The first vine snapped off with a violentschnick, followed bya second, and then a third. By the time Ren finally made their way back over, one beat-up crate slung under each arm, Pansy had amassed quite the pile.
“Not bad,” they said, setting one of the crates down beside her. Miraculously, it stayed in one piece – a true feat, given the worrying groan it emitted upon touching the earth.
Pansy grinned. “I told you I’m good at destroying plants.”
“Not destroying –harvesting. You don’t need to be so forceful. That’s not a dagger in your hands, you know. Be more methodical, careful. It’s not a race.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Pansy said, waving them off. She was about to ask if they needed to use the shears too when Ren extended their claws with a quick flex of their fingers and promptly pinched off a vine between them. “Why even bother with the shears if you can just do that?” she asked, watching them repeat the motion.
“Because some plants have thorns or leave behind a sticky residue,” they replied, not even so much as glancing her way as they continued to make steady work of the beans before them.
Right. Of course. In retrospect, that had been an awfully stupid question on her part. She ducked her head, focusing on the task at hand as heat scoured her cheeks. A few seconds passed in silence, punctuated only by the softsnipof her shears, until her brain, no doubt sensing the opportunity to add salt to her latest wound, piped up with some not-so-well-meaning advice.
You know what you should’ve done, it began, sage as always,was ask Ren to give you ademonstration.
On how to use the shears?Pansy nearly snorted aloud.Just because they already think I’m an idiot doesn’t mean I need to go out of my way to prove it.
See, her brain declared, with all the tired, head-shaking resignation of a disappointed parent,this is your problem. You lack vision, Pansy – at least when it comes to matters of romance.
Oh, gods. This wasn’t her; this wasBlossom. Blossom had somehow found a way into her head, and now Pansy was never going to hear the end of it!
Hey! I’m on your side, the tiny Blossom-inside-her-head insisted, pouting in the same way the real Blossom did whenever Pansy didn’t immediately put her advice into practice.Look. If you’d asked Ren for a demonstration they would’ve had to guide you, and you know what that means.
Pansy could practically hear the eyebrow waggle.
Touching!Not-Blossom declared with a triumphant flourish.Their hand over yours. So romantic. Like something right out of a novel.
Which makes it just as realistic, Pansy thought with a roll of her eyes.Far more likely Ren just gives me a flat, unimpressed look and tells me to figure it out for myself.
Well, maybe if you batted your eyes at them a little…
Absolutely not. The thought alone was enough to send Pansy cringing, any attempt she made at flirting all but guaranteed to end in disaster. If she was lucky, she’d end up looking like she’d gotten something caught in her eye.
Flirting was Blossom’s thing for a reason. Unlike Pansy, she’d gotten plenty of practice over the years, her list of romantic partners as long as Pansy’s was short (or, rather, non-existent). And Pansy refused to embarrass herself around Ren more than she already had – and in new ways to boot! Besides, she had a competition to focus on. Thankfully, not-Blossom seemed to understand this, though she didn’t vanish without offering one last disgruntled huff.
No longer fighting for space among her own thoughts, Pansy devoted herself entirely to the task of trimming back the Running Beans. It wasn’t easy. With each snip, more vines appeared, like a verdant hydra armed with edible seedpods instead of razor-sharp spines. She smiled, thinking of her grandmother’s stories about fighting monsters, and imagined herself an adventurer of the garden lands.
By the time Pansy and Ren had managed to beat back the worst of it, reducing the “bean jungle” to a “bean thicket”, a dull pain had taken root behind her eyeballs. Dehydration, she assumed, from both sweating and crying, but nothing she couldn’t push through. The slightly sharper throb near the base of her spine, however, was far less tolerable.
She rose with a soft grunt, her back popping as she stretched her arms high above her head.That’s better, she thought, the pain receding into a low burn.Now, let’s get a good look at that pumpkin.
There ended up being four of them, bright orange spots against the dark earth. Based on Professor Fatleaf’s description of the Bloodletter Shroom, now forever seared into the fabric of Pansy’s mind, none were yet overripe. Unfortunately, on the matter of size…
“Oh, they’re a little, uh, small, don’t you think?” Pansy said, tilting her head to the side in an effort to provide the pumpkins with the most flattering angle possible. Not that it made much difference.
“Hmm.” Now, Ren was cocking their head to the side too, lips pursing as they assessed the fruits of their garden with a more critical eye. “How big are the crops that are entered into the competition usually?”
“Oh, as big as possible! I think the biggest one I ever saw was a pumpkin about this size.” Pansy stretched her hands apart,stopping only once they were slightly wider than she was.
“Did it win?”
“I assume so,” she said with a shrug. “It was easily the biggest vegetable there. Though they do grade on other things. Like color and smell; things of that nature. Whatever makes a crop appealing.”
“You assume so,” Ren repeated, their brow furrowing. “Does that mean you don’t know for sure?”
“Well, no.” Pansy looked away, one hand rubbing absent-mindedly at her biceps, where a familiar bitter chill had started to stretch beneath her skin. “My family had to leave early that year. My grandma… It wasn’t a good day for her, let’s just put it that way.”
“I understand.” Ren’s voice was soft, as comforting as the warm press of a palm against her shoulder. Of course, they hadn’t actually touched her. This was Ren. They didn’t seem todotouch. At least, not with her. Not even to catch her when it seemed like she might fall. That moment when they’d dusted the sugarfern from her cheek had been a one-off, an aberration, never to be repeated.
