PoD ch 6

Rubel has always been somewhat afraid of Primrose. Intimidated? Absolutely. Shameful? Of course. 

The angelic bun was extremely put together; he seemed like he knew his objectives and how to achieve them, his white outfit pristine and wrinkleless a direct representation of the type of bun he is. It was the complete opposite of Rubel, who tries to go with the flow of life but ends up getting trashed and swept around by the waves.

Rubel would love (sarcastically? Half-heartedly?) to learn a thing or two from Primrose. However, in any other circumstance, being forced to work with the blonde bun in order to satiate Dove’s pleas... Makes Rubel feel intimidated, unprepared for Primrose’s strict demeanor. It leads them to the task at hand now.

Rubel would have never thought they would be trying to learn how to make ambrosia alongside the uptight, idealistic cherubun.

“First, we must extract the sap from the stems and the buds,” Primrose picks up the dainty flower (grown, raised, and delivered from Rubel’s hooves themselves!) and chops up the stems into smaller chunks. Now short enough, the stems are placed into the pot of boiling water. He proceeds to gently pluck the petals from the head of the flower, dropping the buds alongside the swimming stems. With a wooden ladle, the blonde bun stirs the mixture of buds and stems as the liquid simmers and turns a pale yellow instantly.

Rubel’s eyes glance at Primrose in awe, a light flush high on their cheeks. They can’t help but admire and fear the ease of the other bun’s actions. Rubel would have lost a finger or three by now, maybe a few burn marks here and there. Rubel also would lack the patiences of watching the plant simmer and would definitely wander off.

The standards are low.

“Then, while the mixture simmers, we will mull the petals,” the wooden lae is handed off to the pink, who gulps in nervousness at the unsaid responsibility, hands quivering as they attempt to mimic the mixing pace the cherubun had earlier. Primrose lifts a glass container from one of the many shelves and places it onto the counter, and wordlessly sprinkles in the previously-plucked petals into the glass container. 

Without missing a beat, the cherubun then snatches the ladle out of Rubel’s hands and passes the pink bun the container of petals and a muller, raising a well manicured eyebrow.

It seems like Primrose doesn’t seem to notice (or care) that Rubel has been shaking quite violently while now, with all of Rubel’s mental capacity, gently crushing the velvet-like petals into a paste.

Once the stems and buds have been extracted of all their sap and aroma deeming the mixture muddled, he snatches the container out of Rubel’s hands and scrapes it into a glass bottle. He then lifts the boiling pot of sap-liquid into the same glass bottle, the air mixing into the beverage expelling a strong floral scent. 

Rubel’s nose twitches instinctively they bring a hand up and rub their nose in fear of... causing some sort of problem. A distraction.

 Primrose shuts the bottle tight with a cork. 

“...And it is ready for storage,” Primrose lifts the bottle and holds it up against the artificial building light, the liquid now a beautiful amber. The glass steams up, but the heat doesn’t seem to bother Primrose one bit. 

“It will take a few weeks to ferment in a dark area, just like that booze you Succubuns enjoy.” He says it in such a distaste that it should probably offend Rubel as a Succubun, but the pink bun gulps and nods nervously at authority.

Hells, Primrose can say anything about Succubuns and Rubel will agree at this point out of sheer intimidation.

The blonde bun glances to the side and raises an eyebrow, but nonetheless shows no care for the pink bun’s reaction. “Luckily I have a bottle already prepared.”

Rubel stares in disbelief as the angelic bun saunters to the shelves where other prepared bottles of ambrosia sit in fermentation. Primrose barely has to tiptoe to reach the top of the shelf, the glass bottles clinking in a jingle against each other as he pulls out the liquor. He heaves it up to examine the label, then proceeds to pull out a glass and pour out a single cup.

The glass neck, now filled less than halfway, is pinched between the blonde bun’s fingers as he turns to face the pink bun. Rubel gulps at the sight of the ambrosia, its amber toxicity a temptation in a glass.

“Did you really think I was going to force you to drink what is considered poison of your kind?” Primrose scoffs and pulls back the glass by the stem. They honestly would have drank it if Primrose demanded. Primrose doesn’t seem to be the type to care if one succubun tragically passed away from the taste of death.

He swirls the drink, before tilting the glass up to Rubel’s nose, “It’s not all about the taste, but the smell and visuals too.”

Hesitantly, Rubel takes a self conscious whiff. Their nose already continues to itch as they instinctively hold their hands back to their nose to prevent a sneeze. 

The scent of the ambrosia reminds Rubel of Mina’s perfume, a bit dreamy and wet... but also a huge headache. Rubel doesn’t understand the benefits of perfume, when you can just take a shower. Though, maybe the scent of the florally Ambrosia is tempting to cherubuns, just Rubel can’t judge if they just aren’t attracted to it.

“This is what true ambrosia smells and looks like,” Primrose swirls the glass once more away from Rubel’s sense of smell, then proceeds to take a sip. 

Pulling the glass back and a gentle swipe of tongue over lips, Primrose once again points the glass towards the pink bun.

“And in a few weeks, we will see if fruits of your labor will flourish, as much as the ambrosia made from the hooves of us Cherubuns.”