The Importance of Diligence: Part 3

Miraculously, the seeds that Narcissus helped to plant had begun to sprout. Now that the plants were growing, they needed tending to – fertilizing, watering, pruning… work begets more work. True to their word and good nature, Dove had volunteered to assist – which is to say, babysit - Narcissus for this next step of the growing process. Primrose was all too happy to have someone get the succubun out of his hair for a week or two, and let Dove take the reins on showing Narcissus how to care for the budding plants.

Narcissus arrived that afternoon with another helper in tow, his bimble. While what he said to Dove was that he just thought the imp would enjoy getting to see a new garden – it did so love plants – the imp had another purpose. Narcissus didn’t want, couldn’t afford, another debacle like what had happened at Dove’s apartment. Pets were always a good distraction when a conversation went south. One could always blurt out, “oh, look at the cute imp, it’s doing something funny!” during a difficult snarl in an interaction, and that would buy a bit of time to come up with an excuse or an exit strategy. Thankfully, Narcissus hadn’t needed to use his bimble’s charms as an out just yet. He was in good form, keeping the conversation light, and Dove, for their part, never pressed the issue with his and Jackal’s past. The bimble was left to wander the greenhouse, buzzing its way clumsily between each newly opened flower, pollinating dutifully while its owner and his companion did their own work in the garden.

Narcissus had come prepared in ways other than bringing a pet, too. He was dressed for work – more so than when he first came to the greenhouse, anyway – wearing simple cotton clothes, ears tied back, and thick gardening gloves on his hands instead of golden rings. Ribbons tied around the rolled-up cuffs kept his sleeves from rolling back down, a fussy touch that Dove had declared to be “so cute!” Narcissus had been riding high off that compliment for quite some time, but the euphoria of praise seemed to be wearing off now, judging by the crease forming between his worried brows, and the slight pout of his lips.

“Everyone else’s plants look better than mine. Mine all are fucked up,” Narcissus tried not to whine, but failed. Maybe Primrose gave him bad seeds, he thought. He decided not to verbalize that particular theory, though.

“Let me take a look,” Dove replied, flitting their way to Narcissus’ workstation, one far messier than theirs. Their eyes widened at the state of the plant Narcissus was pouting over. The poor thing was wilting badly, its leaves curled and stained yellow and black, sagging in its pot of water-saturated soil. “Oh dear, I think you’ve been giving this one far too much water! You need to let it dry out!”

“What do you mean, ‘too much water’? It’s wilting! Doesn’t that mean it needs water?”

“Not necessarily. Plants are a lot like people,” Dove replied, patiently, taking the soggy plant from Narcissus and placing it safely away on a shelf to hopefully dry out and recover. “They’re all different, and they all have their own needs. Some need a little more help than others, and some like to be left alone.”

“For example, this one’s a tough plant,” Dove continued, holding up one of the nearby potted plants, a strange dark-hued thing in a contrarily colorful pot, each of its leaves bristling with spines. They cradled its pot gently, stroking one of its spiny leaves with a loving hand. “It doesn’t need a lot of food or water, and it can grow in even harsh conditions, maybe even Burrowgatory soil. But, you know, just like Jackal, it sometimes needs a little tender care too, even if it doesn’t show it.”

Narcissus tried to not let Dove see him roll his eyes.

“Fine. That’s great,” he said, an ounce of snippiness in his voice, “the plants are all special and unique. But how am I supposed to tell if they need water or not? It’s not like they can talk.”

“Well, all the plants have these little tags that tell you what they like,” Dove explained, pointing at one of identification tags lodged in the soil of a struggling sprout. It was declared as a kind of ambrosia flower, and that it preferred indirect light and moist conditions.

If only people came with those, Narcissus thought. It’d make his job easier.

“Now, to tell if it needs watering,” Dove continued, “you need to feel the soil to see if the plant drank up all its water and needs more, or if it still has enough and doesn’t want more. Just use your finger, like this.” Dove demonstrated, sticking one of their delicate porcelain fingers into the soil of the spiny-leaved plant’s pot.

Narcissus didn’t exactly look enthusiastic about getting more dirt on his hands, but reluctantly, he took off one of his gloves and complied. He tried to suppress to look of disgust curling his lip as he felt his finger sink into the grainy dirt, with middling success.

“Okay, how does it feel?” Dove asked. If they’d noticed his sneer, they politely did not chastise him for it.

“Gross.” Ruse failed.

“No, I mean – is there any wetness you can feel in the soil?”

“Uh. It’s dry.”

“That means it’s thirsty! Go get that watering can, mister!” Dove worried for a moment that Narcissus wouldn’t care for an order, even a joking one, but he didn’t seem to mind. Almost tripping over his own tail a little, he went to scoop up a watering can, filling it as much as his arms could carry.

He followed Dove’s instructions to the best of his ability, which at times wasn’t perfect, but Dove tried to be encouraging, nonetheless. They noticed he seemed to respond well to praise, which they were happy to dispense. Sometimes what someone needed was just a kind word – or two, or maybe twenty, to set them in the right direction. At least, that’s what they hoped was the case for Narcissus.

It was more exhausting work than Narcissus had bargained for. It turned out that water is heavy. Who knew? By the end of it, he let himself collapse onto on of the greenhouse’s benches, sweaty and panting. The bimble parked itself in Narcissus’ lap, settling in for a nap. The occasional whirring of its wings in its sleep almost sounded like purring. Narcissus absent-mindedly stroked his hand through its teal fluff, pollen rising from its fur at each touch in a little cloud of yellow motes. The imp had been busy gardening that day, too.

Dove joined Narcissus on the bench, alighting softly upon it like a falling feather. They hardly had a hair out of place, even though they’d been working right alongside him. He didn’t know how they managed it. The thought that he probably didn’t look nearly so good right now annoyed him, but at least if he looked a mess, it showed how hard he’d worked. Maybe that was more important than beauty right now.

“I know it’s not glamorous work, but you really helped us out today,” Dove grinned up at Narcissus, head tilted to look the taller man in the eye. “Doesn’t knowing that make you feel good?”

“If you like that I did it, I like that I did it,” Narcissus replied with a smile of his own.

Dove gave a polite laugh, but slowly, the smile on their face faded. A thought tickled at the back of Dove’s mind, first in Narcissus’s voice, then Jackal’s voice, then their own. They tried to ignore it, but it still pressed. This is all about your image.

“…Can I ask you a question, Mr. Jonquil?” Dove’s voice was even softer than usual.

In response to his nod, Dove asked their question. Their voice was slow, cautious, words picking their way delicately through potentially dangerous ground. “Mr. Jonquil, would you be doing all this – helping us - if no one knew you were doing it?”

Narcissus gave a derisive snort of a laugh, on reflex. As soon as the sound left his nose, though, he realized his faux pas, and quickly course corrected.

“Yeah – yes! Of course. Of course I would.” He flashed Dove a dazzling, warm smile, the kind that crinkles the eyes at the corner. It was one of his better performances. Dove truly wished that they could believe it.