She doesn’t like it.

Despite their best protests, Fresh still holds Jubilee’s hand, clamping onto it with both of hers as they walk through the city in this dark hour. She had, of course, insisted on going with them this time, determined to be as useful as she can be, considering that once again, a giant mess has been created by no-one other than herself.

“You stay next to me the entire time, got it?” says Jubilee.

“Got it,” says Fresh, looking around at the street they find themselves in. She’s never really wandered around the city at night, but despite it being the case, the air is aglow here with vivid lights and auras. Most of them are red.

“Why are we going to them anyways, Jubilee?” asks Fresh, constantly looking over their shoulders as if there might be someone pursuing them. But all of the people here are clearly too busy with themselves and each other to bother them. Oddly enough, she notices that this is the first time in any city that she sees guards standing around the area, keeping everything in check.

But if she had to say, judging by their more subdued outfits and mismatched pieces of armor, they weren’t city-guards, rather, a troop of private mercenaries hired as peacekeepers for the entire quarter. She assumes this was paid for by the businesses here themselves, rather than by the city. Times of violence are a great time to sell your wares, but being inside of a violent area is bad for business.

Shady alleys covered in fabric overhangs branch off in all directions, her view of their end points obscured by the many open doors and full tables that line the streets. Turning her head, she looks at a large window, full of people bathed in a red light, wearing what she can’t help but realize are Jubilee’s own bathing suits. A dark-elf in the window, who she is pretty sure she recognizes as one of their customers, waves to her with a playful rolling of her fingers. Fresh waves back, not wanting to be rude. Jubilee pulls her along.

This entire area is like this. Seedy, shady and just a little bit, oddly and uncomfortably damp.

Eventually, coming down the street, they reach what Fresh can’t help but notice is an optically stunning building, in all honesty. It looks a lot like a church, or a cathedral, actually. A priestess, garbed like one from the north, stands outside the door, her hands held together in her sleeves. Fresh blinks.

“Jubilee, is this a real church?” she asks. “Or is it a… uh… you know?”

“A fetish thing?” asks Jubilee. “Degenerate,” they quip. “Of course it’s a real church.”

“I wasn’t sure!” argues Fresh.

“I bet,” they reply, walking up the small staircase. “Hey, we’re here to pray to the fish god or whatever the fuck,” says Jubilee, waving the priestess away.

The woman lifts her eyes, staring at them. “Actually, this temple is dedicated to the worship of -”

“Yeah, yeah,” replies Jubilee, walking past them.

“Jubilee!” argues Fresh. “Sorry!” she calls back to the priestess. “Jubilee, I think it would be interesting to learn more about the church!” she says.

“Nah.”

“’Nah’?” she asks, tilting her head.

“Nah,” repeats Jubilee, as the two of them step into the church and look around. “Hey!” Jubilee snaps their fingers towards a priest. “Where’s the spooky fucking murder-basement?”

The priest stares at them. “Excuse me?”

“Fuck’s sake,” they sigh, shaking their head. “As if you don’t fucking know about it.” Jubilee waves them off and walks towards the left, dragging Fresh behind them. “I’m taking this!” they bark, picking up a glass-bottle from the ground.

“Sorry!” she calls to the confused priest. “Jubilee! You’re being rude to them. They seem nice.”

“Fuck them and fuck this place,” says Jubilee, clearly on edge. Fresh frowns, but squeezes their hand. She supposes she understands that Jubilee doesn’t want to be here either. Heading to the side, they reach what looks like a washroom and step inside.

“Jubilee!” says Fresh, surprised as she looks at the ornate washroom. It reminds her a little of the one in the western adventurers’ guild, actually. And right in front of them is an ornate fountain, in the middle of it is a large statue of a fish, staring their way with curious eyes and an open mouth. “It’s just like in the west.” A very tired looking woman is mopping the floor.

Jubilee arcs their arm back and then ungraciously hurls the glass bottle straight at the fish statue, into its mouth. The glass shatters, droplets of what was presumably once red-wine drip everywhere, together with the fragments of glass that fall into and around the fountain. “JUBILEE!” shouts Fresh, horrified. “I’m so sorry!” she consoles the woman who is looking around at the new mess, too tired and beaten down by life to say anything about it. “Wait. I’ll help you,” she says, stepping forward. Jubilee drags her back.

The statue rumbles, the fish lowers itself down into the podium, the waters of the fountain surge into the base, running down the staircase that reveals itself. Jubilee drags her after them. “Sorry!” she calls back up to the woman who she hears sighing, before a wet mop slaps loudly against the stones of the washroom. The two of them head down the staircase.

“Jubilee!” hisses Fresh. “I know you don’t want to be here either. But please don’t be mean to normal people,” she requests. “It would really mean a lot to me,” she says, looking around as they head down the tight, spiral staircase.

“They’re not,” says Jubilee, dragging her behind themselves with a stiff hand.

“Huh?”

“They’re not,” repeats Jubilee, stopping as they reach the bottom of the staircase, standing before a door. “- ‘normal people’.” They say. “We need to be clear on this,” says Jubilee. “Us and them, we’re not friends, do you hear me?”

Fresh tilts her head. Jubilee seems really intense.

“We need them and they need us,” says Jubilee. “But the second there’s an upper-hand to be had here on either side,” states Jubilee, jabbing her with a finger with each word to come. “Throats. Are. Going. To. Be. Cut.”

“What do they want with me, Jubilee?”

“Uh? Duh? The fuck do you think?” asks her friend. “It isn’t your shining personality, I’ll tell you that much.”

Fresh frowns. But then nods and forces herself to smile. “Everything is going to be alright, Jubilee.”

They roll their eyes and turn to the door, exhaling for a second and then pushing it open with both hands.

“Jubileeeee~” hisses a whispering voice on the other side of it immediately, before the door has even finished swinging open.

“Go fuck yourself,” replies Jubilee.

“Jubilee!” argues Fresh. “You’re being rude again to the…” She turns her head.

“Jubileeeeee~” hisses the voice again and a vague fog leaks out through the door. Jubilee sighs.

“Don’t talk to the fog-monster. Don’t let go of my hand.”

“Huh?” asks Fresh, as Jubilee pulls her in after them, gripping her tightly.

“Don’t talk to the fog-monster. Don’t let go of my hand,” they repeat, sternly. “Stupid fucking, cryptic, thieves’ guild bullshit…” mutters Jubilee. Fresh nods, understanding and holds on to Jubilee. The two of them walk into a large room, but she can’t see any of it. She can only tell that it’s big because of the way their steps echo around it. The entire place is filled with fog, filled with whispers. And the whispers always seem to be focused on one thing, on one person.

“Jubileeeee~”

But Jubilee just walks on straight ahead, ignoring the whispers coming from a source in the fog that she can’t identify. Sometimes, she’ll feel like she sees a silhouette standing on the edge of the fog. But as her eyes turn that way to check, the cloudy vapors always dissipate just as her eyes land there, leaving nothing to see at all.

A minute later, they reach a door. Jubilee pulls it open and drags her inside, pulling her after them.

“Go fuck yourself!” they bark back at the fog.

The voice from the fog whispers. “Jubi -”

The door slams shut, the metal fastenings rattling from the violent shove. Jubilee sighs and shakes their head.

“What was that?” asks Fresh, feeling a little unnerved, but mostly confused.

“Fog monster,” is all that Jubilee says, dragging her after them.

“Fog monster?” asks Fresh. What an odd thing. “It sure did like you, Jubilee,” she says.

“We have a history,” they reply, opening the next door.

They look inside at a lavish, underground room. Stacks of gold coins and jewels line the walls, adorned with snake statues and in the center of it all, lies a man, his feet kicked up on a pile of coins, his arms back behind his head.

The man turns his shadowy gaze towards them. Patala. The man who had approached her in the west, at the fair. The jewel in his hood glimmers as it catches the torchlight of the room.

“Jubilee. Fresh,” says the man.

“Go fuck yourself you warped, snaky fuck!” says Jubilee, pointing at him. “There’s a problem.”

“I know,” says the man, his voice hissing as he rises to his feet in an oddly fluid, unnatural motion, maintaining his balance on the heap of coins. “Isn’t it wonderful?”