Tiffany

Aftermath

Nobody saw Gov or California for a few hours after the meeting. When they finally were spotted again, the brief glimpse of California showed he was very pale. Apparently Gov was very good at lecturing and instilling fear into states when it wasn't an election year in the middle of a pseudo-apocalypse.

California was hiding out in his room after his lecture. He felt bad for what he did. Fire was dangerous and he knew this. He knows this. Yet for some reason whenever he gets his hands on a lighter, all common sense leaves his brain.

There is just something mesmerizing about the flame's dance. It sways back and forth in the air. One strong breeze can put it out, yet it stays dancing. Bending and dipping in different directions. And it provides light, illuminating things in its glow.

Maybe he could get Gov another plant. It wouldn't replace Tiffany, but it could be an offering of peace. A sign of a promise that he won't touch another lighter. Or- he'll try not to touch another lighter. He won't touch another lighter when unsupervised.

Would Florida count as supervision?

Just thinking about things wouldn't do anything. California actually needed to get up and act. He's got money and technology. All he needs to do is look up a place to buy flowers. Lowe's should have some.

California tied his shoes and stomped them a bit as a test. He grabbed a flannel out of his pile in the corner of his room. It passed the sniff test and had no visible stains. Eventually he should get some laundry done.

Maybe.

He opened his bedroom door and jumped a foot in the air. At his feet was a familiar plant pot. A note stuck into the dirt and ash read "You did this" with an angry face. California recognized the handwriting as Gov's. Though the angry face looked more like one of Florida's doodles.

Heart beating out of his chest, California slammed the door shut again. This was cruel. He probably deserved it, but it was still cruel. There was no way he was walking past that pot. This must be Gov's way of grounding him.

That's fine. This is all fine. California can keep himself entertained in his room for a little while. He's got his books, his switch, his paperwork. There's plenty to keep him occupied. Surely Gov will come by in an hour or two to remove the pot.

----

Gov did not come and remove Tiffany's pot after one hour. Nor did he come by after two hours. In fact, nearly four hours later Gov had still not shown up to remove the flower pot. And California was getting just a tad bit antsy. He missed dinner! And the cherry on top was that he really needed to go to the bathroom.

Tired and defeated, California pulled out his phone and called who he thought was most likely to come and help him. If the other state actually answers that is.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times. A section of California's brain tried to convince him that it was just going to keep ringing. But after the fourth one, somebody finally answered.

"The [speaks New York] do you want?" The gruff voice came through. New York wasn't happy, but he never was after statehouse dinners. Usually the noise and social aspect tired him out.

"Can you come let me out of my room?"

"........" There was no response. California was about to say something again. "Why can't you get out of yer own room?"

California swallowed a newly formed lump in his throat. "There's a potted plant in front of my door."

He could practically hear New York's eye roll. "Then walk past the plant."