prissy & pristine

Furi rolls over, the sheets strewn over him and the faint ray of sunlight hitting his eyes perfectly enough to make him squint. This isn't his home, but it's close enough, and as much as he'd hate to say it, the idiot he's leaning against provides enough heat to suffice as a living pillow. He had woken up from what he’d been calling a ‘lazy night’ for the past few weeks; he’d been too lazy to head back to his place, so he’d sleep at another.

He glances at the doll next to him and hums slightly, pressing a kiss into the back of his neck - a much gentler gesture than he’d usually do for one of his friends - but Abe was the exception. Maybe. He reaches for the phone on his nightstand and begins browsing the internet as usual. He could choose anything in the world, and yet, he sticks around for a stupid jock and a stupid idol. This is safe to him.

Abey quickly stirs and begins yapping sooner than he’d like him to. “So, ‘bout that job…”

“You’re not fucking doing this to me right now.”

The other bun looks flabbergasted. “Wha… you didn’t even let me start!” 

“I know it’s about the embassy.”

“James thinks it’ll be good for you.”

“James doesn’t know jack shit, he can’t even do his job right.”

Abey pouts.

“Wanna cry?” Furi scoffs.

“No…”

Abe is difficult to dislike because of his big pleading eyes, but Furi can’t help but feel skeptical about his opinions. He isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

"Listen, Furi, you have to do this embassy thing," Abe states, "James always knows best.”

Furi raises an eyebrow. “Yes, without a doubt, I need him to put me in a room full of angel-cock riding Cherubuns. That’ll be helpful, how?"

Abe scratches his head, obviously finding it difficult to formulate a reasoned response. "Yanno, James got me my job, and he helped lots of other people too… he said somethin’ ‘bout you and manners and I agree.”

Furi laughs. "Manners? You think I should have manners?”

Abe lazily rolls over to lie on his stomach, looking at Furi over his shoulder. “Uh, yeah.”

Furi looks at Abey for a long while. There’s something oddly reliable about him, even for someone as dim as he is. Perhaps it’s because Abe has no real ulterior motives and is so… naive. Perhaps it’s the way Abe genuinely cares for him, even if he’s entirely clueless about what he’s doing.

Back to frowning, Furi mutters, "Fine. If this is a waste of my time, I’m never coming back to this place.”

It looks like an impup getting a treat when Abe's face lights up. "Hey, it’ll be awesome, you’re gonna be perfect for the position.”

Furi winces. “I’m so excited.”

—

Furi looks down at a piece of crumpled paper in his hand, hesitating. He will have to do work for this guy named Primrose - who he’s heard whispers about around the streets. After all, it’s hard not to hear chat about the guy that calls himself the head of the Heavenly Embassy.

James, with his brilliant wisdom, got Furi a job cleaning for that man.

Cleaning.

With a groan, Furi covers his face with his hands. This will not go well. He wonders how he allowed someone as stupid as Abe to talk him into this mess as he shuffles into a packed elevator. He mutters under his breath about how much he already hates the idea of working for someone like Primrose. His imp, Rotten, curls around his shoulder, following him into this heaven-hole.

With a ding, the elevator stops, and he steps out. He squints at the immaculate marble floors and polished gold fixtures that decorated the Embassy as he enters its shimmering hallways. Everything in this place gleams as though it were constantly being meticulously cleaned. Although he had been informed that this location was a center for diplomacy between Cherubuns and Succubuns, it feels more like a temple of vanity. He’s completely out of place.

Primrose, the man himself, is waiting for him, his face plastered with an unnervingly courteous smile, as if perpetually anchored to him. He knows it’s him from the way he presents himself, no creases on his fabric and not a single stray hair on his head. The Cherubun gives Furi an overly gleeful greeting as he approaches.

"How wonderful! Finally, more volunteers willing to support our cause! We've been in dire need of additional hands, even if they're from... below," Primrose states, his words clearly cautious but tinged with contempt. A carefully veiled insult, the word "below" hovers in the air. The remark is about to turn Furi into his namesake, but he holds his tongue. A rare occurrence.

Primrose's voice remains steady as he begins a sweeping account of the embassy's recent accomplishments. He speaks as if everything in this place were extremely important, as if the workers were performing a truly divine task. “We have an important role in promoting interrelationships, indeed. Everyone that decides to volunteer or work here is contributing to molding a better future for not just Cherubuns, but for all of Burrowgatory- what is that.”

The angelic bun squints as he points at the imp on Furi’s shoulder.

“This is Rotten.”

“It is prohibited to bring imps during work hours.” 

The Ryuudra visibly droops.

“Where did it say that in the contract?”

“I… I had assumed that was common knowledge; we simply cannot have them tracking dirt—or worse—across our immaculate floors!” Primrose huffs and puffs.

Furi lifts up the imp in his hands and tries to present him to Primrose.

“Look, does it look like he has shitty paws to you?”

“No, but. You can place him in the designated imp daycares we have outside.”

The damn angel is persistent.

–

Furi was not very interested in the history of the Heavenly Embassy or the complexities of Cherubun culture. His eyes glazed over as Primrose went on, and he muttered responses under his breath, barely listening. He had managed to keep Rotten around, stuffing him into his collar. Primrose didn’t have to know that he didn’t follow his rules, and the imp was good.

Primrose quickly enlisted him in one of his passions, cleaning, despite his lack of interest. Primrose took great pride in the embassy's immaculate hallways, and he had no problem entangling anyone in his never-ending cycle of sweeping, polishing, and dusting.

With no true way out, Furi stands on ladders to reluctantly dust shelves that already appear immaculate and clean surfaces that gleam before he ever touches them. Hovering close by, Primrose examines each motion with the same plastic grin.

“Make sure to get to every corner, dear,” Primrose chimes in sweetly. “We wouldn’t want a speck of dust ruining the perfection here.”

Furi clenches his jaw, feeling annoyance from Primrose's every utterance. "Oh, Grand Master of Sweeping, please guide me through this perilous fuckin’ task. God knows I can't even clean a shelf without His divine supervision."

“Give me that,” the bun says. Furi is glad to let go of the duster. “I will teach you, because clearly not.”

The angel's voice is all condescending words wrapped in honeyed tones, like nails on a chalkboard. Primrose is the one who irritates him, not just the cleaning. That constant grace, that condescending demeanor, the way he seems to glide through the space as though he was above everyone else.

Primrose makes his way over to a coffee table surrounded by some chairs. In a single wide sweep, he leaves the table spotless. “There, a job well done by someone with real competence.” With a smile still on his face, Primrose turns his back to Furi and decides to fluff a pillow. 

Furi takes one look at him and decides right then and there that he fucking despises him.