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The Gwens pride themselves on their gentlemanly manners and polite mode of discourse. This makes them popular as PR executives, teen guidance councillors and of coarse transit drivers. The Old Party executive often employ them as public liaisons for many of their "elected" members. Having a Gwen at your side can masterfully compensate for your obvious disconnect with the citizenry, if not the age of reason. It is understood by most - save the Old Party - that these secondments are collectively shared by the Gwens. Even they find what passes for civic leadership to be a serious trial of the patience. Rotations are on a bi-weekly schedule, no one Gwen having to put up with the same "honourable member" more than once per year. Alas, if only the Old Party would actually use their members with honour. It is then no surprise that Gwen would gladly concede right of way when crossing paths with a young Darlingtonia trifidus in the City Park - still designated 'Old Triffid Farm' on tram roll signs. Gwen enjoys testing new boots here but many others find the atmosphere, "off putting", which Gwen considers unfair. The park does seem to harbour a perpetual and creepy mist floating just above the ground, but this is largely an illusion. The "mist" in reality is an exotic breed of grey ivy that grows using micro-fine, near-transparent tendrils which can look like mist from a distance. And the tendrils do have a peculiar trait called 'swarming' where thousands can suddenly break lose and tickle passers by around the ankles and arms. Some report a brief tugging towards darker parts of the park. No one knows how this life form established there, but it is assumed that it was another failed bio-weapon created by the Mad Scientists Lobby. Abandoned due to cost overruns, the private sector does expect results. And then there are triffids like Gwen's sprout. It appropriately accepts her graciously offered right of way. Not that it has eyes to she her gesture. Nor a central nervous system to process the imagery or its meaning. Though a lack of specialized internal organs does not stop these man-eating1 plants from riding the tram to work each day. An uncomfortable circumstance for all, a result of Dystopia's mayor killing all funding for invertebrate transit last year. A decision which provoked, what Gwen described as, "rude" behavior from the representatives of the Triffid Diaspora. Still, tax breaks for brothel patrons is a priority for this city council. Not that Gwen need worry about this young triff flinging a "rude" stinger at her. By it's size and bloom colours, it is less than eight weeks from seed. Not mature enough to kill but certainly able to make daily trips to Lake Estrogen - a yummy seventeen (17) parts per billion. It does not yet 'drum' as mature triffids but its flower releases their tell tail, and intoxicating, signature fragrance. The odour aids the older members of its garden in tracking its whereabouts. It also lures their favourite foods. No surprise, the mayor is still missing from last year. A perennial, triffids are bisexual. But in spite of that fact humans and humanoids insist upon sexual characterization. Instinctively this assignment is a reverse gender designation. Males will refer to triffids as 'she' whereas females classify all triffids with the 'he' pronoun. Botanists and gynecologists attribute this tendency to the pheromone qualities of the bloom fragrance. It has a noticeably disarming effect on humans which is why many triffs choose career paths in law enforcement and aroma therapy. A violet bloomed sub-genus of the triffid family, Darlingtonia trifidus-erectus, produce an intensely alluring scent and have potentially lucrative careers in the common knowledge industries. For a more complete story about the triffid, why not contact the Canadian Wildlife Service in Ottawa - K1A 0J9

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1Of coarse, some people are also classified as 'man-eating'. See zombies, non-vegan.

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