reaping what was sow

The smell of flowers, fresh and sharp, filled the air of the Heavenly Embassy’s workshop. Billie wrinkled her nose as she pushed open the door, the faint scent of sweetness almost too much to bear. She hefted the basket of harvested petals, stems, and leaves in her arms, the woven material biting into her fingers.

Inside, Primrose stood at a long table, his back impossibly straight as he arranged tools and ingredients with meticulous precision. The cherubun’s sharp eyes flicked to Billie as the door creaked, and he let out a soft sigh.

“You’re late,” Primrose said, his voice clipped.

Billie scowled, already regretting agreeing to this. “Yeah, well, I didn’t think the plants would miss me.”

“They don’t,” Primrose replied, turning back to his preparations. “But I do appreciate punctuality. We have delicate work ahead.”

Billie set the basket down with a huff, her arms aching from the weight. “Great. Delicate work with you breathing down my neck. Can’t wait.”

“Play nice,” Dove’s warm voice chimed in from the corner. They were busy arranging jars on a shelf, their usual bright smile directed at both of them. “Thank you for coming, Billie. This’ll go faster with all of us working together.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Billie muttered, brushing dirt off her jacket. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The first task was preparing the stems for medicinal ambrosia. Primrose handed Billie a small knife and pointed to a neat pile of stems on the table.

“Slice these into thin, even pieces,” he instructed. “We’ll boil them to extract the sap.”

“Anything else, boss?” Billie asked, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

Primrose ignored her tone. “Ensure the cuts are clean. Ragged edges will ruin the extraction process.”

Billie grabbed the knife, the handle cool and unfamiliar in her grip. She crouched at the table, beginning to slice through the stems. The soft crunch of each cut filled the room, and she fell into a grudging rhythm.

Dove worked beside her, arranging the neatly cut pieces in a small pot. “You’re doing great, Billie,” they said, their voice warm and encouraging.

“Don’t patronize me,” Billie replied, though a faint smirk tugged at her lips.

Once the pot was full, Primrose carried it to a small burner and set it to boil. The stems released a faintly golden sap that pooled at the bottom of the pot, its rich scent filling the room.

“Medicinal ambrosia,” Primrose explained, stirring the mixture with a long spoon. “Cherubuns rely on it for healing. It’s one of the most important products we make here.”

“Too bad I can’t test it,” Billie muttered. “Your magic flower juice would probably kill me.”

Dove stifled a laugh, but Primrose only raised an eyebrow. “That’s precisely why you’ll stick to preparation, not sampling. Shall we continue?”

Next came the petals, which required careful handling. Dove placed handfuls of petals into a wide mortar, their movements deliberate and gentle.

“Now we mash them,” Dove explained, picking up the pestle. “But gently. The petals are delicate, and we want to preserve as much of their color and flavor as possible.”

“Let me try,” Billie said, stepping forward. She grabbed the pestle, her fingers curling around the smooth handle. With Dove’s guidance, she pressed it into the petals, her movements tentative at first.

“Like this,” Dove said, demonstrating. They guided Billie’s hands, their touch steady and reassuring.

Billie worked the petals into a soft pulp, the vibrant colors blending into a pastel swirl. The repetitive motion was oddly satisfying, and for a moment, she forgot about Primrose’s ever-watchful gaze.

“Not bad,” Dove said, their eyes bright with approval.

Billie shrugged, but a small flicker of pride warmed her chest. “Told you I could handle it.”

Once the petals were mashed, Primrose mixed the pulp with water, sugar, and a few drops of an amber liquid from a glass vial.

“This will enhance the flavor,” Primrose explained, stirring the mixture carefully.

“Enhance, huh?” Billie said, raising an eyebrow. “What is it, some kind of angelic sweetener?”

“Nothing so fanciful,” Primrose replied, his tone sharp. “It’s a technique refined over years of experience.”

Billie snorted but said nothing as Dove handed her a cup of the finished drink. The liquid shimmered faintly, its color a soft pink.

“Go on,” Dove encouraged, their smile as bright as ever. “Give it a try.”

“I’ll pass,” Billie said, pushing the cup back toward them. “I’d rather not end up passed out on your workshop floor.”

“Oh, right,” Dove said, their cheeks flushing slightly. “I forgot. Ambrosia’s not exactly… succubun-friendly.”

“Exactly,” Billie said, crossing her arms. “So why don’t you give it a taste and tell me how great I am?”

Dove laughed, taking a sip of the drink. Their face lit up, their eyes shining. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Billie.”

The final and most delicate task was working with the nectar. Primrose insisted on handling this part himself, his hands steady as he carefully measured the glowing liquid into tiny vials.

“This,” he said, his voice reverent, “is the essence of the flower. A single drop can heal a cherubun, restore their strength, or even influence their physical forms. It must be treated with the utmost care.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Billie muttered, leaning against the table. “Wouldn’t want to spill your magic potion.”

Primrose shot her a warning glance but said nothing, his focus returning to the vials.

Dove leaned closer to Billie, their voice a whisper. “He’s always this intense when it comes to nectar. Just let him work.”

“Wasn’t planning on stopping him,” Billie replied, though her tone was lighter than usual.

When the work was finally done, the workshop was filled with rows of jars, vials, and bottles, each one glowing faintly with the magic of the ambrosia they’d created. Billie stood back, wiping her hands on her jacket as she surveyed their work.

“Well,” she said, her voice gruff but satisfied, “guess that’s one way to spend a day.”

Primrose inclined his head slightly. “Your assistance was… adequate.”

“High praise,” Billie said with a smirk.

Dove laughed, stepping between them with an armful of finished bottles. “Thank you, both of you. This wouldn’t have been possible without everyone’s help.”

Billie glanced at Dove, their smile warm and genuine, and felt a strange tightness in her chest. “Yeah, well,” she muttered, looking away. “Don’t get used to it.”

As they packed up the last of the ambrosia, Billie found herself glancing back at the workshop one last time. The glow of the bottles, the faint scent of flowers, and Dove’s quiet laugh all lingered in her mind.

Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all.