Seeds To Be Sown

Warm, fragrant air rolled over Morgaine and Dove in a gentle wave as they pushed open the doors of the greenhouse and stepped inside. It was just one greenhouse of many in the Heavenly Embassy, the little slice of paradise built to resemble a world that none of the cherubuns who lived there would ever see again, and which the succubuns they’d joined in Burrowgatory could scarcely imagine.

To Morgaine right at this moment, it was simply a nice change from the long elevator ride up. Even with only two people, cramped quarters like that started to feel stale before too long.

On the surface, the Embassy wasn’t too unlike the nicer neighborhoods of Burrowgatory, with little shops and restaurants, charming rows of homes, and of course the greenhouses. The contents of the greenhouses were the main standout, aside from the residents themselves, and were Dove’s ultimate goal in bringing Morgaine on this journey. He wasn’t just here for an informal tour.

“Primrose said he’d be waiting for us in this one,” Dove murmured, half to themselves. “...This is the third one, right?”

“It is,” Morgaine reassured them with an easy smile. “I’m great with numbers, don’t worry. I can count at least to twenty without needing to use my fingers, and there’s fewer greenhouses with that.” It was a dumb joke, and not a particularly good dumb joke, but Dove did laugh a little, and the anxious tension loosened from their shoulders. Morgaine had to wonder if returning to the Embassy always reminded them of what had led up to its creation; if he were in their position, it would have certainly been an endless reminder for him.

Dove had seemed excited when they’d told him that Primrose was looking for more help in cultivating the ambrosia plants in the Embassy’s greenhouses, though, and their anxiety seemed to pass as the two of them made their way to the back of the building, where a figure clad in white and gold was occupied at a table set up near freshly tilled plots of dirt. This must have been Primrose himself; Morgaine had never met him before and hadn’t particularly planned to meet with him for any reason before this came up. His own business didn’t often take him to the Embassy. 

As Morgaine and Dove approached, they could see that Primrose was busy breaking down various dried ambrosia flowers and sorting the different parts - leaves here, petals there, stems and seeds in their own neat piles. He worked in a quick, efficient way that spoke of experience and deep familiarity with the plants. Morgaine watched his hands approvingly for a moment before Dove spoke up.

“Primrose, we’re here!”

Primrose looked up, shaken out of the intense focus on his task. He acknowledged Dove with a nod, and then turned to give Morgaine a once-over; his expression morphed into what Morgaine decided to generously read as skepticism.

“There’s nothing wrong with my arm,” Morgaine offered preemptively. He was far from the only succubun with skeletal limbs, of course, but that tended to be the first thing that strangers fixated on if they were unfamiliar, and some were more polite about it than others.

“I wasn’t going to say anything about your arm,” Primrose replied stiffly, in a way that suggested he may still have been thinking about said arm. Or maybe that was just Morgaine reading too far into things. Primrose’s stuffy reputation preceded him, but it was probably best to give him the benefit of the doubt, if only to keep things running as smoothly as possible.

Accordingly, Morgaine smiled and folded his hands behind his back. “Just clearing the air ahead of time, hoss. I’m here to help and all.”

Primrose furrowed his brow in a way very reminiscent of Dan, but he let it slide. He dusted his hands off and stepped around the table to address Morgaine and Dove without the obstacle. “I assume that you know just what you’re here to help with, then. Nevertheless, I am going to explain the process of cultivating these plants and their necessity. We do not cut corners here.” He gave Morgaine another meaningful look, as though he expected this to be the part where someone interrupted or complained, but Morgaine simply inclined his head in a gesture to continue.

Primrose stepped aside and gestured to his work table and the plants atop it. “These are just some of the varieties of ambrosia flowers that are grown in the Embassy. Drying is also just one of the methods that they can be prepared for use, but to begin with, you only need to concern yourself with the seeds. Am I clear so far?” He looked back to Morgaine (and Dove, though Morgaine imagined that they already knew this).

“Clear as crystal, hoss.” 

Primrose’s nose scrunched up this time, but he continued. “I wish to underline this one point: you must treat these seeds with the utmost care. The only supply that we have is what we can harvest ourselves from the plants in these greenhouses. There is no other source. Do everything you can to ensure that you do. Not. Waste a single seed.”

Wow, it really was like being lectured by Dan. Nonetheless, Morgaine nodded with appropriate solemnity. He really did intend to take this seriously; there was just something about Primrose that made you want to giggle at him, even if you agreed with what he was saying. The intensity of it all, Morgaine supposed. 

“If you understand, then we can begin.” Primrose beckoned them closer to the table. “Take a small handful - just enough to hold in your cupped palm like this. When you plant them, you don’t want to overfill the space, or the plants will crowd each other when they begin to sprout, and their growth will be stunted.”

Dove and Morgaine both did as instructed, collecting a handful of seeds and bringing them to the prepared flower beds. Kneeling by the beds, they used gardening spades or their fingers to create small holes in the dirt (to the exact depth that Primrose specified, of course) and then deposited a few seeds at a time into each one. Then, they filled the holes back in, being careful not to pack the soil down too tightly.

“The soil is moist right now, so extra watering isn’t necessary,” Primrose said from where he was hovering over their shoulders, monitoring how the two of them handled the seeds (again, despite Morgaine being reasonably confident that Dove was quite familiar with the process already). “The conditions in the greenhouses are maintained at a certain standard of humidity, and overwatering is just as bad as underwatering. Plants can drown just as easily as any of us.”

“That’s grim,” Morgaine remarked, standing and brushing off his hands and pants. The dirt stained the bony fingers of his left hand even with the clumps swept away. That would take some scrubbing later.

“It’s reality,” Primrose retorted. “These flowers are living things, just like we are, and they need the same amount of consideration. They’re absolutely vital to the cherubuns living here.”

“That’s a sweet way of looking at it, Primrose,” Dove piped up. They too finished with their batch of seeds and stood. “Should we get started on the next row?”

From there, it was simple to start up a routine of collecting seeds, digging, planting, and covering them, before repeating the process. It was harder work than it looked, physically speaking. The first couple of rows were easy, but by the third, Morgaine was starting to actually feel the effort of getting up and down and leaning over the flower beds. By his final handful of seeds, his legs were thoroughly aching as he knelt, and he sat back on his heels with a groan upon completing the row.

“I can see why you need the extra hands for this,” he said to Primrose as he caught his breath before standing. “That’s hard work on a body if you do it all day.”

Primrose raised his eyebrows at him, but he did extend a hand to help Morgaine back to his feet, which was gratefully accepted. Morgaine didn’t even mind too much that Primrose immediately pulled a handkerchief from his pocket afterwards to wipe off the dirt that had transferred between their hands.

“Do you think you can keep this up for at least one full harvest?” Dove asked playfully.

“‘Course I can, sugar. Piece of cake.” Morgaine smiled back at them and then hissed softly as he rolled his shoulders, feeling the ache settling there as well. “...Piece of cake,” he repeated. Dove smiled knowingly.