The Importance of Diligence: Part 1

Primose often walked through the Heavenly Embassy’s greenhouse in the morning. It was a calming ritual – more so in the checking than the walking. Everything had its place, and the risk that something would fall out of place without Primrose’s knowledge could be enough to keep him up at night. Most mornings, everything was as it should be. This morning, however, Primrose found a stranger in the greenhouse.

The bright, warm rays light filtering through the glass of the greenhouse made the stranger’s pale white and creamy golden hair practically glow, the luminous effect enhanced by the sparkling motes of light that seemed to emanate from his body. Glittering and bright, he looked quite at home in the heavenly greenhouse, but the devil was in his details. What appeared to be a vine resting among the greenhouse’s foliage twitched and curled, lifting away from the plants, and revealing itself as Narcissus’ demonic, spade-tipped tail. The tall, pronged antlers that projected from his blond locks, each spike tipped with sharp golden caps to make them even grander, showed him as being from demonic stock as clearly as the halo upon a cherubun’s head declared their celestial origins.

It wasn’t uncommon for succubun tourists to make the climb to the embassy to gawk, turning the little slice of heaven into just another little indulgence in their life of indulgences. But this one seemed to have an agenda beyond just looking. That said, Primose couldn’t fathom what the succubun was here for. He introduced himself as Narcissus, and said he was here to garden. Despite his floral accoutrements, the succubun didn’t look like much of a gardener. There wasn’t a hint of dirt beneath his gold-tipped, finely manicured nails. When Narcissus grasped Primrose’s hand in a vigorous shake, the softness of his palms gave no indication of a man who had done any demanding work in his life.

“Why do you want to garden at the embassy, if I may ask?”

“A little Avia told me you poor little angels are struggling to keep your heads above water down here. I want to help you!” The succubun declared, spreading his arms wide. Narcissus let the words hang in the air, as if waiting for something. Perhaps he expected Primrose to fall to his knees in praise and adulation. Instead, the cherubun scowled. Primrose had sacrificed his life in the floral meadow to provide guidance for his fellow cherubuns, not play to the fickle whims of the hellish denizens of Burrowgatory.

“Let me ask again: why?” Primrose asked, eyes narrowed.

“My, someone’s suspicious,” Narcissus tutted his tongue against the unnervingly sharp, gleaming fangs that formed his haughty sneer. He leaned down towards Primrose and tapped one long, slender finger against his own chin, feigning thought. “What’s that phrase again? Beggars can’t be choosers?” Before waiting for a response, Narcissus whirled by Primrose towards the greenhouse gardens, a jaunty skip in his step.

“I just want to help plant some seeds. How hard can it be?” Narcissus chirped, light and airy, clearly unburdened by any of the reservations Primrose was currently struggling with. He paused a moment and looked back over his shoulder towards the indignant cherubun, head tilted playfully. “And if you really don’t trust me, why don't come supervise? You’re not above working with a sinner, are you?”

“Fine. Let’s just get started, shall we?” Primose followed quickly behind the succubun, trying to catch up to his long steps. “…before my headache gets worse,” he added under his breath.

Unfortunately for Primrose, Narcissus may not have had gardener’s hands, but he certainly had sprinter’s legs. Before he could be stopped, he had gotten into the supply of ambrosia seeds and planting tools and was gathering them up indiscriminately in his arms like he was trying to get a haul at a department store sale. In his hurry, the seeds he’d tucked underneath one arm fell to the ground.

“Uhp – shit.” Primose might’ve cringed at Narcissus’ swear if he wasn’t already wincing at the sight of this bumbling fool dropping the cherubun’s lifeline to Heaven on the ground.

“Be careful! Those seeds are precious!” Primrose snapped, quickly moving to gather up the dropped seeds before they disappeared into the dirt, or worse, were crushed underfoot. Narcissus, imitating the cherubun’s urgency, dropped his load of watering cans and trowels with a clatter and tried to reach for the seeds as well, but earned a quick slap on the hand for his audacity.

“Okay, okay, sheesh!” Narcissus flinched, pulling his hand up to his mouth as though to kiss the little red mark left by Primrose’s scold better. He watched with a pout as Primrose hurriedly collected all the scattered seeds and counted them to make sure none had been lost.

“If you really want to help,” Primrose said, sighing, trying to remain calm, “you need to listen to instruction. Take care. Don’t just bumble into it like you know better than me. I can assure you, you don’t.”

Narcissus’ face twisted, at first in a look of embarrassment, then his expression darkened into a scowl. Still, Primrose held firm, resolute in his silence. For a moment, Primrose thought the succubun might just turn on his heels and leave right then. Instead, Narcissus took a deep breath, sighed in exaggerated exasperation, and held out his hands in surrender.

“…Fine. What do I do?”

He wasn’t exactly a stellar student, but Primrose nonetheless tried to instruct him on the proper planting technique. The succubun fumbled, whined, and limped his way through the process. He tried to mimic Primrose’s actions, but his hands were inexperienced and clumsy. Being a novice wasn’t a fault, but clearly, Narcissus thought he should be a natural at something “so simple”, and his ineptitude seemed to bother him even more than it bothered Primrose. Still, in time (too long, both thought), all the ambrosia seeds were planted in the small clay pots the greenhouse stocked. Eager to be done, Narcissus gathered as many as he could (though he was careful not to drop any this time) and scurried away with them to put them in the beam of bright light pouring through the greenhouse windows.

“No, not there,” in exasperation, Primrose picked up the pots Narcissus had just placed and began moving them out of the light, towards a slightly darker area of the greenhouse where several other pots of soil, each with a plant label, already sat. Narcissus scoffed, folding his arms, twitching the spade of his tail in annoyance.

“Plants need light to grow, don’t they?” the succubun asked, annoyed – but the slight uptick in pitch at the end of his sentence belied a hint of uncertainty. He followed Primrose, peering over the cherubun’s shoulder like there was some kind of mystery at work he needed to unravel.

“Not until they germinate,” Primrose replied, trying his best to be patient with what was a seemingly harmless question. “For now, we just want to keep them warm and moist.”

“Warm and moist? In Burrowgatory, our seed is hot and wet.”

“Please don’t,” Primose half-groaned, half-chided. He held a hand up to his face, partly to hide the unwelcome flush on his cheeks that still sprang unbidden from hearing innuendo.

“Sorry,” Narcissus replied quickly, “couldn’t help myself.” Primose looked up at the succubun in surprise, not expecting an actual apology, however brief and hollow. At the very least, this obnoxious newcomer to the Embassy had the decency to regret making a terrible joke. It was something.

The cherubun and succubun carried out the rest of the planting in relative, merciful silence. By the end, the small collection of pots in the corner of the greenhouse had grown to a veritable (to-be) harvest. Every pot had a small card implanted in the moist dirt bearing the image of a flower or plant, each a promise of good things to come.

Narcissus’ pure white fur and khaki pants now bore the stains of sweat and dirt. Mud caked his hands. As he dug a bit of clay out from under one of his now-chipped nails, he grimaced like he’d never seen anything so disgusting in his life. He looked miserable, Primrose noted, allowing himself just a delightful little hint of schadenfreude.

“Devil’s sake, that was so much more work than I thought it’d be,” Narcissus groaned, rubbing one aching shoulder, and then quickly trying to brush away the muddy handprint he’d left behind on his shirt.

“Nothing good comes easily,” Primrose replied, eyes at first upturned towards the heavens before casting their gaze down. Narcissus took a breath to reflexively make another joke about the double-entendre in that comment - but bit his tongue.

“…Right.”

After a pause, Narcissus clapped his hands together, the loud noise making Primose startle. “Well, that’s that all done then,” the succubun declared, tilting his head toward Primrose. “Though I guess I’ll need to be back to water the little baby seedlings and all that? We don’t want all that hard work going to waste, right?”

“If you insist…” Primrose replied, hesitatingly.

“Please, it’s my pleasure. And yours, I’ll bet!” Narcissus was beaming again, all fangs and pride, the smug oiliness that dripped from him hours ago when Primrose first met him back with a vengeance. He waved a hand in front of his grinning visage a flourish. “Don’t forget this face - you’ll be seeing it a lot more!” With another too-vigorous handshake and a flick of his leafy tail, the succubun pranced away down the greenhouse hall, leaving the threat of his eventual return hanging in the air behind him.

Primrose sighed. What he said was true. Nothing good comes easily.