diligence, chapter 3

After playing delivery girl for Primrose and his admittedly lovely cherubun friend (and, to be fair, having been rewarded with a satisfying cup of tea in the end), Aurora had not been immediately sure when to return back to the Embassy for the next phase of rearing ambrosia seedlings. His instruction to her had been to come back in a week for watering, sure, but she found herself doing something drastically uncharacteristic: overthinking.

Normally one to take it easy in every aspect of life, even the act of worrying was unfamiliar to her. What if Primrose had said next week, but he’d meant Sunday, and she missed that crucial first watering period – what would that say about her sense of responsibility, of her capacity for that diligent nature he espoused the last two times she’d come around?

On the other hand, if she woke up early again for nothing at all, oh boy, would she be peeved!

In the end, Aurora opted to show up early in the week, just to be safe. Primrose’s expression when he saw her said everything that she’d suspected, though, arms crossed and a single eyebrow raised while just the corners of his mouth turned up into a smirk.

“I’ll admit, I didn’t think you would be here before Saturday evening rolled around,” he said, earning an indignant huff from Aurora. “I’m only joking. Watering the seedlings seemed to be the part you were most excited for, after all. Would you like to see how they’re coming along?”

Aurora took in a sharp, excited breath of air before nodding her head so fiercely that the flowers adorning her temples bobbed some with her. “Yes, absolutely,” she replied, not even realizing at first that he was shoving an empty watering can into her hands. Her enthusiasm only seemed to build when she looked down at the steel can and grinned wider.

“We’ll get some water on the way there,” he explained, already guiding Aurora back into the greenhouse she’d made that blunder in just a week or so prior. Strange to think that while she’d trudged along behind him in shame at spilling that bag of seeds, today, she seemed to have renewed energy in her step. Primrose must have noticed, too, stealing a glance back at her.

“Alright, I will ask,” he began after a moment. “You seem almost overly enthusiastic to water the seedlings. Are you succubuns commonly so… interested in hydration?” He’d avoided saying ‘thirsty.’ Aurora could only guess that the double-entendre had stung him once before.

She picked up her step to walk in stride with the cherubun. “How do I explain it?” she began, a little hum in the back of her throat. Primrose walked alongside patiently. “Well, for starters, I wasn’t sure when to show up this week. I thought that if I showed up on the wrong day, you might turn me away, or make me run more errands for you.”

Primrose made a small sound with his tongue at the back of his teeth.

Aurora, unphased, continued. “So, I was excited that I’d evidently showed up just on time.” They came to a silver… contraption, now, with a large handle on one side and what she didn’t recognize just yet as a spout on the other. “What’s this?”

“It’s a well pump. The cloud that these gardens sit on purifies the water for us,” Primrose explained, taking the pail back from Aurora to situate it right beneath the spout. “The demonic energy in the water down below would be, to be frank, completely unsuitable for delicate ambrosia seedlings.”

“Is that true?”

Primrose continued regardless. “I’m pleased that we’re able to grow them at all here.” He began to lift the handle, and then pull down, building a rhythm to draw water from the well. Now that she thought about it, Aurora found herself momentarily awed by the place she stood within. A well that used purified cloud water to grow seedlings, that would be food and medicine for the angelic residents that Primrose seemed to consider himself almost… responsible for?

“You know, this is all very impressive,” Aurora said absent-mindedly.

“What is?” Primrose glanced up from his work.

“Mm, you, I suppose,” she answered, a bit more thoughtful now as she chose her words. “And the greenhouse. The Embassy, too. I think I’m happy that I can help you out, even if it’s just a little.”

Primrose seemed to begin turning a shade closer to his namesake before standing up. “That’s– enough.” Aurora blinked. “Water, I mean. Come along.”

She took the watering can again, this time having to use both hands to carry it along with them. Judging by his expression before, she let the conversation go, only speaking up again when they came to the little plot she recognized from before. The tilled dirt was still visible, of course, but in neat little rows small sprouts of green had popped up. “There’s so many!” she exclaimed, very nearly sloshing the water around in her excitement.

“Yes,” Primrose hummed, the pleased expression on his face a jump from his normally stern look. “I’m faithful that this will be a nice harvest.”

Aurora knelt down to look over one of the tiny seedlings, just a small stem and a pair of leaves among the rows and rows of what she thought affectionately must be like littermates for the little ambrosia sprouts.

“So,” she began, more serious as she stood up again. “I must confess something. Whenever I’ve had a house plant, I think that I either water it too much, or not enough, and it ends up dying. This has to be perfect, Primrose.” The concern was, again, uncharacteristic of Aurora. It almost felt crucial to her now that these ambrosia sprouts grow successfully.

A look of recognition flashed in his eyes. “Ah,” he mouthed, and she knew then that he must have understood that her excitement earlier wasn’t quite that at all, but lingering anxiety about doing this task well. “I’m pleased that you care so much about this.”

All the same, he didn’t have to go and say it!

“There’s a bit of trouble, though,” Primrose continued. Aurora’s entire being seemed to droop, much like her late house plants when they’d been deprived of water. “You won’t know the perfect amount until you’ve done it a few times. Maybe a dozen or so.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Aurora was quiet for a beat as she processed that information. Primrose continued. “When you did ‘kill’ a houseplant– did you try to understand what was wrong and fix it, or did you throw it out and move on to another, different plant?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but since he’d hit the nail on the head precisely, she just nodded instead.

“We’ll water these until the soil is damp, and then in a couple days, we’ll check in on them again. If the soil is dry, or if they look like they need the water, we’ll water them again– though we might not need to.”

Aurora perked up some. “So… it’s not cut and dry?”

Primrose’s stern look returned. “I thought you were taking this seriously.”

“Oops,” she giggled.

“In any case, no. I can maintain the same temperature year round, keep the humidity here to a precise percentage, standardize my soil mix, and even measure the distance between seeds when I cultivate them, but unfortunately there’s no accounting for wild cards.”

“Wild cards?”

He crossed his arms. “The seeds themselves, of course, disease, pests, or succubuns who spill an entire season’s supply over the walkway. Those sorts of things.”

Aurora laughed. “Point taken. So I just… go for it?” She picked up the watering can and swung it back and forth.

“Well… easy does it,” he answered.

“I thought there were no rules anymore?” Aurora was already stepping over to sprinkle water over the sprouts. Primrose followed behind to make sure that she was, indeed, taking it easy.

“I didn’t say that,” he countered. “You’re still able to drown them or wash them away, if you go overboard.” As he said it, though, Aurora practiced the moderation that he preached, moving back when it looked like the soil was getting too saturated. “When the water seems to soak in and you can see the texture of the soil again, you can give them another pass.”

Aurora stopped for just a short moment to observe what he meant, and as he asked, she gave them another pass over with the water. “It’s starting to feel like there is a perfect amount, and you’re not telling me,” she countered, though there was no hostility in the accusation. They might not have known each other for long, but Aurora was already understanding that Primrose was: one, a good teacher, and two, a teacher who preferred to illustrate his points rather than tell his student outright.

“Well, it’s not my first time growing ambrosia,” he replied, still watching carefully. Aurora slowed a little as she examined the plot of soil with him, though she didn’t see any dry spots.

Evidently, Primrose didn’t either, since he clasped his hands together. “How does it look?” she asked. The watering can wasn’t nearly as heavy as it was completely full, but her arms still appreciated the break when she finally set it down on the paved walkway.

“Not bad at all,” he answered appraisingly. “Like I said earlier, though, you’ll want to come back in a couple of days to check on them again.”

“And a couple days after that?” Aurora questioned, tilting her head.

“Until they’re grown,” he confirmed. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

Aurora couldn’t help but grin. “Of course not!” He’d said a dozen or so times til she got a feel for it, after all. Maybe she’d be able to keep a houseplant unscathed by the end of all this!