"I wouldn't do that one without gloves," Cosima calls, the memory of her own misadventure with that particular plant overcoming any hesitation she might feel in butting in to a stranger's business in the garden. It's not like she's here so often herself, so maybe he's meant to be plucking it ... Still. Gloves.
"It's just, that's rashvine, and it's not false advertising."
no subject
"It's just, that's rashvine, and it's not false advertising."