It’s early in the morning, just before the crack of dawn.

Fresh sighs, slapping her cheeks as she stands outside of the adventurers’ guild, the bag of rare materials slung over her shoulders. Taking in a deep breath to calm herself and her nervous heart down, Fresh nods to herself once and steps inside of the building, immersing herself in the loud, noisy shanty-filled tavern that is the eastern adventurers’ guild.

She’s wearing her once-fluffy robe, from the west. Jubilee had tailored it to remove the fluff and make it more applicable to this climate, saying that she obviously can’t wear her black witch’s robe out in public and also advising that it would be unwise to wear her ‘first’ robe alone to a bar full of drunken sailors and soldiers, who might get the wrong idea about her profession. Fresh, while finding this unfair, had opted to take Jubilee’s advice. The tailored robe is still a bit warm, having had an inner lining that Jubilee removed too, but it’s bearable.

Taking a deep breath, adjusting the straps of her bag over her shoulders, Fresh immediately finds herself surrounded by the smells of liquor and the sounds of drunken revelry, even this early in the morning.

Shuffling past and through the party, she makes her way to the bar, where the barkeeper stands as always, polishing a glass that Fresh is fairly certain is literally the same glass that she has always been polishing, even back in the north. She can’t help but wonder if the woman took it with her all the way here and was just using it as a prop of sorts.

The barkeeper turns her head, seeing Fresh, her face growing pale as she quickly hurries over. “Is everything here?” she asks quietly, leaning over the counter with excited eyes. Fresh, having expected many different reactions, is somewhat surprised by the giddy excitement that the usually somber barkeeper is expressing. “Can you do it?!” she asks.

Fresh scratches her cheek, blinking. “Yeah,” she said. “Do you have time now, or should I come back later?”

The barkeeper turns around, cupping her hand by her mouth. “Silt!” she yells over the noise.

“Yeah?” calls a man over the raging of the party, a half emptied mug in his hand and foam around his mouth. She throws the rag at him and slides the glass from her hand along the length of the bar towards him at a perfect angle, so that it slides through every mug and cup present there. “Take over the bar until I get back!”

“What?” asks the drunken man, clearly confused as the rag falls down from his face, slapping against the counter. The glass comes to a stop and clinks against his.

Fresh scoots back as the barkeeper, rather than walking around to the small exit from behind the bar, simply places a hand on it and slides over it herself, landing on the other side next to Fresh.

“Uh…” Fresh nods her head towards the door to the cut-off space. “Let’s go there,” she says, not sure if she should be surprised at the enthusiasm present in the barkeeper or not. The elf doesn’t seem to be afraid of her anymore, or if she is, her excitement at Fresh upholding her end of the bargain is heavy enough to outweigh the fear she might still be feeling. Fresh is pretty sure that the elf isn’t drunk, but she isn’t confident about that.

She pulls out the iron-key from her pocket and the two of them make their way to the door, which they can’t reach fast enough as a series of whistles and hollers come after the two of them. It takes her a second, but Fresh then realizes what this looks like from the outside. Quickly, she opens the door and pulls the barkeeper inside, a little embarrassed, but also thankful for the good cover-story.

Taking a deep breath, she pulls the straps of her bag tight a third time, rustling the materials one more time for good luck and then shuts the door behind herself.

Now, Fresh had prepared herself for the ritual, which, according to the instructions in the grimoire, was a lot more sterile than she was initially expecting it to be. That being said, it’s still an awkward, intrusive and messy process. The barkeeper, having reached a level of excitement that even Fresh is somewhat envious of, really seems to be beyond thrilled about this wish of hers being fulfilled. Fresh tries to make some small talk in the meanwhile, but finds herself inadvertently asking a rude question, as she stirs the mixture together in a small bowl in her lap.

“Is this really a world you want to have a family in?” asks Fresh, only stopping herself after the words had left her mouth. She lifts her head, looking at the barkeeper. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

The barkeeper shakes her head. “My life hasn’t been perfect. But I’ve built something for myself,” she explains, unbuttoning her vest. “I’ve met someone, you know? Someone special.”

“Good for you!” beams Fresh, tapping her pestle against the bowl to get rid of any dripping goop. Honestly, she hasn’t really given things like this much thought since her arrival here.

The barkeeper nods. “Maybe it’s a little selfish,” she concedes. “But I’ve decided that he’s the one. Even if he is a jackass. So he’s just going to have to live with me as his partner,” she explains. “But he wants a family too, you know?”

Fresh nods. “You’re worried that he’ll leave, if you can’t?” she asks, expecting the obvious.

“…Huh?” the barkeeper blinks. “No! No. We’ve already talked about it, uh -” She lifts her hands. “Not mentioning you, of course,” she quickly adds on, sounding a little nervous. “But he said he’d stay with me, even if I can’t help him make a family, so…” The barkeeper crosses her arms, looking away towards the window. “Now I really want to, with him.”

Fresh blinks, realizing that her expectations have become subverted by this world’s harshness, as she automatically went into the worst direction with her thoughts. “That’s sweet. Sorry,” she relents. “I’ve become a real grump, I guess.” Lifting the mortar up, she inspects the contents of the bowl.

“Will this work?” asks the elf, looking back her way.

“You’re going to have to tell me,” replies Fresh, getting up and looking at the gloopy mixture. “This is going to hurt,” she explains, setting the bowl down onto the table and then reaching into her bag for her athame and her grimoire. “A lot,” warns Fresh. “You might bleed and it might leave a big scar. Also after this, you probably shouldn’t work for a week at least,” she lists. Though, in truth, there are thousands of other things that could go wrong. “Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure,” says the barkeeper. “More sure than I’ve ever been about anything in my life!”

Fresh sighs. She feels both unhappy and happy at the same time. Certainly she’s glad to be able to help someone in such a meaningful way. But the fountain’s method of achieving such a thing is, as always, upsetting and subtly distasteful for her. She nods, tapping the athame against her hand. “Okay…” says Fresh, reminding herself that she isn’t just doing this for the barkeeper. “Let’s get started.”

The ritual takes about an hour and by the time it is done, Fresh, after checking she has no blood stains on her clothes, lurches out of their room in the adventurers’ guild, leaving the barkeeper behind inside to rest and recover. As she exits alone, clearly exhausted, she receives twice as many cheers as they had gotten on their way in.

“She’ll be out in an hour or two, uh… Silt?” says Fresh to the man with froth on his beard, who has clearly taken to his new position as the barkeeper.

“Good job,” he says, giving her a thumbs-up.

“Uh, thanks,” says Fresh, waving him off and heading out of the door before someone tries to buy her a drink to celebrate her perceived conquest. Sighing all the way home, she lurches in over the beach, stepping around a particularly angry looking crab that can’t keep up with her and heads in through the door. The store is busy. Jubilee is arguing with a customer and Basil is running around, working the window as the line goes back all the way to the water. Only now, as she steps inside, does her sigh finally come to an end.

“Welcome home,” says Jubilee, nodding to her.

“Welcome home!” calls Basil, taking a second to look up from her ice-cream duty.

Fresh stares at the two of them through tired eyes and she smiles. She waves to them. “I’ll be down to help you guys in a minute!” says Fresh, finding herself a little more energized. She runs upstairs, running into Shamrock on the staircase.

“Welcome home,” says the man as the two of them squeeze past each other with some trouble on the tight staircase.

“Thanks Shamrock, I missed you too!” she says, jogging up the stairs after she slips past him.

Now, of course Fresh knows that this was an odd thing for her friends to do. They have never greeted her like this before. They must have sat together after she left and conspired in secret and honestly, she appreciates it a lot.

Taking in a deep breath, Fresh looks around the room, staring at the two beds still present in her corner from their sleepover last night.

“I’m home,” says Fresh, finding herself smiling again as she goes to change into another, less stained, robe and to help her friends run their business.