Feeling an odd catharsis, Fresh sits outside on the balcony, staring out over the city. It is early in the morning. She didn’t get much sleep again, only a few hours’ worth. But despite that, despite the chill that she feels from inside of her body, caused by the lack of rest, despite the slight burning of her red eyes, despite the shaky tiredness of her frame, she smiles a satisfied smile as she takes a long sip of her hot coughee and stares out over the city.

After finishing her odd project last night, in her strange bout of dubious inspiration, Fresh did what any reasonable person would do.

She hid it.

Though, again, she isn’t really sure why. Well, no, that’s not true. She knows why. But her reasoning to avoid thinking about that is to just come up with other reasons for why she might have hid it. Maybe so she doesn’t get yelled at or scolded. Maybe so that Basil doesn’t get mad at her for using the holy sigils to make something that is so rife with, as Jubilee would call it, ‘fuckery’. Down in the washroom, there is a loose brick down at the standing area of the washing basin, where the previous owner apparently did some repairs. She removed it and hid the warped-crystal behind there, under the water, for when she needs it.

Fresh takes another sip of her coughee as she thinks about that last thought.

When she needs it? Why would she ever need it? Why would she ever need to make something like that, let alone use it? It seems pretty grim, even for her. Especially after she used her witch-magic to power it up. The crystals really do seem to be particularly magically powerful. Dangerously so. Horribly so.

It’s probably the most dangerous thing that she’s ever made. Maybe that’s why she did it in secret, maybe that’s why she hid it. Because she knows that the others wouldn’t approve. Hell, she is sure that even she herself doesn’t approve. But somehow, now that it is done, she is nonetheless deeply satisfied, rather than aghast. Somehow, the trickling of the river just down the way seems oddly loud and pleasant today, as if the waters were praising her for her hard-work. Like a hand on the top of her head, telling her how proud it is.

Though, she isn’t quite sure why she didn’t just hide it in her inventory? Maybe she wants it to be found. Or maybe she’s just scared of her inventory. She isn’t sure.

Last night was a weird night for a lot of reasons and Fresh can’t really explain it. She can’t really explain what got a hold of her. Maybe it was the loneliness, maybe it was the revelations of her old memories, maybe it was the man from the thieves’ guild, maybe it was any of a thousand looming things, floating just above her head like disembodied specters. Or maybe it was all of them.

“Good morning,” says Basil, walking up behind her and rubbing her back. The priestess, with her own mug in hand, stands next to Fresh and stares out over the city. “Did you have fun last night?”

“No,” says Fresh honestly, taking another long sip as she looks down, watching as they dismantle the fairgrounds. “I had a really bad time actually,” she says, thinking about the question that the man from the thieves’ guild had asked her, about how her adventure has been so far.

“Ah…”

“Is it all like this, Basil?” asks Fresh, looking out over the busy street.

“Like what?” asks the priestess.

“Terrible,” replies Fresh. “Are the people all terrible everywhere? Are all of the cities terrible? Are all of the places and the things that are supposed to be fun, terrible?”

To her surprise, Basil places her hand on top of hers on the railing. “That’s not like you at all. You must have really had a bad night, huh?” asks the priestess, letting go and then looking back out over the city together with her. “It is.”

Fresh blinks, not having expected such a brief and to the point answer from Basil.

“Every city is filled with horrible, terrible things,” she says. “Every heart is filled with horrible, terrible things,” she adds on after that. “That’s why I became a priestess. To push back against that.” She takes a sip of her tea and points downward. “Look.”

Fresh stares down, watching as a group of fairies fly in a circle, having the time of their lives by the sound of it, as they chase after one of her enchanted-sheep which is trying to make a daring escape.

“You had a bad night last night, but look at them,” smiles Basil back up at her, before turning to watch the playing fairies. “Because of your hard work, they’re having a great time today. The world is a little bit lighter today, because you put in the effort.”

Fresh stares down at the reflection in her mug. The eyeless thing, which floats in the brackish water, gazes back up towards her just as the priestess finishes her explanation. “That’s all any of us can and should do.”

Feeling a bit lighter in her shoulders, Fresh lets out an oddly relieved sigh and finishes the rest of her breakfast in one gulp, if only to get rid of the judgmental gaze of her reflection. “Thank you, Basil,” beams Fresh. “That makes me feel a lot better!”

“Mhm,” nods Basil to her as they both head back inside.

“Get out of the way, meat-head,” snaps Jubilee at Shamrock. Both of them are in the kitchen, trying to work around each other.

“No,” replies Shamrock, stirring a pot, while Jubilee is trying to get to the stove to finish making breakfast.

“You better not be eating the products!” snaps Jubilee, pointing up at him. Shamrock stops stirring for a moment, looking down at them and then over to the pot.

“I am not,” he says, his breastplate lurching with a heavy breath. “I am melting them.”

“That’s even worse!” yells Jubilee. Shamrock shrugs indifferently, lifting the pot up and walking past them, over to the table to set it down to cool off. Curious now, Fresh looks over and sees what appears to be a mass of sparkling black-goo. It looks like melted crystal-drakonium.

…Melted?

Fresh blinks, looking at it. Isn’t this supposed to be heat resistant? If it melts, that’s really bad. “How did you melt this, Shamrock?” she asks, becoming worried about the heated cabinet downstairs.

“Slime acid,” replies the man, coming out of the pantry with a half-sphere bowl.

“The fuck did you get slime acid?” asks Jubilee suspiciously.

“Market,” replies Shamrock without much emotion, setting the bowl down next to the pot and gesturing for them to stay back. Fresh imagines that melted crystal-drakonium, especially while boiling hot, would be very bad to get burned by. The man pours the bowl half full, before getting a glass of cold water and diluting the mixture. With what looks like a small twig, he stirs the thing until it starts becoming somewhat thicker again.

“What do you think it is?” asks Basil.

“Some kind of… mixed material?” guesses Fresh.

“Looks like random bullshit to me,” says Jubilee from across the table.

Shamrock ignores all of them, continuing his work.

Because of the water, the mixture, while still dark colored, becomes translucent and filled with the suspended glitter of the powdered dragon scales. Shamrock goes back to the pantry, all of their eyes now curiously following him. Even Jubilee, who has given up on breakfast for now, watches with intrigue. He returns a second later, his hand full of a small bit of red mushroom-powder that he throws into the mixture and keeps stirring. Soon, the hardening jelly becomes a translucent, shimmering, dark-red color.

Grabbing the bowl, he holds it flat against the table and shakes it a little, letting the contents settle. A minute later, it is completely solidified again and hard to the touch. The crystal-drakonium is now a lot softer and extremely jiggly and carries with it an exciting red color that is filled with sparkling dust, which seems to catch every ray of light. Even more so than before.

Nodding once to himself, seemingly satisfied as he pokes the mixture, Shamrock grabs the half-sphere bowl and slams it upside down onto the table. The others look at each other in confusion and then back towards it, as he lifts it up.

The red, jiggly-wiggly blob slides free from the container as he lifts it upwards. The gooey mass staying down on the table, wobbling from side to side as a solidified, gelatinous whole.

“It’s so wobbly…” says Fresh in delight, lifting a finger to poke it, while leaning over to stare at it. Shamrock stops her, walking away and coming back a second later with two snowman eyes and some ink.

“I didn’t expect anything and I’m still disappointed,” sighs Jubilee.

“It’s very… bouncy?” asks Basil, also still confused.

The giant sets the eyes into it, next to each other and then, dipping his finger into the inkwell, draws a large smile beneath them. Nodding again in satisfaction, he gives a thumbs up to Fresh, who now realizes what he has made and is unable to contain her excited squeal as she rushes to poke it and to watch its dumb-smile jiggle around.

“Slime,” is all that Shamrock says, as the little toy slime wiggles excitedly on the table next to him, its smile only the second brightest in the room.