[ Cole's face brightens immediately upon seeing the Inquisitor. she is a friend, and a welcome ally in any battle; coincidentally (or not so coincidentally at all, really) she's one of the first people he'd want to give one of the flowers to. he nods in response to the question. ]

Everything is fine. I was just thinking about flowers. There are so many, and they mean so many different things. Can mean, to some people. Others are just happy to get them.

[ it's always puzzled him. why give a gift that will wilt in a couple of days? he'd never considered before that it isn't quite the flower that matters, but the thought behind it. now he can feel it, now he knows —

Cole's smile grows a touch wider at the yellow one he's offered. he knows there's a whole language of flowers, depending on the kind of flower and the color; it seems over complicated and even stranger than giving away dying plants, but he recalls overhearing a florist once, scolding a man on a bouquet for his sweetheart. yellow had been a bad choice. disappointment, rejection. only if you want her to kick you to the curb! the florist had said.

he won't do that, though. he knows she means well, and her words only support the fact. he pulls a light red one from his hand, leaning to tuck it into her hair before taking the yellow. ]

Thank you. [ and there's a quiet hum. ] It means what you want it to mean, even if it's wrong. This one can mean "friend".