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Yellow was finding the problem or. Pickle. Possibly even a dilly of a pickle. Was that he didn’t quite have a rightful idea of how to Mosey.
Of course, given a handful of minutes ago he’d been a flower, and didn’t rightly have a terribly clear understanding of locomotion, maybe he had more problems then that.
But so far as he was concerned, the Moseying was a major one. Cowboys moseyed, or patrolled, or rode horses. Horses was another whole separate issue.
Currently, he wasn’t ambulating about in any manner whatsoever. He was laying on a patch of damp, mossy ground somewhere south of the castle, in the tangle of the lower cliffs, all the way inside a long abandoned plastic pot that the Dark Fountain had turned into a shadowed little rocky gully. Yellow hadn’t bothered to get up from how he’d fallen, leaving him sprawled, face up only by happenstance, arms out at his sides. One leg was tangled over the other from where he’d gotten mixed up and accidentally been sidling on the left side. Possibly even SNEAKING or-or- skulking. The domain of only low down, black-hatted men he was somewhat terrified of spontaneously accidentally becoming. It was hard, because his hat was yellow instead of white or black.
Yellow or not, his hat had come with him when he fell. It was a loyal kind of garment, even if it’s moral alignment seemed unclear. It had drifted down to fall over his face, covering him slightly from a tiny drip of moisture overhead, the sound making a gentle, steady beat as he tried not to despair.
It was just.. if he couldn’t mosey right. Then how was he supposed to find the Blue Flower?
But if he couldn’t mosey… he couldn’t find the Blue Flower. A thought that made him ache so terribly in the thought of failure. He COULDN’T! He WOULDN’T! He just. He had to find them. Whoever they’d become, whoever they… dreamed of being. He knew.
Yellow knew he’d always dreamed of loving the Blue Flower, because…. he was a cowboy. He was a flower, also, but. Well. He had glimpsed the prettiest flower in the world, was all.
If the Blue Flower had been a pretty girl in the window of a manor house, he would have thrown himself on the doorstep begging just to shoe horses in the yard so he could dream of seeing her again. A humble schoolmarm, he might have died in a blaze of bullets defending her town. If the Blue Flower had been a lawman, he’d have thrown himself into shackles just to be walked behind him- or. Or ridden to glory firing iron at his side!
…If it had been the very moon in the sky, he would have thrown a lasso around the stars to climb up just a little closer to it. They could have been anything. Anything, anyone, at all in the world, dreaming or awake. And his heart would have found a way to weave him into the Yellow Flower’s dreams.
But they had met as flowers, and the Blue Flower had become the quiet, beating heart of the Yellow Flower's dreams. Because what he dreamed of was a story; and all the stories he’d liked best to hear beat to the pulse of love, of some kind or another. Person, place. It was all the same to Yellow; and another flower was person and place to him, all at once. Shade and soil, little living things, and the glass that shone with the light of their dreams, and the light of the Fountain…
They were each a little world, and he’d have torn the stem clean out from his own body to be a part of the Blue Flower's world, if he could.
He had. Sort of. Well. Asgore had. But if he’d known! If he’d been able. He would have, back then! He’d have torn himself right into Asgore’s waiting paw to be there. He’d only been blessed enough he hadn’t had to. It was part of why he was so truly Loyal to the King, along with being so tenderly cared for, right there by Blue all along. He was so. So… !
Yellow knew he’d been grown lucky. Didn’t know why. Just knew his original plant must have spent all the luck the heavens had sent it to just the one little bud that’d been him. Because he’d been laid in the bouquet before Blue. Just one of dozens of growing yellows, really. Nothing particularly special as a variety. Mostly, he privately was pretty sure, he’d been picked because he’d been tall. He could remember Asgore chuckling softly, and saying ‘Well Howdy there! This one’s saying hello.’ He was grateful.
So, so grateful.
…there had never been a sky. Never been any body of water like it. He was already a lucky flower to have nestled in the same bouquet; a color compliment to the striking, shocking shade. He shivered against the moss like a breeze had blown by, ephemeral pulse and dark light woven heart pounding as he recalled the stray brush of a petal against a petal….
Just the twice. Then, and the day of Asgore’s wedding. He’d dreamed of being so nervous, so terrified he’d wilt, even with the (stealthily hidden) dirt and water and glass keeping their still-delicate, re-rooted stems safe….
He found he’d sort of given up on actually uncrossing his legs all the way, and had one slung over the other instead, his arms behind his head as he looked up into the infinite darkness above. It felt like a natural sort of a way of laying, though something was a little missing. He frowned, considered the matter, and reached out to pluck up a stray bit of grass, setting it between his teeth. Urge satisfied, he settled back, and sighed, his heart and his mind haloed by the distant light he so yearned for.
…slowly, the piece of grass vanished between his teeth as he absently consumed it, so he picked another piece.
Yellow had wound up all the way down on the first floor, on account of a very severe moseying mishap occurring on the outer edge of the castle, just when he’d been finding his way around. He’d fallen safely, but down where the lamps didn’t reach more then the faintest motes. He’d TRIED to make his way back up but. Platforming and recurring crisis’ of motor coordination were a difficult mix! He was good at the jumping. But then once he got to worrying about the Moseying…
It’d been all he could do to keep the light of the Blue Lamp in his vision as he’d bounced downward. It still was; just barely. Though. Something seemed to be drifting from it. Like a single tiny drifting star.
He stared, then something clicked- a flicker of a confused dreaming memory from Asgore, from all the murmured stories of an excited little Kris talking to him through the glass. Stars! Flowers knew a little about stars, but COWBOYS wished on them! He was SURE of that. And a human- a cowboy type of human- was supposed to wish. That was a big part of it all.
Thankfully, so long as he didn’t overcomplicate things worrying his mosey might become a Skulk, he was good at moving. He had dreamed of not just motion, but a kind of perfection- to become the whipcrack arms of Justice! To be able to do… a stunt show!!
He rolled backwards to get his long legs over his head, then whipped them forward, rolling up off the ground in a whip crack of motion that let him land smoothly on one knees, head launching forward so he could catch his hat against his chest, staring up at the beautiful little star. It was a bright blue, and traveled, as he assumed all stars did, in a slow, drifting little side-to-side meander towards him.
It made him inhale softly, filling his approximation of lungs with the cool, humid air of the nook he was in. The little bitty patch of falling light was getting subtly bigger, and seeing it from below was dazzling. He almost forgot he was supposed to make a wish at all, and had to clear his throat.
“O-oh! I wish.. I wish um. Oh gosh is that how you say it? I um. …Gosh. Maybe I’m supposed to start different.” he felt his cheeks grow a little hot as he shifted, and lifted his hat a bit, bashful. It was his first ever wishing star! …first ever star, too, as a human, at least. Hiding his face helped a little, and let him think.
“If… you please. Oh falling star. If I could bother you….” he started uncertainly, in case maybe it was rude to just start wishing right away. “I wish… oh. How I wish to lay my eyes on The Blue Flower.” he murmured, raising his head up to the star again, a few stray sparkles of starlight caressing the somewhat more ragged yellow petals he kept hidden under his hat with just the faintest tint of blue light.
Overcome, he lifted his head- drawn to his feet, hat still clutched over his aching heart, until he could let the tiny drift of light fall over his face, alighting on his cheek. No more then the faintest bit of light, he could still feel it. Like a drop of water in the desert, it only made him all the more achingly aware of the need.
…Just before the star landed, gentle as a drifting little dry leaf, right on his nose. Yellow froze, shocked- panic stricken he had stood up too fast and knocked a fallen star clean out of the sky! Somehow? But before he had time to do more then mentally start to plan his own execution (after he’d returned the star to the sky, guillotine placed over infinite pit), he was dazzled by the sound of the star unfurling it’s beautiful little blue wings.
“Oh- THERE you are!” the star murmured- Yellow realized, dizzily, was not a star. It was a tiny, blazing, brilliant blue little flying. Fluttering. Flapping thing. He was sure he might have had a name for it, only he could have thought a bit. But he was overcome by simply marveling at the way it’s wings filled his vision completely. Each to an eye, his world had become nothing but a shimmering starfield of blue, the light from the distant blue sunrise shining through the wings like stained glass.
It had such a beautiful voice. It sang out to him, stunning him silent, the ticklish weight on his nose shifting.
“Oh- oh, goodness… I do, beg your forgiveness for landing so rudely its just…” the weight lifted, and the tiny blue mote of light fluttered up, into the air a bit, freeing his vision. As it drifted a little from him, the shape clicked. Pulled together with Asgore’s words, and the memories of plants. An insect! A butterfly, impossibly blue. Impossibly tiny…? He wasn’t sure, and didn’t puzzle on it longer then it took to observe the way it so shimmered in the little pool of blue light. It seemed as if it carried a little around it, like the tiniest of blue spotlights.Or the warmth of a lamp on a wide, open prairie.
It drifted, then landed again, sitting neatly on the very highest available edge of Yellow’s hat. Its wings opened and closed slowly, like the motion of a sigh, opening again with a little flutter.
“You,” the Butterfly said softly, “are the most beautiful flower I have ever been so blessed to see.”
“Wh- oh- w- I don’t-“ Yellow stuttered, trying to pull his head down as he lifted his shoulders up, eyes wide as he stared at the world most beautiful And Also Incorrect insect.
“The most beautiful flower in all the WORLD!” the Butterfly cried out, wings lifting, trembling with emphasis
“N-No!” he gasped, reeling back on one foot to lean away from the very NOTION, horrified!
“Oh~! Oh, but you mustn’t say that- oh, you mustn’t blush so sweetly saying THAT….” the butterfly lifted, and swooped- to his shock, its patterns seemed to re-arrange on its wings, smiling at him in a way as clear as the feeling of daylight on a leaf. Which was to say, it made perfect sense to Yellow, but was quite flustering.
“Wh- why n-not..?” he asked, worrying immediately. Maybe cowboys didn’t blush? …no he was sure they did. No wait, maybe that was why the neck handkerchiefs. To hide the blushin’.
“It’s too sweet! Too lovely… so demure! How can you be so wild but so SHY? So strong, but so lost…? Why reject such a compliment?” The butterfly swept up and down gracefully to punctuate it’s words, sweeping elegantly to spin perfectly in place, pulling its wings in to dive. Yellow watched it, nervous it might plummet to the ground. But it swept back up, gracefully.
“You must trust it from me.” the Butterfly informed him. “For beauty’s truth lies only in the heart, and my heart speaks it’s truth forevermore~! I know none could ever rival your sunshine! Your light!” The butterfly circled him as it spoke, and Yellow found himself swaying in place side to side, twisting to try to keep it in view a little longer. It moved so prettily, so lightly…
“You are a marvel worth dreaming of.” The Butterfly sighed, voice as pretty as a song, and Yellow felt himself blush hard enough he had to worry his hat’s brim in both hands.
“I-I. I’m sure I don’t mean t’ doubt you… exactly.” Yellow said, trying to get himself under control. Lowering his eyes might have helped but. Looking at something so fine and elegant felt both terribly restful, and also like a fire was behind his eyes. He swallowed hard, finding his mouth dry… oh, if only he’d drank more when he’d fallen upside down in that puddle earlier! And not just enough to get his hat dry. Oh, well.
He took a deep breath, and found his resolve.
“Just. If you think I’m the most beautiful flower there is, you must not have met the Blue Flower.” he insisted, polite, but firm, lifting his hat a bit as he stood up straight. For a moment, the butterfly was quiet, spiraling upwards in the air to flutter in front of his face again.
“Oh?” it murmured, voice softer, and somehow, even impossibly sweeter. Yellow trembled as if his glass had been lifted while a warm breeze passed by.
“Is that… so~? I won’t deny, the Blue Flower is beautiful. But. You seem so sure.” the butterfly said. “But. Only…have you. Seen him, then?” he asked, sounding almost nervous.
“Not… as. As humans yet. No. But I can’t possibly imagine it making a lick of difference.” Yellow said, pressing his hat harder over his chest, as his heart thundered in his chest. “Romance is the very soul of adventure, and- and. I dream of it. I’ve always dreamed of him.”
“Oh… goodness.” The butterfly dipped a little, and asked, shyly- “May I… pardon you, for permission to land on your hand? I seem a little weary.”
“Oh! Oh, yes, of c-course! Really land anywhere you like!” Yellow offered quickly, lifting his hand up for him. “I still think you’re wrong about Blue. But… If. You don’t mind my saying. You’re so pretty I thought you were a wishin’ star sent by the blue sun it's self, takin’ mercy on me just passing by.” he said, as the butterfly carefully settled on his outstretched finger.
“Did you really…?” the Butterfly asked, wings drifting open and shut. Yellow watched the process, finding even this to be terribly elegant.
“I did, um- Miss… Mister…… Missus? …. Misterus?” Yellow asked, drifting a bit uncertainly in his terminology.
“Mister~ Though certainly I am Mysterious.” he said, the butterfly's little voice briefly lowering into a very soft purr. The sound made yellow draw up a bit closer to his Full Height, possibly taller then he’d been a few minutes ago. He smiled, and tilted his head down, bashful still.
“Mister Butterfly, then.” he said, lifting his other hand to set his hat on his head, so he could tip it properly while he introduced himself.
“I’m Yellow, and in my step walks Justice.” he began, cheerful “I wished upon you to find the Blue Flower! For you see. I know him to be the most beautiful thing to ever grow under the sun, and have since we were first taken in the hand of the King” he said, swaying with the pure joy of even getting to say so. He was a little prone to wilt- he felt things strongly, was all! Joy. Love. Sorrow. Despair. ‘Haven’t Been Watered’, a very core Plant Emotion.
“I wish you could have seen him… um.” Yellow peeked open one eye. “O-or her. Or them. Or it. It’s a nice one, I was gonna maybe be It but i liked Cowboy better then Cowthing.” he said, shrugging gently. Man he drew the line at, since it was never Cowman, and 'Lawman’ was. Different. Somehow. Different enough.
“I have reliable certainty its ‘him’. Just a very pretty him” Mr. Butterfly said gently. Yellow brightened, and nodded quickly, up and down, committing it to memory. Him. Him!!!! To be a cowboy in love with a man… gosh. Living really had been worth it, every single last time. He swayed a little more, twisting one leg behind the other a little.
“Him, then. The world's most beautiful man.” Yellow said softly. Mr. Butterfly laughed gently.
“Oh, but I wish you could see yourself the way I do. Maybe you’d understand…. to the eyes of Love. You’re just. Wonderful.” he said, the butterfly’s antenna fluttering in a way that seemed, maybe. Bashful? …the tiny little pink blush marks made Yellow suspect this was the case.
“Well… I guess. I don’t see things like a butterfly.” Yellow admitted. It still felt a little odd to be thought of so highly but. He did want to be a respectful kind of Justice. He’d certainly seen things differently as just a flower.
“Perhaps not… I could try to describe it. But- oh. If you seek the Blue Flower. It would be terrible of me not to say. I can make sure you get to him.” the Butterfly lifted up again, drifting in a circle as Yellow jumped and then bounced into the air, kicking with delight hard enough to strike sparks with his spurs off of Just Air.
(He had no idea what spurs were for, and had decided: they were for looking cool while double jumping. Also when rail grinding, which presumable cowboys used train tracks for.)
“REALLY! Ohh, if you could- oh you really WOULD grant my wish, Mr. Butterfly!” Yellow said happily, drifting back down to thunk back onto his feet, holding his hat to his head. He lifted his hands up together as a perch, one cupped under the finger he presented for the little butterfly. Only for him to swoop down, and nestle into his cupped hand, light as a feather and warm as a heartbeat against his palm.
“I so hope I will, Yellow. I think. Truly I would like nothing more then to grant your wishes.” Mr. Butterfly said, turning in place in a way he did find a Little ticklish. And also, made his heart do a terrible pitter patter.
…Gee. He sure hoped Blue didn’t mind him being late to meet him. And he hoped Blue wouldn’t mind his foolish heart fluttering a bit over Mr. Butterfly.
He shifted his hands to let Mr. Butterfly just in front of his chest, giving up on Moseying in the spirit of not falling over.
“Perhaps…as we walk though… I should. Explain something… About. The Blue Flower, and Myself…?” Mr. Butterfly said softly, as Yellow carefully climbed up out of the little gully he was in, holding his hands around the little blue sunbeam-made bug so as to keep it from being jostled.
“Oh! Well… if you want to. But I don’t mind hearing it from the Blue Flower, once we’re there…” Yellow said softly, and meant it- after all. He had all the time in the world (from a flower’s point of view) to learn in. It made him smile, aglow a little himself.
“…B-but. Um. Maybe, while we’re walking… if you happen to know if Mr. The Blue Flower LIKES cowboys….” he asked nervously, washed in the gentle sound of a little butterfly's warm, kind laughter at his question as they vanished together into the tall swaying grass, through the path of blue light drifting ahead of his feet now.
“I should think. You will learn… we love them.”