Hineni and Sockel exchange an unsure look with each other, before glancing around the one-room ‘house’ that they had been led to by Avarice. It is a private space, given its location and appearance.

Though, 'a house' is hardly what it could be called. Behind the throne room was another grand, ornate chamber with a ceiling higher than most structures in the tower quarter. This grand chamber was completely empty and void of function apart from nesting inside of itself one, single thing… a shack.

Literally, a shack. It’s a shit-heap that’s hardly befitting of the grand spectacle that was laid out for them outside in just the other room. It’s like somebody took an old, dinky wooden shack from the swamp-lands in the south-east and just stuck it inside of the middle of a room in the grandest palace in the land. Hineni turns his gaze towards a section of the wall, which has come loose and been refastened with a board nailed over it.

His gaze lowers down to the chairs that they’re sitting on. They’re all mismatched, old, wooden things in various stages of wobbliness. Given the tired look of the spotted wood, it would perhaps not even be an understatement to say that generations of men and women had been conceived, lived and then died on these very chairs. They’re really old.

Hell, if he didn’t know better, he’d say that he’s in a shack in some back alley of the deepest corner of the slums. Hineni lets out a breath that he’s been holding in for a long time, ever since they left his part of the city. He feels much more at home in a place like this. He leans back, his wobbly chair letting out a frightening creak and moving a just as terrifying amount, as if it were about to break. But it holds firm.

Avarice, who is standing a few feet away from them in ‘the kitchen’ comes back with a wooden board adorned with three different, mismatched cups. One, Hineni is sure, is actually an old pickle-jar, with a steeping tea-bag in it and the other two cups are full of nothing but hot water, covered with small plates to keep the heat trapped inside of them.

The god of wealth apparently only has one tea-bag and he wants to re-use it for three cups of tea.

“Sorry about the hold-up,” says the dark-elf as he sits down on the third chair, setting down the board onto the only table in the room. It has three legs, the fourth one looks like it had quite literally been gnawed off by some animal.

“That’s okay,” says Sockel. “Thank you for having us,” says the elf, looking around the room, clearly a bit confused.

Hineni looks at the god. This place might be cozier than ‘outside’, but he still wants to go home. “What’s this about?” he asks.

“Straight to the point,” replies Avarice, shifting his form into that of a smaller dragon. He sits on his hind on top of the chair, which he had dragged here behind himself from his throne room, his red tail wrapping around the base of it. Hineni had assumed that this was to just keep his long tail somewhere, but now he realizes that it’s a tactic to stop the old chair from wobbling beneath his weight. “Ah… uh…” The small dragon looks at the tea-bag that needs to be switched to a different cup. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have hands anymore. “Would you?”

“Of course,” says Sockel, taking the tea-bag out from the pickle jar and setting it into the second cup.

“Thank you,” says the god, having taken on a much more friendly demeanor than a few minutes ago. He’s very ‘human’ for a god. Well, for a lack of better words. While Obscura is certainly very out there, personality-wise, Avarice seems to be very grounded. He turns back towards Hineni. “There’s a bureaucratic problem,” says Avarice. “The zoning for your house doesn’t allow for a forging operation,” says the god. “Your competition wanted to shut you down.”

Hineni blinks, looking at him for a moment, not sure if he’s hearing right. “The forge has been in there since before I was born,” says the man, shaking his head. “Why would it be a problem now?”

The dragon looks at him for a moment. “Because it’s a commercial property, but it’s designated as an adventurer’s guild,” explains the god. The wood of the shack groans, as if agreeing with his statement. “It’s normal and expected for an adventurer’s guild of quality to have a forge. Best to repair before buying new, right?”

“I don’t disagree,” says Hineni. “But I don’t understand the problem.”

Glassware clinks as Sockel lifts the tea-bag into the third cup. Her ears twitch. “The problem is that we’re not running an adventurer’s guild with a forge. We’re just running a forge,” explains the elf. “Just a forge by itself isn’t planned for in the zoning.”

“…But a guild with a forge is fine?” asks Hineni. “That’s stupid. This is stupid.”

Avarice nods in agreement. The dragon leans over, grabbing the small cup with the weakest tea from the tray with his mouth. He simply tilts his head back, pouring the contents into his throat all at once, tea-bag and all. Waste not, want not, apparently.

Sockel hands Hineni the pickle-jar with the strongest tea and takes the little cup with the somewhat weaker tea for herself. Hineni swirls it around in his hand and shrugs, taking a sip. It’s good tea.

“Sorry,” says Sockel to him. “I didn’t even think about zoning.” Hineni shakes his head. It’s not her fault.

“Tricky business, those city ordinances,” says Avarice after setting his cup back down. “Do you know what kind of trouble I had to go through to be allowed to put my house in here?”

Hineni eyes the dragon, a literal god. He’s not really sure who’s going to tell him ‘no’ about where he can and can’t put his shack, especially inside of his own structure. But apparently the city-bureaucrats are a real force to be reckoned with, if even an extremely powerful, noble-tier deity like Avarice stays on their good sides.

“We were planning on making a new guild anyways,” says Hineni. “Just trying to figure out the hoops.”

Avarice nods. “I’ve sided with you for now because I have an interest in your operation,” says the god. “But that’ll only buy you a few weeks, give or take. They’ll take this to the city directly.” He looks towards the ceiling. “They’re probably there right now, actually.”

“Damn frogs…” mutter Hineni beneath his breath, his eyes looking warily around the room.

“Frogs…” mutters Sockel, lost in thought.

Avarice shrugs. “Uh, yes, ‘frogs’. You’ve made quite an enemy.”

Hineni lifts his gaze. He’s never spoken to a god like this before. But maybe the dragon can tell him something? “What is their god?” he asks. “The big-frog?”

Avarice shakes his head. “Banker’s confidentiality. I can’t talk about my clients.” Hineni sighs. The tea is good, but they’ve been here for a while now and he’s starting to get hungry. He hopes that Obscura decided to make lunch today. “Anyway, let’s get to it, yes?” asks Avarice. “You need to get a guild up and running. I want to make money.”

“Which brings us where?” asks Sockel.

“I want eight percent of all of your income after your opening, for perpetuity,” says Avarice. Hineni raises an eyebrow. Feeling his gaze, Avarice lifts a claw. “In return, we’ll be happy to manage your money as well as offer a reduction of fifteen percent on all of our other plans!” He lifts the tip of his tail. “Including our retirement savings package!“

Hineni blinks. “…Are you trying to sell me a bank account?” He sighs. He had assumed that this was some serious meeting. But in reality, it’s a sales pitch. One made by a god who had done him a favor, but still.

“It comes with a free tote-bag!” explains the dragon, getting up and then rummaging through a drawer. The bottom of the drawer sags out halfway and the god has to push it back up with his tail as he pulls out a small fabric bag, awkwardly closing the drawer with his hip. He turns around to show Hineni the fabric thing with an… unexpected pride in his eyes.

“We’re actually here about a family account,” says Sockel, reaching into her leather messenger’s bag and pulling out a few sheets of paper. “It’s inherited, so we’d like to keep this one at the current rate of two-percent. Thank you,” says Sockel. Avarice hisses, turning his head and shifting back into his dark-elf form. He takes the papers and looks over them carefully.

The god sighs. “You wouldn’t believe how hard these old accounts are to get rid of,” he says, handing her back the paper. “We thought it was a good idea back then when we started. But it turns out we’re burning money.” He leans back and thinks for a moment.

“Nice try,” says Sockel. She pulls out another slip from the bag. “We’d also like to check on the existing balance and we’d like a detailed ledger of any movements and interest on the account for the last ten years.”

Avarice sits there with crossed arms, his eyes closed. But Hineni can tell that his face is souring. He’s clearly not pleased about having been beaten so easily.

Hineni lifts a hand. “Three,” he says. Avarice opens an eye, looking at him. “You did me a favor, so we’ll pay three percent,” says the man, pointing at the god. “Quarterly installments. But I want the tote-bag too.” Sockel’s ears twitch together with her eyebrows. But Avarice lights up, stretching out his hand for Hineni.

“Deal!”

Hineni nods, getting up and shaking it without even considering if he’s wearing gloves or not, if his hands are sweaty or not, if the man is looking at his eyes or his face or not. It’s simply a transaction between two people, interested in making some money.

It will take a few days for the old account to get dug out along with the details that Sockel wanted. But it looks like everything will turn out well.

Avarice has an interest in a renewed adventurer’s guild in the lower district, saying that the smaller one has been stifling economic growth for a while, because of its lack of capacities. A new guild, a larger one with many facilities would not only employ several people, but it would act as a hub of regrowth for the poorer neighborhood. It would open a new revenue stream for the city and most importantly, be a source of many new bank accounts in which adventurers could safely store their earnings.

- For a price.

“Why’d you upsell us?” asks Sockel. “Two percent at Avarice is a deal that people will literally kill for,” says the elf, sighing.

Hineni shakes his head. “It’s because -”

“- No, really,” she interrupts. “I know some people.”

Hineni clears his throat. “We bought a god,” says the man, looking at her. He lifts the fabric tote-bag up to Sockel, showing it to her. It’s not made particularly well, but it certainly looks like the creator put in a lot of effort into it nonetheless. Avarice is rich beyond any man’s wildest imaginations, but he’s also frugal to a fault. These bags are hand made, likely by none-other than himself.

As a craftsman, Hineni knows that there is a strong sense of pride present in every creation that one makes. His first sword made him feel extremely proud, but his hundredth also still makes him proud. The act of true creation is a strong thing, when a person doesn’t just make something, but really puts themselves into what it is that they have made. The only feeling that is better than that is to see these things that have been created by time and effort and long, lonely nights, become accepted, become wanted. To see them become used and to be held publicly by the hands of others.

- Acknowledgment. Even gods are susceptible to the very human desire. ‘Mighty Obscura’ has taught him this.

“You snake,” says Sockel, sounding impressed as she listens to his explanation. Hineni shakes his head, tapping the spot next to his eyes.

“In business, it helps if you can see things that others don’t,” says Hineni, his hand lowering back down and touching the enchanted dagger by his leg.

Avarice not only has an interest in their business now in financial terms, but he’s on good footing with them as well socially. Hineni has found that in this new, third life of his, that connections are the thing that make him strong. Connections to other people. The connections that he has made and that they have made with each other are what keep them all safe, fed, warm, paid. It’s what allows them to have a home.

They open the door.

“We’re back,” says Hineni, looking around for the source of the oddly familiar noise that he hears.

“IAAAAAH!” screams Rhine, dangling from above. Obscura is in the form of a giant owl, shakes him around in her beak. “I’m sooorry~!”

“WHO~!” she hoots angrily, her protest muffled by the fabric in her beak as she spins her neck around and shakes the boy out like a rag-doll. Hineni sighs, moving on ahead right away to catch him, so that he doesn’t flood the house a fourth time, like some kind of… frog.

It turns out that Obscura had indeed cooked another recipe for lunch from her beginners' cookbook, excited to impress Hineni with a new creation. This one was for small, owl-shaped cookies.

Rhine had found the stack while it was cooling off and had gotten carried away and, as such, he was literally carried away by the talons of the furious owl-god who is only somewhat appeased after Hineni tells her the decently good news. Though she still sits there, hissing and clicking angrily with her mouth.

As for Rhine, the boy still has to sweep the already swept house as punishment.