Fresh is on the floor, crawling on her knees with a damp rag in her hand as she dusts the lowest shelves. Basil is just behind her, dusting and wiping off the middle shelves and Shamrock is in the back, wiping down the highest ones. The three of them are working their way through the aisles of the store, working in tandem like the segments of a snake, as they move along as a whole.

There isn’t a whole lot of dust, but there is a lot of dirt and there are tiny bits of stone as well as tiny fragments of glass from wands and bottles that have been dropped. There are some splinters of wood, where the shelves have gotten nicked or damaged. There are some crumbs from the candies that people had eaten in the back corner in secret; Fresh assumes that those hadn’t been paid for. Hardly the work of the thieves’ guild, but more likely some of the children or the fairies they see running around the store now and then.

She herself isn’t really bothered by it, simply being as glad as always that someone likes the things that she’s made. But Jubilee is more annoyed about it, coming up after them with a broom as they sweep the floor behind.

“Probably those damn fairies,” says Jubilee, grabbing a large fragment of the shell of a blue candy that Shamrock finds on top of the heated cabinet. Fresh looks up at it, before staring out of the window for a moment at the still dark tunnel outside. She supposes that it's a cozy place for a fairy, up there. It’s warm. There’s food and light and sound and a place to hide from any prying eyes.

“Where do they usually stay?” asks Fresh, scrubbing a particularly hard to get dried spot of coughee out of the floor, just in front of the cold-storage cabinet.

“Wherever they can,” answers Basil. “Once the fairies are born, it’s a real free for all to find work and a place to sleep.”

“The little fucks get in anywhere that they can,” says Jubilee. “The crevices beneath rooftops. Dark corners in houses where nobody can see them.” They sigh. “They’re like rats.”

“Huh…” replies Fresh, looking back at the stain that she is scrubbing. It sounds like a hard life. She supposes they have to survive much like she did in her first night here, though she supposes that the dungeon here isn’t ideal to sleep inside of, being this cold. At least this one doesn’t have any vampires that could breach out of it. She does miss Mr. Mushroom a little though. Their friendship was very brief, but in her eyes, deeply fulfilling.

“What about food?” she asks. “What do they eat?”

“Whatever they can,” answers Basil. “They’re small, so they have to eat a lot more often to keep their energy levels up. Especially given that they’re… uh…” she thinks for a moment, apparently trying to find the right combination of words.

“- They’re hyper fucks,” says Jubilee, finishing Basil’s thought for her.

“That sounds like a really hard life,” says Fresh, moving on to the next spot, thankful that her back hasn’t been hurting anymore lately. “How come there isn’t a place here that just takes care of them? Like a… a fairy house, or something?”

“Huh?” asks Jubilee incredulously. “Why the fuck would there be?”

“Because they have it really hard!” replies Fresh, looking up over her shoulder. “It seems really unfair for them to be born and stuck here and have to live like that for their whole lives.”

“Who gives a fuck? Everyone has it hard,” says Jubilee. “If you can’t feed yourself, you don’t get to eat. That’s how the world works.”

“That’s really harsh,” mutters Fresh.

“The ones that want to survive, will. The ones who don’t have the drive and the head for it, won’t. I don’t know what to tell you,” says Jubilee. “The big slime eats the little slime.”

Fresh frowns, looking up at Basil and Shamrock, seeing if there is anything to read from their faces. Shamrock is busy meticulously polishing a glass wand, but Basil spares her a compassionate look. “I sympathize with them too,” agrees the priestess. “But the young must first work the fields, before they can be granted a harvest,” she says, lifting a finger, as if repeating a quote that she herself had once been told.

“Even if they disappear in the fields?” asks Fresh, getting right to the point. Basil lowers her hand, looking at her and then back to Jubilee as if searching for an answer. But Jubilee has none to give. Basil looks to the shelf, rubbing a spot with her rag. Though Fresh doesn’t think that there’s anything there to rub away.

The priestess sighs. “In the orphanage, we took in about two newcomers every month,” she explains, rubbing the rag back and forth until it starts squeaking. “But at the end of the year, by the time winter had ended, we usually had the same number of kids that the last year started with.

“You mean…?”

Basil nods, holding out her hand to Shamrock. He gives her the wand that he was polishing and she continues to do it in his place. “Alone, most of the children never made it,” she explains. “The ones who weren’t children though, the ones who had to grow up too fast, those are the ones who did.” Basil sighs. “The big slime eats the little slime,” says the priestess, repeating after Jubilee. Fresh doesn’t like this saying in the least.

Shamrock looks at Jubilee and Basil, before grabbing a bottle of fruity sweet-tea from the cold shelf, just as they move their way past it.

“Hey! Don’t drink the products, shit-head!” barks Jubilee at him. Shamrock looks at them and then down at the bottle in his hands. Shrugging indifferently, he twists the cap open and starts drinking it regardless.

He downs the entire bottle at once, with Jubilee unable to stop him, finishing with a relieved sigh afterwards. “The big slime eats the little slime,” is all that he says, as Jubilee yells at him. Fresh, despite the somber mood, can’t help but laugh as she watches this scene unfold before her. Closing the empty bottle, Shamrock looks down towards her. He nods once to her. “The young must learn to walk on two feet.”

Fresh purses her lips. “You too, huh?” she sighs in some disappointment, having hoped that he would be on her side in the matter.

Shamrock shakes his head, handing the empty bottle down to Jubilee who takes it with an ireful glare and immediately throws it against his broad back, covering the floor in shattered glass. Basil starts scolding Jubilee about how mean and irresponsible that was and Jubilee yells back at Basil, telling her some slightly more unsavory things. Fresh does her best to focus on her conversation with Shamrock. “But their feet need not be bare,” says the man, turning around to pick up the glass that Jubilee had broken on him. “Nor their stomachs empty,” says the knelt down Shamrock, looking over his shoulder back towards her. He nods once. “I will help you make the world lighter.”

“Shamrock…” says Fresh. She beams. “You’re the best, Shamrock!” she says, feeling a deep relief come over her as she sees that she isn’t entirely alone on this.

Shamrock says nothing else, simply quietly picking up the rest of the glass that isn’t his to pick up, while Basil and Jubilee continue their spat. Not because he has to, or because it’s his fault that the glass is there, but because it’s the right thing to do. Because he is there. Because the glass is there. Because he can pick it up. Because it would make things better if he did, even if it isn’t his weight to carry, even if it isn’t his responsibility.

Fresh smiles, crawling further forward, as she thinks about how she can help the fairies. Maybe tiny fairy clothes? Most of them only had rags and it would get very cold soon. Or maybe tiny fairy weapons, so that they could defend themselves better? Or maybe she should start smaller, with small portions of food and drinks for them. With tiny beds and tiny blankets to help stave off the cold of the long nights?

Despite the grimness of the topic, Fresh finds herself oddly excited at the prospect of essentially making a doll-house for a tiny, living creature. She gasps, coming to her idea.

“Magical floating fairy house!” she says excitedly, turning around to her friends.

“What?” asks Basil, turning back to face her, her finger pressed against Jubilee’s forehead. Jubilee’s finger digs into her gut.

“Magical floating fairy house!” repeats Fresh excitedly, jumping up to her feet.

“…What?” asks Jubilee.

Shamrock gets up too. “Magical floating fairy house,” is all that he says, as he rises to his feet with a handful of damp glass.

Basil and Jubilee exchange a confused glance.

The conversation is interrupted by a knock on the window. All four of them look up to stare out through the glass into the dark tunnel on the other side, where the light of the rising morning sun is slowly starting to enter.

There, on the other side of the glass, hovers a blood covered, dirty fairy covered in tattered rags, with a broken sword in its good hand. Its other arm appears to be broken too and hangs limply at its side. Its chest heaving, as if it had just finished running for its life as fast as it can. Its foggy, hot breath steaming up the window that separates them, as it lifts its hand, holding onto a single kobold’s eye-ball by the red cord that it had once been attached to a monster with.

“Well. Fuck me,” says Jubilee breathlessly, looking at the spectacle as they place their hands on their hips. They turn their head around, looking back down at Fresh. “Looks like the little slime ate the big one, this time.”