What's Good; What's Left - pt iv

“Welcome back,” Primrose greeted.

Vesta seemed to spend every spare moment of her time in the Embassy. It was routine at this point– she would arrive sometime in the early afternoon, and then would accompany Primrose while he performed certain tasks around the Embassy. On occasion, she would offer to help, but for the most part, she preferred to observe. She had no interest in getting involved in cherubun dramas or purity culture in any sense; but when it came to activities that she should have put more effort into while in the Meadow, she was almost always eager to participate.

“It’s good to see you,” Vesta replied. “Is there anything particularly interesting on today’s agenda?”

“Perhaps,” Primrose said. “I have a job offer for you.”

“You do?” Vesta tilted her head. On the one hand, the social media aspect of her career was beginning to take off, and dedicating as much time to that and her music would be her preference. On the other, rent was expensive in the city. 

“I received a call from Dove earlier,” he continued, “and they so enjoyed your delivery service, they’re already buzzing with another tea order. I was wondering if you would be interested in a position as an official Embassy mail carrier.”

Vesta paused to think– she was definitely a bit interested. There wasn’t much postage in the Meadow considering everyone lived in Melangel’s cottage. There was something very appealing about the whole mail system. It was so uniquely Burrowgatory, but it had nothing to do with any sort of vice that cherubuns had been warned about. Or something.

“Of course, I don’t have any tea ready for them now, since they tend to order in bulk,” Primrose continued, “but I do need a delivery taken to Beanny’s.”

“Beanny’s,” Vesta repeated.

“You know, the Paradise Cafe,” he continued. “I’ve occasionally seen you with a cup of theirs.”

“Right, right.”

“Anyhow, you don’t have to take the job, but if you’d be willing to fill another delivery, I’d be very grateful.”

“When you say ‘job’, are you implying that I’ll be paid?” Vesta asked.

“Yes, we’d provide you with a modest salary,” Primrose replied.

“So, will you be paying me for this delivery?”

“If you decide to take the job, then of course,” he answered. “Otherwise, this seems like just another favour for me.”

Vesta nodded slowly. Well, she had time to think about it.

She and Primrose headed toward the Embassy gardens, where Primrose had already prepared two sacks of coffee beans for delivery. Primrose had left them out in the open– which would have been unwise in the city below, but it seemed that those in the Embassy, even visitors, were not prone to stealing in the Meadow. He handed her a sack in each hand– she hoped her phone wouldn’t ring. It would be inconvenient to pick up while she walked.

Once equipped with the coffee beans, Vesta headed toward Paradise Cafe. She had only visited a handful of times– particularly when she was first dismissed from Ponder’s care, and had spent a few nights lying awake as she considered how to proceed with her internal journey. It had been warm and comforting, and most importantly, kept her awake and in a good enough mood to not be a burden on Primrose.

The cafe was busy. It always seemed busy. Vesta hadn’t thought of trying to come through the back, so she walked through the front doors lugging a sack of beans in either arm. She waited in line for fifteen minutes before arriving at the front counter.

“Good afternoon!” Beanny greeted. “What can I get for you today?”

“Actually, I have your delivery order,” Vesta replied. She set down the bags on the counter.

“Oh!” Beanny exclaimed. She laughed. “I didn’t even see you were carrying those! You should have just come up to the counter.”

“Oh, I suppose…” Vesta laughed a bit awkwardly, too.

“Hold on, let me grab the money for this,” she said. “If you could wait over there with the customers, that would be great.”

Vesta picked up the bags of coffee and moved over there. Between handling the bags and being distracted by the embarrassment of performing this delivery strangely, she did not even notice that she was about to trip over a bun in their bun form.

This bun had piercing red eyes, fangs, and wings– all telltale signs of a vampire. Vesta had heard about that whole debacle, and since she was a cherubun, she decided she didn’t care. 

“Watch where you’re stepping!” the bun exclaimed.

“I’m sorry,” Vesta said. Her tone did not come off particularly apologetic– but it wasn’t because she didn’t feel bad; that was just how she spoke. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” they replied.

There was a long beat of silence as the pair looked at each other.

“Can I pay for your drink?” Vesta offered, not quite sure what this bun was expecting from her.

“I already paid.”

“I could reimburse you.”

The bun was quiet for a moment, and then shrugged.

Beanny returned to the counter, and took another customer’s order. The carats she had set aside for this delivery had been added to that particular till’s float, so she needed to get it open; unfortunately, when customers see someone standing at the counter, they often take it as an automatic invitation to be served. Even more unfortunately, most preferred to use cards instead of cash. Beanny held up a finger to Vesta to make sure she knew she hadn’t forgotten her, and continued to take orders.

“My name is Vesta,” she finally said to the bun. 

“This isn’t a car accident; I don’t need your information,” the bun replied.

“Alright,” she agreed. Still looking down at this bun, she noticed they were carrying a little case. She recognized it instantly as an instrument case. “What do you play?”

“Violin,” they answered. “I have about an hour before I’m supposed to be at practice.”

“Are you any good?”

“Yes. Though it seems no one else in all of Hell is. Or, if they are, they insist on playing some overplayed genre. I try hard to assert the fact that violin is not boring, but I have a lot of competition.”

“Mm, I understand,” Vesta nodded. “I have a similar issue. I’m a vocalist, and while I would love to find musicians that understand my style, I’m continue to come up short.”

The bun nodded their head.

Vesta looked at the ever-growing line.

“I’m going to sit down,” she said. “Feel free to join me.”

The bun followed Vesta over to a table, and chose to stand on the table so as to make better eye contact. They each quickly realized that the other was prone to short, informative sentences, and as they recognized the shared trait, conversation became more relaxed.

At first, they talked about their music. The other bun, Prose, told Vesta all about their violin school– they’d been doing it for several years, and despite making enemies with almost all of their teachers for being contrarian, they were still making excellent marks and were set to graduate with a master’s degree shortly. Vesta replied with stories from the Meadow– about how she never had a knack for gardening or sewing or cooking or any other heavenly activity, but she always liked to sing. Her medium-nice voice was considered very beautiful by Burrowgatory standards, so between the natural interest in her identity as a cherubun and that particular skill, she had started building a career online as a vocalist. Though, she only ever sang a capella because no one ever understood the energy she wanted.

“Not even my old therapist,” she said with a sigh. “He stopped providing me with care just last week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Prose replied. “I had to sift through myriad options before finding someone I like. That’s the thing– the average succubun has the same experience, broadly-speaking, as any other succubun. The plight of envy buns is something that is still being understood– I’m not sure why a lack of pleasure is so hard to wrap your head around.”

Vesta nodded. “I know what you mean.”

“Anyways, my search went better once I realized that I would have to be the one doing most of the talking,” Prose said.

“The point of therapy is for them to tell you how to fix your life,” Vesta replied.

“Of course, but they can only do that if you express yourself.” Prose put their mini-violin case down, and sat on it. “It’s definitely uncomfortable, but you can’t make an omelette without cracking any eggs.”

Vesta nodded slowly. She thought of one of the last things her therapist said to her– that he couldn’t work with nothing. That much was true.

“At any rate, if your last therapist didn’t work out, I can recommend you to mine,” they continued. “Doctor Ponder has helped me quite a bit.”

Vesta bit back a laugh. They were recommending her old therapist back to her– what a strange coincidence. A musician with strange taste and a patient of the same therapist. A truly kindred spirit, that she never would have met had she not almost tripped over them!

“He works very closely with envy buns, and I know he’s been interested in cherubuns, too. I think he even has a cherubun client, so you might not have to worry about being the first.”

Vesta nodded, deciding in the moment not to tell them that he dismissed her.

“Oh, delivery girl!” called Beanny from the counter.

The cafe rush seemed to be over; no one was left in line.

“That would be me,” Vesta said. “I have to drop these off.”

“I should get to my class,” Prose stated. “Good luck with your problems.”

“You too.”

Prose scurried out the door, the bell jingling behind them.

Vesta once again lifted the bags of coffee, and set them down on the counter for Beanny.

“Thanks so much for going out of your way to do this,” Beanny said, offering Vesta a small pouch of carats.

“It was my pleasure,” Vesta replied. She took the pouch and tucked it into a pocket.

“I’ve never seen that guy talk to anybody,” Beanny continued, leaning in. “They wouldn’t even give me their name. What did you guys talk about?”

“Music, mostly,” Vesta replied. “They’re a violinist.”

“Ooo, fancy. I-” 

A bell sounded from beside them. A customer stood waiting at the counter.

“Alright, well, we’ll have to continue this later, okay? Come back soon! And thanks again!”

Vesta nodded, and took her leave. Paradise Cafe was not the only place to which she was going to return…