Perhaps it was this childhood which sparked a inner interest within Lester, the mind which he had became curious about what he was, to be more precise he started looking more into the human mind and brain. Thoughtful as always, he apprehended to be more outgoing and sociable, interacting with people to great lengths, asking many questions, often interpreted as him being energetic and a ‘bubbly child’ it was merely a hobby. Discovering more for himself about society and humans there was a great amount of time spent figuring out how his Grandfather thought. Yet it was after discovering the thought pattern of his guardian that Lester realized why he was so interested in the brain and mind. He figured that it would have been passed down genetically, that craving for information and facts. Days spend finding hiding places for notes, replacing floorboards over journals and diaries of records, records of how people reacted to things. Broadening his understanding of the world around him, whilst studying the functions of the human brain he had started to learn from his Grandparents, the floristry trade was far more delicate and precise than may assumed at first, a flower could not be simply plucked up and stuck into a vase. Catered to him a program regarding the growth of different plants was what the main course of his education consisted of, splattered with economy, math, other subjects such as history and literature were not forgotten as he attended school. The placement of every branch, the use of ferns and flax to illuminate certain species of flower. It wasn’t just about the blossoming buds, large or small leaves every plant could be used to bring forth emotions or feeling from an arrangement. An art of sorts, morning and evenings, time spent between school and tutor sessions peering over seeds and books, taking notes on the reactions he got from people whilst coaxing a flower to grow to its fullest. Banishing bugs and critters who hoped to consume his creations. It was a time of plentiful information. Years of learning and development he had matured and come into himself, yet it was during that time that his spark had died, Grandfather had been the man who had started his interested in people, the elderly man had caused him to wonder about the inner minds of people. After the elderly males death his Grandmother felt as if staying in the cottage would do neither of them good, as she had been there to assist his research which would be left unfinished there was need for a new location. Closer to town, or rather it was more in town. The second time he moved house they purchased a small little place. It was the one his grandmother currently lived in, a small living space and home. Although it held ample space for their craft and a store front as a youth he adapted to living above a store and assisting his Grandmother in the production, growth and selling of various boutiques.
It hadn’t been until he had thought about himself that Lester’s mind had processed the changes of his childhood, his evolution one might say, the metamorphosis from his childhood rubble self to the smile plastered overtop which appeared just as natural. Perhaps it was his Grandfather, the elderly male certainly had an impact yet looking back it was possible that the man had just nudged the younger one towards his tendencies. His life had been set on a path, the envy that he had cast towards his siblings due to their steady set future careers had been smoothed away as the label of a trainee florist had been attached to the youth, whilst trainee soon turned into apprentice then fully trained the smooth life carried on. Flowers tended to grow well around him, the youth was noted to have a green thumb and a good hand with flowers. Grandmother had noted it at first, the odd way that plant organisms grew well around him, over time it had evolved and come through, the natural talent for magic from his ancestors which lay within. Although not major his Grandmother kept a keen eye on his progress, the inner talent he held mostly unknown to the child as he focused on his learning. A oddity indeed, almost too coincidental through, a child of florists descent holding the power of flowers inside him. Several times it had been mentioned to him, vague story books of adventuring mages cropped up, wall scrolls depicting great heroes and wonderful sly comments by his Grandmother were made, he knew as it was clear, her intentions for him to follow the path of a wandering mage, fighting as a career. Home, his had been moved earlier in time after the passing of his Grandfather, although it was small and a little cold, the wood creaked in places and it could do with some more paint, in the center of town and rather noisy. He quite liked it, the florists store was quaint, it had built up a good reputation amongst patrons and fellow business owners in the area. His own patch, the surrounding streets were his to wander ad claim without worry of drama starting, it had reminded him of the farm almost, how no one would bother him when he was younger as the farm was large enough to keep small time thieves and bandits away. Although as a child he had patrolled the road outside, with thoughts of how strong he was and that the evil bandits were scared off by a child of no more than six years.
Certainly it had an impact, the consistent messages sent to him of adventure and wonder, the idea of travelling. Whilst those around him encouraged Lester to travel as a mage, to help those around him and contribute to the society and community it was something else which pulled him towards leaving. Despite the comfort and warmth of a safe florists career the opportunity to become a mage of sorts was alluring, if he stayed Lester knew he would only interact with patrons of the shop. A continuous stream of people whom were similar in so many ways, the regular customers who got far too boring in their thought patterns he already had begun to understand them to a level that he felt to be unnecessary. Yet that spark, the spice which it could bring into his life, the mints and herbs, the garnish on a meal, the opportunity and possibility of all the individual minds he could come across. It really was an essential treat to his life. Yet that spark, the spice which it could bring into his life, the mints and herbs, the garnish on a meal, the opportunity and possibility of all the individual minds he could come across. It really was an essential treat to his life. The way he lived life, each day was focusing on what he could learn and take away from it, each day was spent analyzing the different people around him. A balance of sorts, Les had agreed to go into the world for a short while and explore, to wander the streets and roads between villages and cities. It was nice for sure, he enjoyed it as many a time took small jobs on his travels to gain more coin, as although he had savings it would benefit him to increase what he had stored. Missions didn't fit, it was hardly a job either, yet one came to his mind. A farmer asking for a hand in the fields. A day of hard work transported him to his childhood. Coming from a family of farmers and a training in floristry and plant growth the hard day of work presented a nice moment in time, he spent the day covered in sweat, muscles strained as he moved. Yet at the end of the day he had collapsed happily, that muscular ache deep in his bones, the sign that he had worked hard. It was so relaxing in a way, as if comforted by the pain, a consistent memory of his work over the day. Yet that evening he had reflected, sitting with the farmer on the porch, a drink in hand he had looked over the progress, despite only travelling to smaller villages and towns he felt as if it wasn't too bad, time well spent was the common saying that applied to his exploits. He found himself almost wishing for more, as we travelled to new areas and regions the cultures changed slightly, each different place thought differently. Wandered Even further, meandering until he came across larger and larger places of gathering, dragged into a guild. He had fallen in with a guild, that had secured his life, the florists scissors laid to rest.
The jobs varied, people varied, his ideas about the world had changed over time. A small series of journals had build up. Each one with a few alphabet letters in, people's names stacking up, vague notes and descriptions scrawled in borders. Mentions of certain characteristics added in odd obscure hues of ink. He had evolved so much, it was as he looked back on his growth that Lester really began to understand what he had become, how he had changed indeed.Perhaps there were point in time that he could mark out his changes, his dog passing away, going to live with Grandparents, Grandfather’s death, then travelling and that job. Perhaps that had changed him. It was certainly where his interest in research started. When that plague like oddity had spread its claws across the village of beanstalk and its surroundings. He had spent time with the older woman there, looking into the plague and how it affected flora, messing with the oddities of a plant. It had intrigued him, the discovery of something new which was so similar to his fascination with people, yet this new idea, this idea of plant research. A plague that he could control, that could be controlled and manipulated. That next trip back to his Grandmother's florist store had been about his Grandfather, time spent watching dust settle. Pages turning softly, the odd ones ripping slightly, folded corners. His Grandfather's notes, similar to his own about human natures they were comments about flora and plant growth. Experiments at times hinting towards the testing of new plants. The effects of plants on the human, more specifically on the human mind, although his grandfather had only briefly touched upon it the notes, yes that had been the start of something new. A neural revolution. With that new interest, and a greenhouse on board the Crystalli it had constantly called to him. Just one plant, just one then a few more. Just one plant had become one bed, one row of plants became a section then an entire room. The tainted plants from that job had been tested upo, experimented with. Of course it was hard to find a way to test the effects. It was okay now. He could sort his life out, just figure out how he could run it all.
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Of course it wouldn’t do to worry about that too much, his teammates, partners perhaps? No no they were friends, proper friends. They were people he was comfortable around and wouldn’t look into too much. It was okay if he didn’t fully understand them. Massaging his temples the youths daisy like hair fluttered with a shake of his head. Those thoughts were useless now, they needed to be categorized away so he could focus on the present. Feet stumbled, fluffy socks sliding down a little as his arms released a flood wave of blankets and pillows onto the warmly lit floor. Soft lighting lit up the sparsely decorated observatory, they tumbled down, forming an odd pile from the weirdest shaped pillow. Perhaps his little frog pillow would be in there, his matching pajamas soft and plush, the green material not needing to ward off the winter's frost despite their altitude in the ship. Dusk settled across the sky, darkened areas of the sky revealing small stars poking through the smooth blanket of sky that shone around the glass ceiling and walls. Would it be okay? A sleepover had been placed, something he hadn’t doe before, crates he had stacked earlier sat in the corner, soft scents of bread waving out from one. A flower, lost little flower in a field of crops it felt out of place, unsure of what to do or how to grow he simply went with the way the wind blew him. Arms tired, hauling crates up many stairs had passed under his feet whilst arms had been heavily laden with box. Froggy hood falling off as the air dragged it back, his weight lifted off for a moment as he dropped backwards the ceiling rising up further away before the bedding and pillows below supported him. Staring at the ceiling after flopping back to the mound of softness Lester's slight smile broaden slightly. Would this, would this evening go okay? He had left Val back in his room probably, it felt so quiet and empty. Yet after the rush and bustle of setting this little night of fun up the relaxed evening was welcomed, he could slowly watch the sun set until friends arrived, too tired, a lack of energy kept him laying in the mound of pillows, flour still caught i the lies of his hands. Softly closing his eyelids fluttered shut, a flower closing up for the night almost, short naps, resting for a moment's breath wouldn’t hurt. The watermelon hues hidden from sight as breathing slowed into a soft rhythm.