malachite hates gardening, vol. 1

“...Cheeky, aren’t you?”

It’s muttered through gritted teeth, as Malachite’s fingers dig into the edges of the seed packets in their hands— tearing them open, roughly enough that a couple of the smaller few begin to fall through the gaps between their fingers, tumbling onto the floor. The Heavenly Embassy’s gardens, despite their affections for whatever remains of Melangel’s creations they’d been able to bring down and into this place, had never been as easy for them to tend to as they’d hoped; and, quite frankly, if you’d asked them, the succubun looking over their shoulder didn’t do much to ease their worries.

Talo, seemingly bright-eyed and innocent, appears to know plenty more about the act of gardening than they do, already having kneeled down to start digging a few divots into the gardening bed (for the seeds that they’ve been dropping, no thanks to Malachite).

“...You’re just going to stand there?”, he questions them, tilting his head to the side with a small grin— for a brief moment, lifting his trowel with his right hand to beckon the cherubun closer, much to Malachite’s clear dismay. Lips stretched into a wide frown, their wings flit behind them in a brief moment of annoyance, before taking a couple steps closer, leaning down.

“It’s just because you’re so short,” they comment, blunt and to-the-point, arms crossed over top of their chest as Malachite raises an eyebrow. “Closer to the underground, some used to say. It’s a sign of bad luck.” Awkwardly, they crouch down, packet of seeds in hand, next to Talo— although not quite ready to let their clothing touch the ground, smoothing out their shirt with their free hand. Primrose, surely, would’ve understood; gardening doesn’t do much for one’s cleanliness, the more they think about it.

For a few seconds, Talo’s gaze turns to them, blinking, before erupting into a few seconds of laughter, unfiltered and good-natured. Malachite, stiff as usual, can’t seem to do much else other than frown, eyebrows furrowing and shaking their head. “Short or not,” he remarks, “—You’re not getting anything done by standing around and watching, are you? Gardening’s a process you take step…” he instructs, pointing towards the small holes he’s created within the flowerbeds, “....by step. Not really as easy as ‘plant a seed and you’re done’, though I suppose I’ve never really tried it. It's a consistent effort.”

Rolling their eyes, Malachite gingerly holds out one of their hands, dropping a single seed into one of the holes, before glancing back at Talo— an unspoken gesture to ask ‘is that enough for you?’, to which he shakes his head in refusal. “Nope, nope, nope. All the way through. You’ve gotta plant every-which one.” 

“...Let’s try this. Do you have a favorite flower? You’ll end up a lot less cranky if you’re planting something that you /like/.” It’s an innocent question, accompanied by a brief sparkle in his eye, which Malachite promptly shakes their head towards.

“Never thought about it. Primrose gave me…”, they murmur, glancing down and squinting to read the text on the seeds they’d been given, “...A mixed bunch, it seems. A little bit of everything. Whatever grows ambrosia will work just fine.” With another grimace, they move forwards to place another seed into one of the small holes, before quickly blowing the dirt off of their fingertips. Talo, although returning a brief look of disappointment, covers up the seed with his own hands, patting the soil down gently over top of it.

“Think about it. You /should/, at least, if you’re seeing this through. There’s lilies, roses, tulips… could go for something like ivy, if you’re not a fan of the flower itself. Still a plant, and pretty, to boot. Green, too- like you.”

“I’m well aware of the fact that I’m green,” Malachite scoffs, although following Talo’s lead, continues to plant seeds in the spots that he’s marked, managing to pick up a couple of the ones they’d spilled onto the floor earlier to place back into their proper rows. “It’s not really something I’d consider, when it comes to hobbies. Flowers don’t exactly have wings, if you’re aware.”

Pausing, Malachite raises a finger in their unoccupied hand to their chin, sneaking another glance over towards Talo— “If you’re so insistent on it,” they murmur, planting the very last seed- or at least, the last seed that’ll fit into the rows that’d been dug out- into the soil, watching as the succubun next to them triumphantly pats it to rest. “Shouldn’t you have a favorite, then? I’d hate to walk away from this calling you a hypocrite.”

With another low chuckle, Talo’s head shakes, and he shoots Malachite a raised eyebrow. “You’d be hard-pressed to find someone more truthful than I am. Next time you call me a /liar/, I’d like to see you try gardening by your lonesome. Not as easy as you think it’ll be, I’d guess.”

Closing his eyes, he smiles. “It’s lavender. I like lavender.”

“...Oh. That’s fine, I suppose. Acceptable.”

“I— Hey, I tell you it’s my favorite, and all of a sudden, it’s just ‘fine’...!?”