"YOU," Nia plops down into the seat next to Ursula. She's got most of her chocolate roses tucked under one arm, like the worst and most obnoxious beauty queen in the universe, but she's waving one of them around like a conductor's baton. (Or maybe a wand, that might be a more appropriate metaphor? Or is that too on the nose? Oh well.) "Deserve one hell of a vacation, my dear."

She winks. "Fantastic job. So, when real flower time rolls around, how many records do you think you're going to break? Will the cafeteria be a fire hazard? Will I have to take points?"