Fresh, standing on the roof, gazes through the telescope up towards the night sky.

“I still don’t get what we’re looking for,” says Tarja. Fresh lowers her telescope, staring at the fairy, who is holding a tiny, fairy-sized telescope herself. Tilting her head, she looks back up at the sky.

“We’re looking for everything, Tarja,” says Fresh. “The clouds, the stars, the birds,” she lists. “They’ll tell us a lot about what’s going on in the world.”

“Will they?” asks the fairy, skeptically.

Fresh shrugs. “I think so,” she says. Lowering her telescope, she stares out over the ocean instead, towards the distant lights out on the water. She assumes that they are from a ship that is out at sea and heading into the harbor. “Ah! That one looks like a kobold!” she says, gazing back up at a cloud.

“Does that mean anything?” asks Tarja.

“Uh…” Fresh lowers the telescope again. “No,” she admits. Tarja sighs. “Unless you believe in omens,” says Fresh. “In which case, look out for kobolds in the near future, I guess?”

“I don’t think this is a very productive use of our time,” says the fairy. Fresh frowns. She knows that it is, but she isn’t really able to explain it right. Gazing up towards the night-sky without the telescope, she stares up towards the stars that are unusually bright tonight, given that it’s a moonless night and that the clouds are only thin and sparse.

“So how do you guys like the east?” she asks, setting down the telescope and jotting down the word ‘kobold’ into her notes.

“It’s okay,” says another fairy from the side, a green-haired boy, Liro. He has poison-magic, which Fresh thinks is a little spooky. Apparently, it’s a branch of magic that sits between water and dark magic. The magic of this world is a whole system in and of itself, which Fresh realizes she has never even bothered to dig into. But it’s apparently a loaded topic. There are literally entire academies dedicated to magical crafts and classes. Though, some kinds of spell-casting are more socially acceptable than others.

Poison magic, like necromancy or ash-magic is frowned upon by polite society. The fact that some people were just born into and couldn’t do anything about it isn’t really a relevant point. Though, this does seem to be culture, location and time dependent. Necromancy is seen as really bad in the north, where the church has control. But in the west, it’s more of an issue that is shrugged off and here in the east, it isn’t really a topic of concern at all. Then again, a few hundred years ago, people saw things entirely differently.

Witch-magic, unfortunately, is just disliked everywhere these days.

“I really like how warm it is during the day,” says Liro. “The mountain was always so cold.”

“Yeah,” says Tarja, pulling her fluffy coat tighter around herself. “It’s cold at night here too though.”

Liro nods. “But at least it’s warm during the day.”

“Mm,” nods Fresh. “So your business has been going well?”

“It’s great,” says Tarja. “We’re saving up to buy a real house,” she says. “Not that we don’t like yours!”

Fresh shakes her head. “I get it,” she says. “You guys need a real base of operations if you want to grow your business.”

Sauli chimes in from the construction site of their new, temporary home. “I miss the snow!” he says. “It was always so fluffy and soft. The sand here just isn’t the same.”

“Snow?” asks Fresh. She doesn’t remember it ever snowing on the mountain.

“Yeah!” says Sauli, lifting a finger to point to the sky. “Up higher on the mountain. I went there sometimes. There was a lot of snow!”

“Ooooh,” says Fresh, understanding. She looks at the temporary shelter that they still need to finish, before the fairies can sleep tonight. It’s really just a wooden cube beneath the overhang, insulated with crystal-drakonium and stuffed with some fabric and fluff. It’s basically just a really sloppy bird-house. But it will do for now. “Let’s get back to work,” she says. “You guys need to get up early tomorrow too.”

“Okay!” agrees Tarja, setting down her telescope.

“Can I ask something weird?” asks Fresh, picking up some more materials to return to the project. “What do you guys think Veli is doing?”

The other fairies look at each other for a second, before returning to their task. “He’s probably doing pull-ups from a branch or something,” says Liro.

Sauli shakes his head. “I bet he made himself a sword out of some monster’s bones and is outside, killing even more monsters with it.”

“He’s probably asleep,” says Tarja, breaking the dramatics of the conversation. “He was always early to bed and early to rise.”

Fresh nods, she likes that answer the most. Picking up some fluff, she tucks it into the inside of the house, hoping that wherever the fairy is resting, that his bed is as warm and soft as this one.

After another half an hour, the simple construction ‘finished’ and secured down. The other three fairies of Tarja’s party also make their way back, having been in town to buy food and materials.

Fresh wishes them all a good night and heads downstairs. “The wind is picking up,” she calls out of the hatch. “So try to stay inside for tonight, okay? Good night!”

“Good night!” call six voices her way as she closes the hatch and sinks down into the workshop.

“And?” asks Basil, standing at the workbench and looking up at her as she comes down the ladder. “How is everyone?”

“They’ve grown up so much, Basil,” says Fresh, almost ready to cry.

The priestess nods. “You did well with them.”

“We all diiid~” howls Fresh, grabbing Basil and crying into her shoulder with pride.

“There, there,” consoles the priestess, setting her tools down and patting her on the back. “They’ll be fine. Come on, let’s go get ready for bed,” suggests Basil and Fresh agrees. The four of them end their day and soon enough, the morning comes once more.

“So how come we haven’t been doing equipment repairs?” asks Basil over the breakfast table. “We’ve always offered repairs.” Fresh smears some orange jam onto a slice of toast, sliding it over towards Basil. “Thank you.”

“Because, Basil,” says Fresh. She points up towards the roof. “If we stole all the repair business, what would they do for money?”

Jubilee points at her. “It’s not stealing if we offer a better product at a better price,” says Jubilee. “It’s called competition,” they say. “It will do them good to have some pressure to adapt.”

Fresh shakes her head. “No. I don’t wanna,” she says. “Besides…” She lowers her voice, leaning in over the table. “Aren’t we supposed to not sell the same things as in other places?”

“Repairs don’t count,” says Jubilee, lifting their mask to take a sip of their tea. They have to keep the balcony curtains shut as long as the fairies are here, so that nobody can peek inside and see Jubilee. Outside of the house, there is a whistling as a wind presses past the structure, shooting up the long stairway up towards the city. It isn’t so much that a storm is coming as that it has just gotten really windy lately. Though, by the open ocean, it was always a little windy to begin with.

“Well.” Basil bites into her toast, continuing a moment later. “I suppose we’re doing alright without them.”

“It was free money though,” sighs Jubilee. “We’re leaving a lot on the table.”

Fresh shakes her head. “We’re doing well because of the ice-cream.”

“Sure, but we could be doing better,” suggests Jubilee, pointing at her with their fork. Shamrock reaches from his seat, stealing a piece of fruit from Jubilee’s plate. Basil had made a small fruit-salad for a breakfast side-dish. Fresh had to cut the orange ones though, otherwise the priestess wouldn’t have been ‘allowed’ to use them. Not that she minds. Fresh thinks it’s a really cute ‘rule’ for Basil to have. “Hey!”

“Greed harms,” is all that he says, shaking his head and putting the piece of fruit inside of his helmet.

“Don’t fucking lecture me when you’re stealing my food, shit-head!” barks Jubilee at him.

Basil reaches over, scooping a piece of her fruit-salad onto Jubilee’s plate. “I think Shamrock is saying that it might be in our best interest to let the fairies have some room to grow.”

“Room to grow?” asks Jubilee, looking her way. “They have an entire fucking desert to grow in.”

“There’s only one beach though and we’re here too,” says Basil. “So we’ll have to share.”

“Says who?” asks Jubilee. “Survival of the fittest. If the fairies can’t make it under a little pressure, they don’t deserve to make it,” says Jubilee. “The big slime eats the little slime.”

“Jubilee!” scolds Fresh from across the table. She really hates that phrase.

“No!” says Jubilee. “I’m not letting this go. If we baby them, they aren’t going to grow right.” Jubilee lifts their arm, grabbing Shamrock’s hand as he moves to take another piece of their fruit. “Fuck off, Shamrock. I’m sick of your shit,” snaps Jubilee.

“I think what Shamrock is trying to say,” says Basil, coughing. “Is that it’s in our best interest to share,” explains the priestess. “We want the fairies to do well and we don’t need the little bit of extra money that badly.” She shrugs. “So it only makes sense.”

“Mm!” agrees Fresh. “Cooperating with them is only going to help us both,” she says. “But if we take their business, it’ll only help us and that’s it.”

“That sounds pretty good to me,” says Jubilee.

“Please,” sighs Basil. “You can stop acting like you’re so callous and indifferent.”

Jubilee glares at her. “It’s not an act. Fuck ‘em.”

“Oh?” asks Basil, smiling a smug, victorious smile as she sips her morning tea. “Is that why you’re so concerned with them growing up right?”

Jubilee narrows their eyes, shoving Shamrock’s hand away. “Fuck off, Basil.”

“No, you.”

Fresh sighs in relief and endures another round of ‘banter’ between her friends as they finish breakfast. An hour later, they go downstairs and open the store for the day. Though it looks like business is going to be slower than usual.

The sky is oddly cloudy and the wind is oddly strong and from somewhere out in the distance, a bell is ringing.

“Is that the harbor?” asks Fresh, trying to locate the sound.

“Sounds like it,” says Jubilee.

“Huh…” says Fresh, looking out of the ice-cream window. “Hey. What’s that?” she asks, staring at the red blob off in the distance.

“What’s what?” asks Jubilee. “Oh.” They narrow their eyes, squinting at the thing sitting out on the distant ocean. The ship from last night that she had seen is still there, anchored outside of the harbor. But now, a fire is raging on the distant thing and several boats make their way out towards it.

A strong wind blows in through the window, carrying with it the smells of sea-salt and smoke.