“You’re moving in on my territory,” warns Jubilee, turning their head towards Basil.

“Oh, don’t make such a fuss about it,” replies the priestess, shuffling past Jubilee. “I just want to make something.”

Jubilee raises an eyebrow. “It’s my turn to make breakfast today, Basil,” they reply. “Get lost.”

Basil sighs, bending down to grab some flour from the sack. “I’m not making breakfast. I’m just making some stuff.”

“Uh huh and for what?” asks Jubilee.

Basil pours a scoop full of flour into a bowl in her other hand. “To eat,” she says, dryly.

“Uh huh,” says Jubilee again, their voice growing sharper. “And when?”

“In about thirty minutes, actually.”

“So, at breakfast time?”

“It’s not for breakfast,” says Basil.

Jubilee places their hands together in front of their face, pointing their fingers towards the priestess. “Basil.”

“Yes?”

They stare the priestess down. “You’re fucking with me right now, right?”

“Huh?” Basil blinks. “Why do you always have to be so crude?” She turns to look over towards the window. “The sun isn’t even up yet.”

“You’re making something to eat in half an hour, at breakfast time, while I’m cooking breakfast for us literally right next to you?”

Basil sighs, grabbing some eggs. “I’m not making breakfast. I just told you.”

Jubilee places their hands on their hips, leaning in towards Basil. “Basil. I’d slap you if I wasn’t sure you’d be into it.”

Basil rolls her eyes. “Please. As if you could reach.”

“Unfortunately,” starts Jubilee. “The places I can reach you’d probably enjoy more.” Basil gasps, the shell of the egg in her hand cracking as her finger squeeze it too hard. She turns her head, shooting Jubilee a scornful look. But then the priestess stops and just lifts her nose, looking back to her work as she opts to take the high road, apparently.

Fresh, having watched this scene unfold from the middle platform of the tower, turns her head over to Shamrock who is sitting there with crossed legs, a sketchbook in his lap. The two of them shrug at the same time.

“Left,” says Shamrock. The springan, standing between them, lifts its arms and spins a few degrees towards the left. The man nods and continues to draw.

“Shamrock,” asks Fresh, looking at the man’s work. “Isn’t it kind of grim to make a murder-manual for the springan?” she asks. “I mean… there’s only one, you know?” she asks, looking at the flower-blossomed creature.

“For now.”

“For now?” asks Fresh, tilting her head.

“For now,” repeats the man, continuing his sketching of the creature. It just seems excited that the man wanted to draw it at all. The fact that this is for an item that will teach people how to kill it more efficiently doesn’t seem to be much of an issue. “The future is uncertain.”

Fresh scratches her cheek. “Hmm…” She turns her head, watching the other two downstairs continuing to make a fuss about what is and isn’t breakfast.

The table is set. A loaf of fresh, steaming bread sits in the center of it, surrounded by a rather generous spread of eggs, creams, oils, cheeses and slices of meat. It all smells great, really. Breakfast is always Fresh’s favorite part of the day. They all get to sit together and they get to talk with each other and they get to eat a lot of exciting, wholesome things. It’s a stark contrast, honestly, how well they eat in comparison with what she assumes some of the more gaunt faces of the people she sees outside are able to. But her own family is fed and sheltered; that is what matters most to the horrible witch.

Together with the usual smell of their hearty meal, is something else. Something lighter and cleaner than the smell of the fried eggs or the heavy, steaming bread. It’s almost sweat, almost a little zesty.

Jubilee and Basil sit across from each other. Jubilee with their head in their hand, their other hand tapping against the table in annoyance, while Basil sits there with crossed arms and closed eyes.

“Okay. So,” relents Basil. “I may have made it for breakfast.” Jubilee sighs and the priestess opens an eye, staring their way. “I wanted to do something special too though,” she says. “For the occasion.” Fresh stares between the two of them and then down towards the short, but very wide cake that Basil had baked. It’s a simple thing, with a light, fluffy dough and a hardened, sour, white glaze on top.

“Thanks,” says Jubilee, giving up the fight.

…Occasion?

Fresh isn’t aware of any occasion. Today is a normal day like every other day, isn’t it? She looks up towards the ceiling, racking her brain as Shamrock begins to set his plate full, ignoring the awkwardness in the room as if he were entirely indifferent to it.

- Wait. Didn’t Jubilee make a cake the other day too?

She blinks, lowering her gaze towards her friends who are still locked in a somewhat tense stalemate. “AH!” she gasps, realizing. “It’s our anniversary!”

The two of them look her way.

She donks herself on the head. “Man, I completely forgot,” says Fresh. She sighs and crosses her arms, shaking her head, let down in herself. Of course it makes sense that Jubilee made the cake the other day. It had been one year since they met and now, a few weeks later, Basil has made hers. How could she be so naive? Jubilee’s cake was made one year after their meeting and Basil’s one year after theirs.

“Huh?” asks Jubilee. “What the fuck are you talking about?” asks Jubilee, listening to her explanation of her understanding of the situation. “You idiot,” they say. “That’s not what’s happening here.” They roll their eyes. “Sometimes, I wonder how you remember to breathe.”

Fresh blinks. “Wait, it’s not?” she asks. That was the only explanation that made sense to her. She scratches her cheek. What else could it be?

Seeing her confusion, Basil, having done her best to hold down a quiet laugh at her helplessness, leans over and explains.

“Actually, it’s a birthday cake, you know?”

Fresh jumps up and screams in distraught horror. She’s the worst friend ever. Of course her friends have birthdays too. But she somehow had never managed to think about it.

- The cake is very good though.