Fresh stands outside in the street, staring up at the oddly dancing lights that make up the sky above their heads. It is late at night, several days later.

She’s outside right now, having been sent out to bring back today’s dinner. The others, after a long, exhausting day down in the dungeon, had just wanted to have a quiet meal at home tonight. The last few nights, they had been living it up a little, eating out in warm taverns and enjoyable restaurants.

She exhales, seeing the vapors of her breath leave her body. It’s cold.

The winter is here and it isn’t as clearly evidenced by the chill in the air, or the more quickly darkening days as much as it is by the falling of fresh snow.

Snow that never quite seems to reach her. She can see it down here, from down on the street. She can see the white tufts falling down against the odd, egg-like dome that sits around the entire city. It’s like they’ve been trapped inside of a snow-globe. But for some reason, the snow is on the other side.

Fresh shivers, holding her arms together as she rubs herself, trying to stay warm. She needs a coat, she only has on this robe that they had bought the other day. After Shamrock got his new armor, which she likes, but not as much as his old set, she had been ‘next in line’ because her black robe was suspicious and so the others dragged her into a store where she picked out a new one. Basil did too, they got matching ones.

The material is a plain, but thick, cotton-like fabric that is apparently made out of strips of processed and woven spriggans’ bark. It’s a common material used here in this city. It’s very light and durable, but that’s about it. It doesn’t have any extravagant magical properties or defensive values as a fabric. It’s just a well made, strongly threaded robe. It’s not the prettiest thing ever, but it doesn’t look bad either. It’s just a little plain, is all.

It isn’t particularly warm, however. This was poor planning on their part. Fresh looks down and away from the flakes of snow, striking against the shield and melting, as she returns her focus to the winding, blue-tinged road ahead of herself, covered in streaks of the warm, orange light escaping from many cozy windows, lit aglow from the insides of the homes that they hide.

It really is a nice city.

Fresh keeps on walking. Because it’s so cold, maybe she could find something hearty for them to eat? Hearty food is easier to just make yourself than it is to buy, but that’s just what it is. It might be a little while until they have a kitchen again though. Who knows when this odd circumstance will finally come to an end and when they’ll be allowed to leave the central-city again?

She hopes that Basil’s plants are going to make it that long. Some of them need to be watered regularly, especially under the hot, desert sun. She hopes that their customers aren’t standing in front of their door in the morning, waiting in vain for them to open.

Did they put up a sign?

Fresh stops, staring at the ground for a moment. She doesn’t remember. But there’s no way that Jubilee wouldn’t have put up a sign if they left their home. She herself is a bit of a ‘goo-brain’, as they always say. But she’ll trust in their sense of responsibility, if she can’t do so for her own.

For a while, she wanders, marveling at the kind city until she eventually finds something. A street vendor, selling large portions of a stew-like dish with tubers and root vegetables and a thick, brown gravy. It’s a cute, little, open-faced stall with a few seats in front of it that are mostly empty. But the man behind the counter is busy at work nonetheless. Fresh approaches and looks down at his creation. Steam rises from it, bringing an enjoyable warmth and wholeness to her face and sense of smell. She smiles, having found what she’s looking for.

(Fresh) bought [Red-tuber hot-bowl](High) x4

for

[{60} Obols ] !

[Red-tuber hot-bowl](High) A bowl of steaming hot root vegetables, covered in a thick mushroom gravy. Weight: 0.25kg Value: 15 Obols

Waving goodbye to the man who she had to give a few extra Obols to, so that she could take the lidded bowls back with herself in her bag, Fresh makes her way ‘home’.

She likes that word. She still remembers the first time she had thought it, the first time she had called anything that. It was back in the north, she was coming back from an errand, similar to this one.

It’s funny, how the universe will sync little things like that up now and then, isn’t it?

For all the talk of the horribleness of what she is perceived to be, Fresh wishes that people would just let her exist like this. She wishes that the fountain would just… drop everything and let her be here, like this. Just let her be a simple person, doing simple things during simple days and nights and in return for doing these simple tasks, for running these easy errands and chores, she might then receive a simple reward.

“I’m home!” calls Fresh as she steps into their room in the adventurers’ guild.

“You don’t have to yell,” snaps Jubilee from the bed, about five steps away.

“Welcome home,” says Shamrock, his dark-silver armor rattling as he’s still having a little trouble getting adjusted to the different shell.

Wait. One… two…

Fresh yelps, realizing that ‘three’ is behind her, having been standing in the corner behind the doorway. Basil’s hands grab her and ten poky, prodding fingers run their way over her sides and then stomach from behind as the priestess grabs her in a violent hug. “IAH!” yelps Fresh as she is viciously attacked.

“I GOT YOU NOW!” exclaims Basil, tickling her.

“Noooo~!” howls Fresh, trying to waddle away and to fight down her pained laughter at the same time. But there is no escape.

“Pipe down,” sighs Jubilee.

Fresh laughs, trying and failing to fight Basil off. She had tickled the priestess in a similar fashion the other day and now the comeuppance has finally arrived. This was her own fault, she got caught unaware, she wasn’t paying attention. “Mercy!” she howls. “I brought food!”

Basil stops. “Is it good?” she asks, her fingers still staying on the sides of Fresh’s ribs, but not moving as she waits for an answer.

Fresh lifts her nose. “As if I would get bad food!” she protests.

Jubilee flips a page of their book. “Yeah, that’s true,” they say. Fresh smiles, glad to have some rare back-up from Jubilee. “You just make it.”

Fresh clutches her heart, letting out a dramatic cry as she falls to her knees and dies, taking Basil down with her to the ground.

“No dying in the house,” says Shamrock, looking over their way.

Fresh lifts her face from the floorboards, looking at him. “It’s our room, it’s not a house. There’s no rule about dying here,” she argues, before putting her face back down onto the floor.

“Well. It’s okay,” says Basil. Fresh can feel her on her back. The priestess is sitting on her, rummaging around in her bag. “That’s just one more portion for the three of us then.”

“Huh?!” Fresh tries to push herself up, but Basil is too heavy for her to move.

“Should’ve done those push-ups, huh?” quips Jubilee, taking a bowl from Basil and passing it to Shamrock.

“Thank you,” says the giant man.

Jubilee takes the next bowl, pulling the lid off and setting it to the side. “Oh, this stuff is good.”

“It smells great,” says Basil, taking another bowl out and setting it to the side, on the floor. Fresh reaches for it, but Basil leans over and scoots it away, just out of reach of her fingertips.

“Baaaasil~!” complains Fresh, reaching for her dinner in vain. “Don’t bully meeee~!” she cries.

“I can’t be bullying you if you’re dead,” says the priestess.

“Okay!” relents Fresh. “I’m not dead! I was just pretending!”

The priestess makes a show out of thinking, tapping her chin with her finger. “Hmm…”

“Really!” argues Fresh, trying to squirm away from the priestess still sitting on her back. Seeing her move an inch closer, Jubilee bends over and scoots her bowl an inch further away from her hands. “Jubileeee~!”

Basil laughs. “Well. Okay. I suppose you do sound rather lively for someone who’s dead.”

“Right?!” asks Fresh. Basil gets up and then helps Fresh get up, dusting her off.

“Thanks for sweeping the floor,” sighs the priestess, dusting off Fresh’s new robe and then laughing again. Her laugh infects Fresh, who feels like she has suffered a great deal already as is.

The two of them sit down next to each other on the floor next to Shamrock, who is leaning against the wall and Jubilee, who is leaning against the bed and together all four of them share a warm, heartfelt dinner that brings many different feelings of comfort and safety with it, many different smells and sensations of taste and texture and all of these things are born from elements that are, in and off themselves, simple.