A crackling fills the night as a shower of lights blasts out from the balcony. Fresh had thrown a handful of grimpowder up into the air.

“It’s very pretty, as always,” says the priestess, Basil.

“It’s a fucking waste of money, is what it is,” sighs Jubilee from the side.

Fresh shakes her head, holding the bag out to them. “It’s not. You guys wanna try?” she asks.

“And lose my fingers? Pass,” says Jubilee.

Shamrock reaches into the bag, pulling out a pinch of powder and throwing it. It explodes, crackling in mid-air into a vivid shower of colorful sparkles and lights that paint the balcony for only a brief second.

“Wow. Great,” sighs Jubilee. “If that’s everything, then I’m going to bed,” they say. “Fucking bullshit sparkles.”

“It’s not just sparkles, Jubilee!” argues Fresh, setting the bag of grimpowder down onto the table. “Look!” she says, pulling out a paper cylinder with a cone on it, glued to a long, thin stick.

Jubilee raises an eyebrow. “Have you been making mushrooms again?”

“It’s not a mushroom!” argues Fresh. “It’s a firework! See?” she holds it up and points at it, as if that were explanation enough. Jubilee and Basil look at each other and then shrug. “It’s like… uh… hmm…” Fresh thinks for a second, not sure how to explain it. “Maybe it’s easier if I just show you,” she says, grabbing an empty bottle and placing the stick into it.

Fresh stops for a second, in an odd moment of clarity, considering if this is a wise thing to do in the middle of the night. But it seems fine, the crab beach is always full of explosions and lights anyways that fill the night. Heck, she can see three fireballs in the darkness from where she’s standing right now.

“See?” she asks, setting the stick into the bottle. “It’s like a projectile, but it’s filled with grimpowder,” explains Fresh. “So you can make a bunch of sparkles up in the air too!”

Jubilee crosses their arms, staring at her. “That’s dumb. You’re dumb.”

“Nu uh!” argues Fresh. “It’s a really great idea!” Basil tilts her head, watching her, still unsure. Fresh sighs, deciding that she’s just going to have to show them. “Okay, so look,” she says.

“You’ve told us to look three times now,” says Jubilee. “Are you just gonna give us something to look at, or are you gonna keep wasting our time?”

Fresh frowns, deciding to skip the explanation as to how she made the thing, let alone the complex process she had to go through to get the grimpowder to explode into a functional direction, rather than just exploding all at once. But it looks like she has to get to the point before the others just leave.

Sighing, she presses a finger to the bottom of the rocket, holding the bottle steady with her other, gloved hand.

(Fresh) uses: [Craftsman: Ignite]

Sparks fly out of the bottom of the firework with a loud, audible hiss as they fall down over her gloved hand and then, a second later, the red-paper cylinder shoots off into the night, leaving a trail of colorful sparks flying behind it as it rises up towards the clouds.

“Huh…” says Basil. “Neat.”

The rocket explodes in mid-air after flying for a few seconds, creating an array of colorful lights for only a few seconds, as if a thousand fireflies had been born into the night, only to vanish in an instant, as they then return to the darkness.

“Was that it?” asks Jubilee, still not impressed. “I’ve seen more sky-fireballs than I can count. Plus they’re free to make.”

“It’s not a fireball though, Jubilee!” argues Fresh. “It’s a firework.”

Jubilee shakes their head. “I don’t see the difference, except yours is worse and costs money.”

“Not everyone can use fireballs, Jubilee,” counters Fresh, wiggling her fingers at her friend. “Plus the fireworks are prettier!”

“That’s up for debate. I dunno…” says Jubilee, leaning against the door-frame. “Basil?”

Basil thinks for a second. “I think they’re cute. But what’s the financial viability?”

“Huh?” Fresh scratches her cheek and processes Basil’s question. “Basil!” argues Fresh, wanting to get into a discussion about her friends’ obsessions with profits.

“Can you point them at someone?” asks Jubilee, interrupting her.

Basil thinks for a second. “That might be something?” she considers. “Like portable spells for non-casters?” she ponders. “We could sell them to swordsmen to use as a long-ranged tool? There doesn’t seem to be much training involved in using one.”

Jubilee nods, liking this idea more. “It’s practical. Less utility and more set-up than a bow, but…”

“What if we made a crossbow, but with no string?” suggests Basil. “That you could just lay a firework in and point it at something?”

Fresh gasps. She knew this would happen, she’s just surprised that it was literally the first thought that her friends had. “No!” argues Fresh. “What if someone points it at someone else?”

“Oh, they’re definitely going to do that,” says Jubilee. “That’s the selling point. We’ll sell the ‘bows’ for cheap and charge out of the ass for the projectiles. That’s how we’ll hook ‘em.”

Fresh frowns. She definitely doesn’t want to do that.

“Though…” says Basil. “Should we really?” she asks. “It seems like an idea that will attract a lot of attention.”

Jubilee rubs their chin as they think. “It probably will, honestly. Imagine if some shit-head commander comes by and asks us to make a giant one to sink ships with?”

“That’s going to go downhill fast,” warns Basil.

“Yeah, down a big fucking hill made up out of gold,” says Jubilee. “I’m in.”

“I’m not sure,” says Basil.

Jubilee crosses their arms. “How is it any different than any of the other hundreds of weapons we’ve sold?”

Basil leans against the other door-frame. “I don’t know, it’s…” she doesn’t seem to find the right word and stares off into the night for a while. “It seems too… accessible?” she considers. “What happens if we get an order for a few hundred and we outfit an entire company with them? It would be a devastating weapon.”

“Counterpoint,” says Jubilee. “They already have entire regiments made up out of casters who can already do that, so what’s the issue?”

Fresh continues to frown, but her frown is ignored by the two of them as they continue their debate. She turns her gaze, looking at Shamrock who still stares up towards where the firework exploded long ago. Feeling her eyes on him, he turns his head to face her and the two of them stare at each other for a while.

“What’s up, Shamrock?” asks Fresh.

He shakes his head, looking back up to where the explosion happened.

Fresh shrugs, not sure what’s up with him lately either. But he seems to be processing things in his own way. Turning back to the other two, she sees that they’ve finished their debate, or at least decided to put it on ice for tonight. It’s late and everyone wants to sleep.

The next day comes and business is as busy as always. In fact, it’s a little more than usual as there seems to be a strong resurgence after the reopening of the beach. As for the person of interest, they have yet to be found and the soldiers seem to have given up any hope of being able to do so.

Deciding to take her lunch break in the city, Fresh grabs her bag and heads towards the adventurers’ guild. She has been putting it off for a while now, honestly. Because of all of the weird feelings involved in the process, but she decides that it’s time to check in again.

Stepping into the guild, she navigates through the crowds and makes her way towards the bar.

But the barkeeper isn’t there. Instead, there is someone else. An orc, who she doesn’t recognize. “Excuse me,” says Fresh.

“What can I get ya?” asks the man, sliding an empty glass over to her. To her own surprise, she catches it. But then shakes her head and slides it back to him as he walks towards her.

“Nothing, sorry. I was just wondering, uh, is the other barkeeper around? The elf?” she asks. It seems odd, but she realizes that she never even asked the barkeeper what her name was.

The orc stares at her and then shakes his head. “No, she packed up.”

“Huh?” asks Fresh. “She left?”

“Sure did,” he replies. “Who are you, again?”

Fresh blinks. “Oh, uh…” She shakes her head. “Sorry. Nobody. I was just curious,” she says, lifting a hand to wave and walking back out of the guild.

“Just like that, huh?” sighs Fresh, looking around the bend towards the stall, where the anqa Thyme is. She doesn’t see him, but it’s probably for the best. He probably still doesn’t like her.

Heading back home, she grabs some new tea on the way, wondering where the barkeeper is. She likes to think that the ritual worked and that she’s off somewhere with her betrothed, building a small, comfortable home together in a warm and safe place.

*Bakaaaaw*

Jumping up in surprise, she turns her head and stares at the fenced in chicken-coop, attached to the side of a small house. A few chickens run around inside of it, pecking and clucking and living their best, little chicken lives, except for the rooster who stands up atop of a little hut.

She stares at the rooster and it stares at her and she has the oddest sense of déjà vu. Staring at its plumage, she recalls the bloody feather that she had found by the fountain, outside of the northern city. Fresh isn’t sure why this memory is relevant to her train of thought, if it is at all.

Shaking her head, she walks back home. She’s sure that everything is just fine. Right?

Feeling herself being watched, Fresh spares a glance back over her shoulder. But there is nobody there.