[PURSUIT OF DILIGENCE] Of Mulch and Whispered Hopes

Sunlight beams down, casting short shadows as Andromeda makes a purposeful stride towards the greenhouses. As he steps in, trowel tucked under one arm to free a hand to pull the door shut with a gentle click behind him, he allows himself a moment to admire the beauty around him, the flowers that blossomed but more than that: the hard work that went into maintaining the blooms, an ineffable beauty that always captured his attention, almost leaving him awestruck. Everyone contributed, of course, but it could not be ignored that the passion that Primrose dedicated to the cultivation of the beauty before him.

It was easy to want to impress Primrose. The way the cherubun held himself… Well, Primrose held himself with a veneer of arrogance, especially to those who didn't know him well. This was the first task he had requested as proof of the succubun's diligence. Andromeda couldn't help but want to impress the head of the Heavenly Embassy, and tending to the flowers that provided the cherubuns with ambrosia was hardly the most difficult thing to be requested to do. After all, Andromeda was a good eye in the greenhouse, with a gentle touch and understanding of what it takes to nurture the flowers into the ambrosia the cherubuns in Burrowgatory were missing.

The work isn't just about proving himself, and nor was it about the beauty of the space. They are beautiful, of course, but there is a gratification in the process of taking care of the garden. Just like Primrose, Andromeda held an air of pride about himself that could lead to a misunderstanding. Primarily, that he didn't like to get his hands dirty, but the smell of freshly turned soil and the grubby marks of a good session in the gardens gave the succubun a sense of satisfaction rivaled only by the fact that the work meant more to the community than pretty aesthetics: he was helping, and he was good at it.

"Oh, I hoped you would be early!" Dove waved at Andromeda, beckoning him over to the freshly tilled soil in the planters. Blue eyes were warm in their greeting as they regarded the succubun, and the motes of light that flitted around him as he gripped a trowel in one hand, and a watering can in the other, careful that the water didn't slosh and spill as he walked.

"It wouldn't do to be late." Andromeda's words sounded careful, but the cadence of his speech was as natural as his posture, which is to say the elegance he held himself with was less of a choice and simply how he was. It's with the same seemingly careful sentiment that he glances over the planters and the items Dove had gathered to help him in today's task: they had their own trowel, gloves, and of course the seeds they would be planting. They seemed to shimmer. "I asked you for help, after all. "

"You're right, it would be rather unbecoming…" Dove nodded as Andromeda carefully placed the watering can and trowel down. The gentle thunk brings Dove's attention back from organizing the equipment, and it looks like they might have been counting out the seeds, too. "So, you need my help? If word around Burrowgatory is to be believed then you're already a deft hand with the art of horticulture. So this should be pretty simple!" They beam.

"Thank you! Word can be believed on that one." Andromeda chuckles, reaching over for the gloves, only to hand them to Dove instead of donning them himself. "I just need to make sure I do this right, there's a lot on the line!"

And it was true. The cultivation of these flowers to ensure the successful brewing of ambrosia was important, and Primrose would be evaluating the effort that had been put in.

"Right! So—" Dove deftly glides the gloves over their hands, sparing only a moment to note that Andromeda was opting not to do the same. "These," they gesture to the box. "Have to be planted in groups of three. About 3 inches apart, and as close to exactly 4 inches deep into the the soil before being covered and watered. We've got 12, so it should take no time at all."

"Let's get started then!"

Andromeda lets Dove hold the box, the seeds glimmering in the corner of his eye as he begins creating deliberate divots in the earth, 4 inches deep, 3 inches apart. He hears his companion whispering to the seeds and smiles to himself.

"Are they saying anything interesting?"

"What?"

"Are they saying anything interesting."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're talking to them, I wondered if they were talking back. And I can't hear them, so."

Perhaps it's Andromeda's usually princely demeanor only a thin veil for the teasing that catches Dove off guard, or the fact that they had never considered that plants could talk. Andromeda's lips had pulled into a small, quirked half-smile and his eyes were gleaming with a mischievous spark.

"Oh! No, they're not saying anything. I don't think, anyway. If they are, I can't hear them. But I know they can hear me. Us, really."

"I'm sure they can." Despite the teasing, words are earnest as Andromeda finishes the divots in the soil. "I talk to the plants all the time. I like to keep them company."

"That makes sense!" Dove nods to themselves once more, and upon seeing that the soil is ready, hands the seeds to the succubun, and allows the matter of their task to become more pressing. "One at a time, gently, and with a whisper of something that brings you joy, plant the seeds."

Dove picks one up, placing it in the cupped center of their palm and gently tips it into the carefully crafted hole closest to them, and murmurs under their breath. "Making friends." They turn to Andromeda with an accomplished smile. "Like that!"

"The smell of a fresh, herbal soup. The comfort of a hot cup of tea steaming in my hands. The wafting floral scents of a newly bloomed blossom." Andromeda follows suit, words uttered under his breath as each rare seed is guided into each of the divots, until they are all planted and a warmth seems to settle over the pair, a sunbeam smiling upon them.

"Perfect. Now, I think you know the rest." Gloved hands tended to the spot they had previously worked on, filling the hole, being careful not to pack the soil too tight. They were right, Andromeda did know this next part, but waited for the guidance before doing the same, touch deliberate, before reaching for the watering can to saturate the soil.

"What color do you think these ones are going to be?" The question is asked over his shoulder as he returns the watering can to it's home, now empty, and returning with a curious expression, keen to hear Dove's answer.

"Hm? Oh." Dove ponders the question for a moment. "Blues. I think. Dark ones and light ones. Though I do hope one of them will be pink." They took their gloves off, placing them on the bench before looking to Andromeda's hands, covered in soil and mud after patting down the earth. "Oh, please let's go wash your hands!"

Andromeda laughs.

"Of course. I don't think I said before, but thank you for helping me with this."

"It's been my pleasure!"