a yard to see where the smell was coming from, and she was just kind of there. Sleeping… naked.”

There was a moment of dead air.

“Oh.”

_________

Emma and her mom never did decide on a clever plan to engineer a meet-cute beyond changing careers to become a door to door salesgirl. While Emma gave it some honest thought, her mom pointed out that solicitors were often the polar opposite of sexy.

Even if Emma couldn’t manufacture a reason to start a conversation with the alraune, just walking past her home to bask in the scent wasn't illegal. So what had been a frustrated escape became Emma’s routine.

Work. Bus most of the way home. Walk past the flower house, and hope to bump into the woman like in the romance manga (she considered getting toast to hold in her mouth). Then, after nothing happened, fly the rest of the way to her apartment.

Emma also thought about the knothole in the fence every single day with a mixture of shame and curiosity. Part of her was starved for just a tiny hint, the smallest clue, any speck of information about her new obsession. The very sight of it teased her mind with its sinister potential every day.

Until… the knothole was one day covered up. Affixed to the board of the fence looked to be a simple white envelope, with a red heart drawn on it.

Emma locked up as soon as she noticed the drawing, her own heart pounding as her mind swirled with dreams and curiosity.

The envelope fluttered a bit in the wind, and Emma’s own breath caught in her throat. Hesitantly she took a step towards the mysterious missive. Then, she glanced about, eyes fearfully searching. Her wings spasmed anxiously. No one was around. Surely, surely she could just take a quick peek?

No. The letter couldn’t be for Emma’s eyes, she needed to leave it alone. Emma stopped, and partially turned around. Buuuut… what if the breeze happened to blow it off the fence, perhaps? Emma glanced over again, every bit of will focused on summoning a random gust. Then a stronger wind blew, and Emma took an eager step towards it… until the wind died, and the letter fell limp again, leaving Emma frowning mightily at the aggravating breeze-tease.

Another flutter. Another step closer. A swell of hope, a calm of disappointment. Her wings buzzed slightly. Was the heart drawn in lipstick? No… no… it was drawn in crayon. Step. Step. The wind blew again, and the letter flipped upwards for a brief heartbeat. Something was written on the other side! Something small, in messy cursive…

Something crunched faintly under Emma’s feet, but she barely noticed. She saw a questing hand reaching forward, and was almost shocked to realize it was her own. 

Emma felt a wave of shame bring her to her senses. This was ridiculous. This was an invasion of privacy, and she was better than that. Steadying her resolve, Emma pulled her hand back, and turned… 

Or tried to. Emma felt something pull tight as she attempted to move her legs. A wave of cold terror swept through her body as she glanced down to see a twisting sprawl of roots reaching up to tangle about her legs.

“Surprise! Caught you, you little pervy bastard!” declared a rich, musical voice from the other side of the fence.

Instinctively Emma tried to take the skies, and instantly failed as the twisting root’s grips around her calves swiftly halted her escape plan. The voice from other side of the fence gave a surprised yelp, and Emma realized suddenly that the source of her current predicament was probably her own quarry.

“Oh, shit, sorry!” Emma apologized reflexively.

“Wait… what the fuck?”

A green finger poked the letter up, revealing a searching purple eye. The eye sighted Emma, still awkwardly entangled, abdomen instinctively raised in stinging position and wings occasionally blurring anxiously. A green eyelid closed and opened rapidly in either a confused blink or a rapid fire wink (and Emma doubted she was that lucky).

“Oh… uhhh… you’re not a pervy high school kid.” The Alraune noted awkwardly.

“Uhm,” Emma chose her words very carefully, having troubles at that moment of what she last saw beyond the knothole, “... no? I mean, not for several years now. I mean, since I’ve been in high school, not since I was last a pervert. Ah. Because, I’m… also, not a pervert?”

The eye looked at Emma, and slowly panned down, then back up, and slowly closed ever so slightly.

“Well… that’s unfortunate.”

Emma squirmed, not sure how to take that. She peered down at her legs, around which the roots were still firmly entwined, and even seemed to be creeping up slowly.

“Uhhh, would you… mind?” Emma asked hesitantly.

“Oh, of course. I’m sure you have places to be,” the woman laughed musically,” but, if you aren’t in a hurry, maybe I can offer you something to drink? To apologize for the… uh… inconvenience”

Emma watched in fascination as the vegetation entangling her legs loosened, and drifted down, retreating back into the soft soil. Upon looking back up, she saw the knothole was once again covered by the letter.

Emma shifted awkwardly, kneeling a bit to brush some loose dirt off her legs, as the sound of a latch unlocking met her ears. She peeked up, and saw a portion of the gate swing slowly open. Hesitating a brief moment, Emma pondered the wisdom of declining, fleeing in embarrassment, and never coming back.

Except… that smell still hung heavy in the air, a gentle caress off her olfactory senses on the breeze. Emma swallowed, and walked forward, into the yard. 

As the gate closed behind the bee girl, the envelope once again fluttered, forgotten.