It is later in the evening, after they had closed for the day and finished their work downstairs.

“If I get crushed in my sleep, I’m not going to forgive you,” says Jubilee, watching her with a wary eye as Fresh points to the spot next to their room. Shamrock carries the large beam there, setting it on the spot which she had marked with a chalk scribble. Downstairs, on the corner of the ‘dressing room’, there is another beam just like this one in the exact spot beneath here.

“It’ll be fine, Jubilee!” promises Fresh.

“That exact statement has filled me with worry more times than I can count,” replies Jubilee.

Fresh makes a square with her fingers, framing the area where Shamrock is setting the beam up. “Should I sleep in your room tonight?” she asks. “Just in case.”

“Pretty sure I just said that I didn’t want to get crushed in my sleep,” states Jubilee, raising an eyebrow. Fresh puffs out her cheek, looking back to the work at hand.

“A little to the left please, Shamrock,” she says. The man obliges. The solid, wooden beam is an exact fit between the ceiling and the stabilized floor below. Fresh nods, satisfied. Now all that’s left is to secure it into the stone.

Since there isn’t exactly a garden area, Basil wants to set up her planters on the flat roof of the house. This, of course, requires some modifications. Fresh isn’t sure if the roof can’t take a load like that on its own already, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. She and Shamrock have set up a few large, massive, very expensive wooden beams to stabilize the entire structure. One collection on the bottom floor, entrenched into the foundation and then a second up on the second floor, exactly above the first ones.

As for entry to the roof, inside of the workshop, while fixing the ‘fixed’ section of the roof, she added a trap-door with a lock and a ladder, as well as a small basket and pulley system to lower things down into the workshop from above.

Given the popularity of Basil’s products, this large-scale project is necessary, as her stores of dried herbs, which she had brought from the west, are quickly depleting.

“Do you need any help with your project too, Shamrock?” asks Fresh as the man steps back.

“No,” is all that he says, shaking his head. Fresh nods.

Taking a while after that, she secures the last beam in place and then makes her way up to the roof. Basil is already at work, going through great effort to drag lumber around by herself. She had insisted on doing it all by herself and Fresh understands that.

“I’m gonna make a little wall,” says Fresh, pointing at the edge of the roof. “Waist high. Just to be safe,” she says.

Basil nods, wiping her forehead on her rolled up sleeve. “Sure thing,” she says. “I figured there, by the hatch we could have a little roofed over, open area,” explains Basil. “Like a pavilion?” Fresh nods. “And over here I want to put up a few planters.”

“Do you think we’ll have room for a few chairs?” asks Fresh.

Basil blinks, looking at her. “We already have a balcony, though?”

Fresh shrugs. “Okay. Just asking,” she says, measuring how many bricks she’s going to need to order for her wall. “The roof’s all yours, Basil,” confirms Fresh.

“We can probably put a few chairs and the telescope there,” relents Basil, pointing at the area by the hatch. “Jubilee likes that thing.”

“Thanks!” says Fresh, getting up and dusting her hands off. The roof is scorching hot, being under the desert sun all day. Basil nods and Fresh heads back down the hatch, looking at Shamrock who is there at the bench, tinkering with something. “Can I see?” asks Fresh.

He turns his head, looking at her before shuffling to the side to block her view. “Secret.”

“Now I want to see it even more,” replies Fresh, crossing her arms.

Shamrock turns his head again, looking over his shoulder towards her a second time. “Double secret.”

She lets out a defeated yelp, clutching her heart and dramatically walking out of the workshop. “You haven’t seen the last of meeeee~” she cries, waving the fingers of her free hand witchily at him as she goes.

Fresh exits the workshop and looks around the room.

…Now what?

She stands there, staring vacantly as she realizes that she has nothing to do. She has been running around and working for the entire day. But her friends are all ‘taken care of’ essentially, as are all of her tasks and her chores.

As Fresh stands there, looking around the upstairs area, she realizes something. “Jubileeee~?” she asks.

“What?” asks Jubilee, looking up from their book.

“I don’t have any hobbies,” explains Fresh, having come to a sudden self-epiphany. Jubilee stares at her for a moment, before turning their gaze back down to their book, without another word. Fresh frowns and walks over and around the table, wrapping her arms around Jubilee from behind and resting her chin on top of their head.

Jubilee sighs.

Fresh sighs too, but for a different reason. “You shouldn’t read that stuff all the time, Jubilee,” says Fresh. “You’re gonna get nightmares. Besides, you’ve probably read it like ten times now.”

Jubilee slaps the book shut, setting it down onto the table. “Can I help you with something?” they ask, annoyed.

“Mm,” nods Fresh, her head still on top of theirs. “I want to complain to the management,” she says, looking down at them from above. “I tried to buy a hug here a few days ago, but the person at the counter said they were all sold out and I haven’t heard a thing since.”

“You might actually be the saddest creature alive,” replies Jubilee, their fingers tapping against the cover of their book.

“I aaaam~” groans Fresh.

“I didn’t mean ‘sad’ like that,” replies Jubilee. Fresh grumbles into the top of their head. “Just how touch-starved are you?” Fresh continues to grumble, rubbing her face into Jubilee’s hair as an act of protest. “That other world must have really blown, huh?” asks Jubilee. “If you turned out this way.”

“Don’t you like me, Jubilee?” asks Fresh.

“Shut up, goo-brain,” says Jubilee, trying to get up and failing to do so. “Don’t waste my time asking things you already know.”

“I’m not gonna let you go,” says Fresh, squeezing her arms tightly around her prisoner. “Not until you hug me back.”

“No hugs available. You didn’t pay for it,” says Jubilee.

Fresh gasps. “I tried, but you gave me my money back!”

“Ah. That sounds rough,” says Jubilee. “Try coming back tomorrow, when the store is open again. We’re closed now, you see?” they ask, pointing over their shoulder towards the darkened sky outside of the balcony door.

“That’s so mean!” complains Fresh.

“Running a shop is a cutthroat business.”

“Is that so?” asks Fresh.

“Yup,” replies Jubilee, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Huh?” asks Fresh, acting like she didn’t understand what Jubilee just said.

“I said. ‘Yup’,” reaffirms Jubilee.

Fresh blinks, playing dumb. “…‘Yup’?”

“Yup,” nods Jubilee. Their eyes meet, Jubilee’s narrowing in deep suspicion. “Don’t you da -”

“CHICKEN-BUTT!” yells Fresh, sinking her fingers into Jubilee’s sides and tickling them. Jubilee laughs, trying to fight her off, but they’re thoroughly trapped and unable to escape their horrible fate.

Sure. It’s not exactly a hobby, as per the classical definitions of such a thing. But Fresh finds great relief and solace in these social interactions with her family. It’s not really some pragmatic activity, like a crafting process or some kind of workout or anything like that. But she supposes that ‘socializing’ counts as a hobby.

As for the whole ‘touch-starved’ insinuation, she realizes that there might be something to that. But then again, she just feels like she’s an entity that requires the touch of significant people to not only survive, but to thrive. Much like a flower needs sunshine and water, she needs people to express her emotions out onto and with. She realizes that this itself is her mechanism of processing and staving away the bad-thing.

Maybe it’s because she isn’t as smart as Jubilee or Basil or Shamrock are, so she can’t form other more ‘sensible’ ways to keep her emotions and way of life intact, or maybe it really is just because she’s some sad, lonely creature, or maybe it’s just so she can distract herself from the gaping pit of terror that is her existence, just out of sight of the warmth of their home, but Fresh realizes that she’s always the happiest when she has someone to exist with.

Jubilee, meanwhile, puts on a good show of trying to escape. But Fresh can tell that they don’t really mean it, their body is pressing itself back towards her instead of away. Later that night, her reign of terror extends itself out to Basil and Shamrock as well, but they seem to accept their fate for what it is and as Fresh lays in her bed, still giddy and excited from her earlier spree, she listens to the crashing waves of the distant ocean, coming towards the shoreline outside of their house.

As she listens to the sound echoing around the empty, dark void around her bed, her mood falls somber, as she realizes that now, despite everyone being only a few steps away, she is alone.

Fresh wraps her arms around her bundled up blanket, hugging it like a person as she feels a sudden autumn-chill seep into their house.

Or, getting back to her reasoning from before, maybe, she’s just terrified of being alone? Maybe that’s why she insists on being inseparably close to other people? Because, maybe, if she’s alone for too long, she’ll become the person who she used to be once again, maybe, if she has nobody to latch on to, she herself will be the one who invites the bad-thing back inside of her home and spirit?

Maybe she isn’t touch-starved or deprived of warmth or love, despite it perhaps looking that way from the outside. Maybe she’s just terrified of being all by herself?

To her tired mind, the waves of the nearby ocean almost sound like quiet, hissing laughter.