Fresh stands there, downstairs in the store, her hand resting on the empty shelf that needs to be restocked. This was the shelf for vitamins.

She turns her head to the side, staring at Basil’s section, which is still full of medicine, despite the price-tags having been struck through several times and reduced to be more affordable. It isn’t even about making a profit anymore. Fresh is sure that Basil is just trying to find a way to express a kindness for the people of the city.

“We’re going in a minute,” says a voice from behind her. Fresh turns her head, looking at Basil and Shamrock who are standing there, carrying down bags of produce, vegetables and medicine from upstairs that they want to distribute to the people of the city for free.

She blinks, looking at them. She supposes that this is the same as well.

Of course, food and medicine might perhaps mean little, in the grand scheme of things. Given their past history, the chances for this city’s survival are slim to none, to be honest. All four of them have chosen their own family’s survival over that of any and everyone else.

But that doesn’t mean that they’re monsters, right?

Fresh watches Basil lean out of the door, handing Muldrich a small bag of food and medicine for his family. The man initially denies it, as always. But Basil starts fussing with him like a mother hen until even the stoic, quiet man has no choice but to relent and to accept her offering of a kindness.

Fresh turns back to the shelves. They’re getting a little dusty, actually. She looks over towards Shamrock’s murder-manuals. The man hasn’t bothered writing any new ones in days because the shelf is still stacked full of the old ones. She turns her head, looking at Jubilee’s section of the store. All of the socks and clothes and scarves are still there, untouched, except for Jubilee, who is standing there, grabbing fistfuls of the fabric items and throwing them onto the heap of donations.

Feeling her watching, they turn their head towards her. “What?” they ask sharply, turning back to the shelves. “We gotta clear out the old inventory. It’s a waste of space. Winter’s over.”

Fresh smiles, returning to her work. “Sure thing, Jubilee,” she says.

It’s true that winter might be over. But the cold and the chill are both still present in the world, especially given the emptiness of so many stomachs. But the reality is, that Jubilee is just pitching in as well.

Perhaps it’s all just an empty gesture, perhaps it’s all just appeasement for their own consciousnesses. But it’s still a nice way to spend the morning.

As for the hero, for what they saw last night, it’s perhaps what has triggered their sudden bout of charity. It’s hard to pretend that everything is fine and that everything is going to be like it has been the entire time with something like that staring them down. The vision of the hero, waiting outside of the city for them specifically, waiting outside in a destroyed wasteland of a world, is as sure a sign as any that the end is just about here.

This can’t last forever, after all.

“It was a lot of fun,” says Fresh beneath her breath, still watching her fingers run over the shelf, feeling a deep sense of melancholy. She doesn’t want it to be over. She wants to keep running the store with her friends. She wants to keep exploring the world and finding out about new places and things. She wants to do this over and over and over forever. It, this last year, has been full of so many fun and exciting things, but also sad and terrible things. But both of these have allowed her to feel. To feel sensations powerful in ways she had never felt anything in her life before this one, feelings that are both good and bad.

She doesn’t want it to stop.

- A piece of clothing flies against her face, the thick socks slapping against her nose and then falling down and wrapping over her arm. Fresh blinks, looking at Jubilee and then down at the socks dangling off of herself. “Get your shit together,” they bark. “I don’t want to have to look at that sour face of yours all morning.”

Fresh frowns, scrunching her sour face together. “Jubilee?” she asks. “Can I borrow your mask?”

“Uh? No?” replies Jubilee, raising an eyebrow.

“But you’re not wearing it right now.”

“Correct,” replies Jubilee. “But you still can’t have it.”

“Why not?” asks Fresh, lifting her fingers up to her face and framing it. “Then I can look as sad as I want and you can’t see i- oooh~”

Jubilee blinks, staring at her for a moment. “Shut up and get back to work, dumb-ass,” they say, rolling their eyes. “You can’t have my mask because it’ll have to touch your gross face,” they explain. “Then I won’t want to wear it anymore.”

Fresh gasps, pointing at Jubilee. “Your face is gross!”

“Please,” replies Jubilee. “You look like the ghost of a pile of chicken-shit.”

“RUDE!” gasps Fresh. “Basil! Jubilee is bullying me!”

“Stop being mean to each other,” calls Basil idly, her hand waving out from below the counter as she rummages around for some stuff there. Fresh looks back towards Jubilee, sticking out her tongue.

“Stick your tongue out at me again and I’ll cut it off,” remarks Jubilee, planting their hands on their hips.

Fresh sticks her tongue out further. “Bleeeh~!”

Jubilee snaps their fingers. “Shamrock! Grab her.”

Fresh lets out a terrified yelp. With Jubilee on one side and Shamrock approaching from the other, escape seems all but impossible. She isn’t sure what Jubilee did to recruit Shamrock so quickly to their cause, but it must have been potent for the man to head her way in an instant. In a frantic panic, her head shoots left and right, looking for a way out. But she’s trapped like a cornered animal.

Something grabs her hand. Terrified, she looks down at the springan, its pink flowered head bobbing beneath her. “Spakew!” says the springan and then, a second later, everything explodes into a flurry of color.

(Springan) used: [Petalstorm]

The pink blossoms on its head burst out into all directions, the room filling with the magic of a spell. Thousands of flower-petals fill the air, obscuring everyone’s vision as a wooden hand drags her away through the distraction, bringing her to safety.

“Thanks,” says Fresh, sighing in relief as she looks down the spiral-staircase from the library. She’s safe for now, thanks to the springan. At least until Jubilee catches her later and tells her that she has to sweep the entire downstairs… “I owe you one.”

“Spakew,” says the springan, sounding almost annoyed as it waves her off and wobbles away into the library, presumably to go to the farm. What a nice creature. Fresh scratches her cheek, turning around to look at the healer-spriggan, who was watching from the side by the shelves.

Sadly, it turns back to the shelf and continues digging around. Fresh can’t help but notice in a heartbreaking moment that it’s looking through books on the subject of friendship. “Ouch…” she says, rubbing her arm. That hurts in an unexpected way.

Frowning, she heads over to the healer-spriggan. Maybe it’s time that they had a talk? The poor guy can’t just be sad forever.