Chapter 11 Pansy #2
No, far more likely she’d just instruct the rest of the village to shun her, and knowing just how desperately most of Haverow clung to the words of their council, they probably would.
The fact dropped into the pit of Pansy’s stomach with a nauseating churn, the kind that persisted even after the worst of the feeling had passed, a low-grade rumble of unease that settled into her joints like lead.
Don’t think about it, she told herself, scrunching her eyes shut as the world gave a queasy wobble. Just focus on winning the competition. Everything will work out once you manage that.
“Are you all right?” Ren asked, suddenly far closer than she remembered, their hand hovering so near the crook of her elbow that she swore she could feel the heat of their palm against her skin.
Obviously, they merely meant to steady her should she begin to topple over; and yet, the prospect of them touching her – a rarity, provided Ren was still conscious – was enough to send a giddy jolt lancing through her from head to toe.
Not to mention leave her terribly tongue-tied…
“I, uh…” she stammered, blinking dumbly at the scant distance now separating them. Ren’s face filled her vision, drowning out everything else until there was nothing but the soft curve of their jaw and the maddening fullness of their mouth.
The sounds of the surrounding forest faded, leaving only the gentle rustle of the wind as it carded through the trees.
Here under the stars and clear night sky, they might as well have been the only two people in the world.
Pansy swallowed, her mouth abruptly dry.
How easy it would be to tip forward, all under the guise of “losing her balance”, and press her lips to Ren’s.
They wouldn’t even know it had been on purpose and— Oh goodness, what was she thinking?
Pansy jerked away, her arms pressing flat against her sides. Now was not the time to be taking chances!
“Maybe we should leave this for tomorrow,” Ren said with a frown.
“I’m fine. Really,” Pansy assured them through the vice-grip of her own jittery pulse. “Otherwise, I’ll just wake up tomorrow and find that you did all the work while I was asleep.”
Ren gave a sudden jolt at that; proof, Pansy would argue, that her accusation had landed right on the mark. They huffed, crossing their arms over their chest. “I just don’t like procrastinating when I know something needs to get done.”
“Hence why you let this part of the garden turn into a veritable bean jungle.”
“If you’re going to complain about it, then you can do us both a favor and make yourself useful. Start harvesting the beans, including the vines. I’ll go bring over some crates to load them into.”
A few minutes without Ren turned out to be exactly what Pansy needed to get her heart rate back under control, not to mention her thoughts.
You’re acting insane. Stop it, she told herself, squeezing down hard on the garden shears Ren had brought over earlier.
The first vine snapped off with a violent schnick, followed by a 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 soft snip of 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 a demonstration.
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 was Blossom. 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 to do touch.
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.
In a way, it was somewhat ironic. Pansy had gotten so upset that first night, when she’d woken up to the sensation of Ren’s cold feet wedging between her calves. And now, only a ten-day later, she found herself wishing that Ren would hurry up and reach for her already!
What would they even say to that? she wondered, smothering a would-be laugh in her throat as an image of Ren, red and sputtering, surfaced from the well of her thoughts. If that were the result, then perhaps asking them directly might be worth it.