Lord Sunday and Gardening Competitions

A/N: This one is more of them 'importing' something from the Realms into the House rather than doing it in the Realms, much like 'Pet Therapy.' By now, I've also given up trying to write these in chronological order. This one takes place sometime before Arthur but after the breaking of the Will. If you have any prompts, feel free to send them via PM or review! I'm willing to put the Morrow Days up against almost anything.

Also, since I'm juggling an original novel, three fanfics, and schoolwork, updates may be sporadic, but I promise it shan't be too long between them!

I'm still trying to figure out how line breaks work, and I apologize if it didn't quite work out.

What a lengthy A/N... sorry. Now for the story.


"And the winner is… Sonny Lorde!"

"Yawn," Sunday sighed, imitating Monday's delicate yawning motion. "I always win this sort of thing."

"Then can we stop coming?" Thursday groaned. "Every time you want to enter a mortal contest, you drag us along!"

"We really don't appreciate all this gardening competition stuff," Tuesday added.

"Gardening is the spirit of sophistication," Sunday replied indignantly. "All the civilized areas of the Realms, every culture, has gardened and IS gardening. I'm sure my deputy, who is so devoted to the records, can tell you all about it."

"Hmm?" Saturday looked up from staring at her shoes, pretending she was deeply interested in them. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Tell them that gardening is a sign of civilization and sophistication," Sunday repeated.

"Shut up and stop complaining," she ordered them.

"Y'know, I think that the problem is that mortals are just too easy to beat," Sunday mused. "I need a challenge!"

"What're you suggesting?" Friday asked, poking a carrot. "Sunday, this carrot is really weird."

"What do you mean?" he asked, coming close. "It looks fine to me."

"No, it's orange! Since when were carrots orange? All of the ones in the Middle House are deep purple!"

"It's natural for carrots to be orange."

"Oh, I didn't know they come in two colors," Friday said. "Neat. Though it looks a lot less appetizing…"

Wednesday bit her lip, clearly resisting the urge to eat all the greens and vegetables surrounding her. She was not usually interested in vegetables if other edibles were present, but food is food, and she wanted some. "Please don't talk about carrots or how appetizing they are," she pleaded.

Sunday took a last look at the greenhouse that had sheltered the competition, and then glanced down at the blue ribbon proudly pinned to his chest. "All right, everyone, back to the House!" he called once he was certain he had nothing else to do there. "I've put together a surprise for you!"

The other six groaned at the sound of this.

After several minutes of crawling through sewers to reach the manifestation of the House, due to not being able to use the far more sanitary side (too many mortals were milling about, and Sunday declared it 'unsafe'), they reached a low underground tunnel filled with some sort of sludge they all tried to avoid.

"This is so demeaning," Sunday moaned.

"Ah, well, at least your dress isn't ruined," Friday complained, gesturing to her skirt, which was drenched in stains no one wanted to know the origins of. "It's going to take forever to get this stuff out, even with magic!"

"Oh, no, dear," Sunday said, "I don't have a ruined dress… just my best white tux! Look at it! I have green stains all over it!"

"Don't forget that mysterious brown," Saturday added. She and Wednesday were somehow immaculate, probably something to do with the umbrella in her hand and a spell. "Who wears their best tux to the Secondary Realms anyway? I thought that was reserved for weddings."

"Yes, but none of us are getting married anytime soon," Sunday sniffed. That prompted several snickers from Tuesday, Thursday, and Monday, and exasperated looks from Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. "Anyway, I make exceptions for gardening events."

Then it was through the Front Door.

"Meddling again?" said the Lieutenant Keeper.

"Exceptions for gardening!" Sunday quipped.

"I was talking about your deputy, who makes exceptions for everything," the Keeper replied.

Saturday winced.

"What do you mean?" Sunday asked. "No, she doesn't."

"Oh, yes, because her Nintendo collection was definitely made in the forges of Grim Tuesday, as was her various anime cosplay outfits, her newest set of pen and quills, and her large collection of novels. Not to mention her Saturday night film flings- I mean, seriously! She's seen both Hobbit movies, the Hunger Games, and that ridiculous thing about the vampire and his blank slate girlfriend."

"Heh heh… moving on!" Saturday chuckled, a strange tone in her voice.

"You're getting things from the Realms instead of me?" Tuesday said, a hurt look on his face.

"You watched Twilight?" Wednesday asked incredulously.

"TREASON!" Thursday crowed.

"Moving ON!" Saturday repeated.

Then out the Door, and the seven Trustees scampered off to their respective demesnes.

"I think they'll like the surprise," Sunday said, handing the Reaper his tuxedo jacket, and frowned. There was usually a large wicker hamper awaiting his return from the Realms, where he could dump his laundry. "What happened to my laundry basket?"

"A missive was received just a little bit before you came up here," the Reaper answered. "The Upper House, which up until now has been generous enough to take care of your laundry along with its mistress's-"

Sunday snorted at 'generous.' "Yes, yes. What about them?"

"They've transferred your laundry services to the Lower House, making the processing and return of your clothing take twice as long."

Sunday scowled. "That woman!" he screeched, adding another word that was not entirely wholesome.

"Yes, sir," the Reaper agreed dutifully. "Shall I give her the message?"


"I have called you here for the first centennial House Gardening Competition," Sunday said. "Surprise! The winning demesne shall have its Trustee enjoy a tour of the Incomparable Gardens."

Wednesday looked disinterested, chewing on the corner of her handkerchief. Tuesday and Thursday stopped slouching and playing rock-paper-scissors under the table, and perked up. Friday leaned forward, Monday woke up and started paying attention, and Saturday's eyes took on a strange, hungry gleam.

Based on that reaction, Sunday decided Saturday would not win.

In fact, he'd rig it in Wednesday's favor, since she seemed the least maliciously inclined.

"So, what do we have to do to win?" Saturday asked. He noticed she had whipped out a notebook and was hastily writing in it, then paused with her pen poised, waiting for his words.

"All you have to do is breed a plant," Sunday answered. "Simple, hmm? I don't even care what kind- new, old, wacky, copied, whatever. I don't care. The prettiest plant will win, and I shall judge."

"Might as well declare the winner right now, then," Monday muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he relented.

"How much time do we have?" Tuesday asked.

"Three months. After all, time is money, my dear Grim."

Tuesday scowled. "Like I haven't heard that one before."

"Can the plant be aquatic?" Wednesday inquired.

"Sure. It can be any plant. I don't care. Oh, that does remind me. Thank you, Wednesday. The seeds for the plant must be obtained from your own demesne, NOT the Realms. No trading or bartering is allowed either."

Saturday and Tuesday's faces darkened. The last rule would hinder them more than anyone else, since the Far Reaches was basically just Nothing and rocks, and the Upper House was an uber-urbanized, gothic structure of towers and flats. It'd take them most of that time just to find seeds, much less breed them.

"And no magic," he added.

They looked ready to murder. Thus, being the wise Trustees that they were, the other five made quick excuses and hurried away. The House Gardening Competition had begun. The game was on.


Monday yawned placidly. "I like orchids."

"Nice," Sunday said. Monday's orchid had fine form and shape, and it looked quite healthy. However, its color, a glossy obsidian black, though nice, was rather unimpressive. "Um, why is it all black?"

"Oh, well, I was busy…" Monday began, pausing to stretch and yawn again.

Yeah, right, Sunday thought. Busy sleeping, that is.

"…So I had Dusk breed it for me," Monday finished. "Black's his thing."

"Monday, I would give you a six out of ten, but since you didn't breed it yourself, that means you're disqualified." Sunday stopped to see if that garnered any reaction. "Um, don't you care?"

"Not really," Monday answered eyes half-lidded. "Winning's too much work, don't you think?"


"Where's yours, Tuesday?" Sunday asked, peering at the empty tray where his plant should have been. Even though the light in the Far Reaches was pretty poor and dim, he could still see enough to know that the plant wasn't there.

"The Far Reaches has no green," Tuesday said gruffly, "so I am in the process of simulating seeds using Nothing."

"Didn't I forbid magic?" Sunday said.

"This is different. I am employing House technology to speed up the evolutionary process," Tuesday replied.

"Okay, I'll let it slide- THIS time. Where is it?"

"I need a little more time," Tuesday pleaded. "Three months is a bit short. Three million years would have suited me far better."

"Then it wouldn't be a centennial competition, nimbus," Sunday retorted. "Show me what you've got so far."

Tuesday frowned, his lips almost stretching into a perfect upside-down u, and he scuttled away, muttering. He returned several minutes later, carrying a bowl. "This is the beginnings of my project," he said, dumping out the greenish liquid to reveal a swollen, pulpy mess that dimly resembled a stem, with some sort of alien petal arrangement. "It's not done," he added, "even though the Accelerator has definitely speeded up the process by far."

"I never would have guessed," Sunday replied, wrinkling his nose. Besides being downright hideous, the project smelled, a little too much like rancid meat.

"Well?" Tuesday asked. "What's my score?"

"It's not even a plant!" Sunday protested. "Though I suppose you have the beginnings. One out of ten, my dear Grim. At least you tried."


"Wednesday, these sea cucumbers are… um, an interesting choice."

"Thanks. They're pretty much one of the few things I could find," Wednesday said.

"What about the Border Sea Water Lilies?" Sunday said. "I thought you loved them."

Wednesday shrugged, pulling some of her hair out of her eyes. She wasn't the least bit fazed about floating on water, and the Third Key in her other hand was the reason. Sunday did not appreciate standing on a pathetic little raft while she walked on waves; it made him feel like she was insulting him somehow. If it wasn't for the fact that he had already decided she would win, he would have disqualified her for this injustice.

"Well, it's a very healthy specimen. I give you an eight out of ten. It would be a full, perfect score, except that sea cucumbers aren't the most beautiful plants around."

"Thanks." Wednesday curtsied, and Sunday noted with envy that she didn't sink at all as she did it, and when her long hair fell close to the surface of the water, the sea parted, as if it was a crime against the universe to so much as touch a single strand. Sunday told himself he wasn't jealous, but he admitted such an ability would be nice. He couldn't swim, after all. Although the Seventh Key allowed him to float as well if he morphed it into the appropriate form, it was both too time-consuming and annoying. Anyway, the sea didn't like him as much as it liked Wednesday; for some reason, every time he attempted it, waves would come out of nowhere and douse him.

"Well, I better go see the others'," Sunday said.

Wednesday nodded, bit her lip, and then suddenly lunged forward. Sunday dashed to the side, but he wasn't her target- the sea cucumber was. She stuffed the whole thing in her mouth. "Tastes horrible," she said, but kept chewing.

"I'll, um, send you the results later," Sunday added.


Thursday's was a Morning Glory.

"It's-"

"Dawn's favorite flower, isn't it?" Sunday interrupted. "House to Thursday! What is up? You have almost a stalkerish obsession with that woman."

"At least I don't spend my evenings staring at pictures of her I smuggled into my room," Thursday shot back. Sunday reddened. The only person who knew he kept a stash of photos of his love interest was the Reaper. Oh, he would pay for telling. He would. He would pay so dearly that even Grim Tuesday would shirk from the high price, so badly that even Saturday, cruel woman that she was, would pale at the punishment he had chosen. He would send such retribution to the Reaper that he would be unable to sit down for weeks, would-

"Lord Sunday? My score?"

Sunday snapped out of his plans for disciplining his Time. "Oh, right. Well…" Thursday's flower was actually the best he'd seen so far. It was a delicate shade of violet, with gorgeous petals and the most pleasant aroma of any Morning Glory Sunday had ever seen- except for the specimens he cultivated himself in the Gardens, of course. The Gardens Thursday must not ever enter, because who knew what sort of havoc the angry Day would rage in there.

"I give it a seven out of ten," Sunday said finally. "Congratulations."

Thursday, knowing full well Wednesday had gotten an eight, snarled and grabbed the tray he had laid the flower out on. Then he threw it. Sunday ducked, and the tray whistled over his head before striking the wall with such force that the tray lost its shape by the time it clattered to the ground, and the wall had a dent.

Thursday ran to the flower and picked it up with a gentleness that Sunday didn't think was possible after seeing how violently he'd thrown the tray. A petal had fallen. Thursday clutched it to his breast for a moment, as if it was some sort of relic he deeply cared about, turned, his eyes tinged a bit yellow. "You- you did this!"

Naturally, Sunday ran. It occurred to him that, throughout the entire competition, he was doing far too much running.


Friday's flower was a hydrangea.

"Five out of ten," Sunday said, barely looking at it.

"You barely looked at it!" Friday protested.

"I don't need to. It's clear you were experiencing when you attended to it."

Friday snorted. "I thought experiencing a gardener would help," she pouted.

"Not if you're enjoying a glass of Upper House vodka at the same time!" Sunday said. "Besides, experiencing counts as magic, so you're disqualified."

"Pooey."


Saturday didn't even have a flower.

"A ridiculous request, that I get the seed from the Upper House. We have no plants save the potted ones you sent me out of spite centuries ago," she said, "and I wasn't about to breed those."

"Why not?"

Saturday scowled. "Because either you have had the foresight to make them seedless, or this was a complete coincidence."

"So, then, what were you doing for three months?"

"Working. Unlike you," she shot back. "Though I did make this." She held up a small, intricate flower woven out of threads of copper, gold, and silver wire. Sunday squinted. Words were crawling along the surface of the object, which he realized was sorcerous. It took him a while to realize the words were some sort of poem about trampled flowers or something similar. The whole thing was very beautiful, and he could see Saturday put a lot of thought into it, even though she must have known it wouldn't have counted.

"I suppose it doesn't count," Saturday said, confirming his suspicions, "but you asked for a flower."

"Can I keep this?"

"Sure. Whatever."

Sunday pocketed it and nearly smiled at her, before he remembered she was the one who had transferred his laundry service.


"How did it go, Sire?" asked the Sower.

"Ah, it was fine," Sunday shrugged. "These idiots don't know a thing about gardening. I suppose I'll stick to mortal competitions, as easy and overrated as they may be."

"But that won't stop you from having the next competition, will it?"

Sunday smirked. "Not at all." Then, as if an afterthought, he added, "Bring the Reaper in here, will you? I need to have a little chat with him."