After dropping off the anqa and the cart at the church, Basil had apparently sprinted back as fast as she could, as evidenced by her heavy panting by the time she had arrived, together with the sweat wicking on her skin and robe.

Fresh and Basil handle the morning rush together as Jubilee leaves to go into the city to handle Fresh’s errands for her today, saying that they want to get some air. Thankfully there aren’t any trouble-making customers today, so the two of them handle the crowd well, even without Jubilee. The usual customers show up, much to Fresh’s delight. The red-wizard, who has taken a liking to the sweet-tea’s as well, which Fresh isn’t sure how she feels about either. The wizard isn’t replacing any of their many consumed potions with the tea, rather she’s just drinking all of them together now. But she seems to be in good spirits and in good health, so Fresh can’t really say anything.

Eventually, the muscular dark-elf shows up, dropping off her usual load of mushroom-caps, which are becoming increasingly green as she seems to be delving deeper and deeper into the dungeon. Fresh remarks that she looks like she’s gotten stronger again and the woman laughs, saying that she herself looks like she needs to do some push-ups, taking a moment to squeeze Fresh’s soft arm. Not quite sure how to respond to that, Fresh just awkwardly scratches her cheek and laughs. Rubbing the spot on her arm that is sure to bruise.

Eventually, the morning rush ends and the two of them sit in the quiet store as the midday heat begins to make itself felt.

Fresh wonders if they should start closing the store after the morning rush during summer from now on? She expects that they’ll only get a handful of customers until the next rush tomorrow morning. It’s hardly worth staying open and sitting here, honestly. There’s so much else that she could be doing. She looks over towards Basil who is standing behind the counter. The priestess is seemingly petrified, as she simply stares down vacantly into the open ledger laid out before her, not daring to twitch a single muscle on her face or body.

Feeling the girl’s eyes on her, Basil’s eyes nervously shoot over towards her without her head moving an inch, but then she looks back away as their gazes meet. “Please don’t fire me,” mutters Basil timidly. “I really need this job.”

Fresh scratches her cheek, feeling somewhat awkward again. The girl gets up and leans over the side of the counter towards her. “We’re not going to fire you, Basil. You’re doing a great job,” explains Fresh, raising a finger.

“But…”

“Jubilee is just a grump,” laughs Fresh. “You’re our friend, Basil,” says the girl. Somehow this statement apparently makes Basil feel even worse, judging by her quickly drooping expression. Unsure of herself now, Fresh interlocks her fingers as she thinks, trying to make her next words sound right. “We know that the church is… difficult. But that isn’t your fault. You have nothing to do with that,” says Fresh, nodding happily as she explains to Basil.

The room is quiet. There aren’t any customers left and so it’s just the two of them now, standing in a tense, awkward silence.

A moment later, Fresh opens her eyes and looks back at Basil, who seems to be struggling with her own expression. Did she just make it worse? Maybe she’s being stupid again? “Ah! I just mean that, you know, you’re a good person,” she adds on, raising a finger. “You know?” she repeats. “I think it’s easy to tell, because you make people happy wherever you go!” Fresh tilts her head, looking up towards the ceiling as she thinks out loud. “You make those kids happy because you’re so nice to them.” Fresh counts on her fingers. “And you made me happy because you became my friend.” She lowers another finger. “But I think I knew that before we really met anyways. Because you bought the chicken for your friend, even though you didn’t -”

Fresh stops herself mid-sentence, realizing the topic that she was bringing up and quickly looks back to Basil. The priestess is turned around, her hood pulled up over her head with her hands pulling the front of it down over her face to obscure it.

“…Basil?” asks Fresh quietly, listening to the priestess’ heavy sniffling, realizing now what she may have just done with her lack of forethought. She knows that Basil is in a tough spot and she’s essentially digging around that fresh wound with a finger right now.

Basil cries. “I hate it… I hate it here!”

“Basil?” asks Fresh, standing back upright.

Basil clutches the fabric of her hood, pulling it further down over her face. “I hate this city. I hate it! It was supposed to be different here!” cries Basil, not turning around. “I spent years trying to become a priestess, because I thought things would be different.” A hiss escapes her clenched teeth. “But it’s all the same,” she croaks, her voice cracking as she speaks. “It’s all the same. All everyone cares about is money. I thought the church would be different, but it isn’t. It’s all the same!”

Fresh walks around the counter, not sure what else to do, she places a hand on Basil’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Basil. I know that things are rough here. It’s not your fault tho -”

Basil turns around, her hand lashing out and striking Fresh’s arm away. “It is my fault!” howls the priestess, turning her agonized face back around to face the girl. “It is my fault…” repeats Basil, grabbing the cuffs of Fresh’s robe as she lets her head droop down forward to hide her wet face.

Fresh looks around the empty store, with her own arms hanging very awkwardly limp at her sides, not sure what to do at all, really. She isn’t versed in these sorts of situations in the least. Jubilee might know what to do, but Fresh has the feeling that Jubilee might be the wrong sort of energy to channel into her personality right now, for this particular situation.

As she looks back down to the crying priestess, she already finds two black-sleeved arms wrapped around the white robed figure. “I thought you two did it at first. I’m sorry, they told us to watch you,” sniffles Basil, not looking up.

“Did what? Watch who? What are you talking about?” asks Fresh, only half-pretending to not know.

“I’m sorry,” repeats Basil and Fresh feels the front of her robe become slightly damp as the priestess cries into it. “He was watching you. When he was…”

“Basil?” asks Fresh, rubbing the priestess’ back.

“So I thought you two… I thought… you… I thought he saw something and that you two killed him!” The priestess’ fingers clench the girls robe tighter. “I’m sorry! I’m so horrible. I wanted to be a good person, but I keep ending up here.”

Fresh doesn’t say anything, continuing instead to simply hug the priestess as she doesn’t know what else to do. She isn’t good at handling her own emotions, let alone someone else’s. Right now, the wisest thing to do seems to be to do nothing until Basil has found a calm place again.

“They told us two to watch you,” says Basil. “The clergy. So we did and then he… he…” Basil sniffles. “When you offered me the position, they told me to take it to keep a closer watch on you,” she concedes. “But I did it because I wanted to know. I wanted to know if you…” A thread on Fresh’s robe pops as it snaps from the pressure of the priestess’ tugging hands. “I wanted to know if you killed my only friend!” cries Basil, looking up at Fresh with an expression of pure, contorted suffering before she starts howling.

Fresh pulls the crying priestess back into a tight hug, wrapping her arms around her back and as the woman cries loudly into her shoulder. Turning her head to the side, entirely overwhelmed and out of her depth, Fresh looks at Jubilee who is standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, having watched this entire scene unfold.

Jubilee nods to Fresh and Fresh, with only a tiny tilt of her head, nods back. It feels like a cold thing to think, but this is an opportune moment.

“It’s okay, Basil,” consoles Fresh. “We’re friends now too and nothing is going to change that,” she reassures, as she feels her shoulder growing wet. The sound of Basil’s tears rolling down the fabric of her robe and striking the wooden boards of the floor beneath, intermingles with the splashing of the fountain outside. The noise all comes together, like the many threads of a single, tightly interwoven strand of a red string of fate which seems to lead off into the distance, acting as a guideline towards something that frightens her deeply. Something that she isn’t able to give a name to.

Fresh pulls Basil in tighter.

“It’s going to be okay,” she says, pretty sure that she’s lying.