“Delivery is all set up,” says Jubilee, coming back inside of the house.

Basil looks up from the counter, looking over towards them. “That was fast.”

“They’re all business,” replies Jubilee, shaking their head. They had been outside at the orichalcum forge, making arrangements for the heating sphere to be picked up. “Didn’t even get past the front desk, it was in and out,” they explain.

Basil nods. “It makes sense. They’re a high profile, professional operation. I’d be surprised if they just let anyone inside.”

“Unlike us,” says Jubilee, flicking the top of Fresh’s head lightly. She’s slumped over the counter. “What the hell is your problem? Don’t lounge around during business hours.”

Fresh groans, letting out a long, tired sigh. She rolls her head over the counter, lifting her gaze to look at Jubilee through her blurry eyes. “Sorry, Jubilee,” she apologizes. “I got the goo. I think.”

Jubilee narrows their eyes. “You better fucking not,” says Jubilee. “I’ll replace you with a spriggan if you get sick.”

“Spakew?” asks the once house-spriggan, now transformed into a Jubilee-sized variant covered in growing stems and cute blossoms. It is now apparently a creature that the system refers to as a ‘springan’, which is odd, because that’s not something that exists. But, here it is.

“I said ‘spriggan’,” replies Jubilee. “Not whatever the hell you are.”

“Spakew…”

“Jubilee!” cries Fresh. “Don’t be mean to our friend!” She winces, her own whiny and loud voice making her headache worse.

They raise an eyebrow. “- To our what?” They turn their head, looking at the door. “Fuck off, Muldrich,” says Jubilee. “It’s fine.”

Muldrich wasn’t pleased by this latest development of the spriggan transforming. Obviously, it’s impossible to keep a secret, so they just said that it ‘just kind of happened by itself’ and that they had nothing to do with it. Dungeon-magic and mineral-rich water will do some wild stuff, apparently. His displeasure of the incident was evidenced by the cold, stoic look on his face. Sure, that look is always there and sure, the man had said nothing about it at all, but still, Fresh is sure that he’s wary about it.

After all, a wild spriggan that gives no experience points is one thing. But a whole new type of monster? Coming to life inside of their home? It’s a little suspicious.

Thankfully, the springan is very polite.

The creature waddles over to Muldrich, holding up a wooden ‘hand’ with a bright pink flower with large, flat petals towards him as a gift.

“No, thank you,” says Muldrich, narrowing his eyes even further as he turns to stand back straight at his post outside.

Fresh groans. Her head is killing her today. There doesn’t seem to be a reason as far as she knows. She slept well, she’s been eating healthy, she hasn’t over-trained or been overworked, she’s drunk all of the water that Basil has been nagging her to drink. But, sometimes in life, you just get a headache. It’s what the universe has decided to be just and fair.

“Shamrock,” says Jubilee, pointing at her. “Take this thing away and bury it where I don’t have to look at it.”

“Say ‘please’,” says the man.

“Please jump in a fire, but before you do it -” Jubilee snaps their finger, nodding their head to her. “Take out the trash.”

“Rude,” says the man, picking up Fresh. She hangs there, sighing. Jubilee is just being mean because they’re worried about her.

“I’ll be fine, Jubilee,” she says. “It’s just a headache. But it’s cute that you’re always worried about us.” A sharp ringing shoots through her head as the headache returns with a new pulse.

“Do I ever sound worried?” they ask, waving her off as Shamrock carries her upstairs. “I already found your replacement,” they say, pointing at the springan.

“Spakew!” cheers the springan in joy. Jubilee rolls their eyes.

“Get to work!” they yell at it. The springan yelps in fear and grabs a broom, running off to sweep the store.

Fresh gasps. “Shamrock! Jubilee really did replace me!” she says in shock, turning to look at the man. Being carried over his shoulder is really nostalgic at this point. Plus his new armor isn’t as sharp or as jagged as the old witch cultist’s armor, so it isn’t as painful either.

“The moon is almost here,” says the man, walking past the landing to the library.

Fresh frowns, looking at the healer-spriggan sitting by itself at the table. It looks over towards them as they walk by. She waves to it, before they vanish upstairs and it falls out of her sight. It looks a little lonely, sitting there by itself.

“Shamrock?” asks Fresh, her fingers tapping against the man’s armor. “Can we be friends after the whole moon thing too?”

“Sure,” replies the giant, not skipping a beat.

“Neat,” beams Fresh, rubbing her eyes. She yawns, looking down at her hands a moment later. There’s a black smear on her fingers. “I got the goo…” she mutters to herself, looking at her hands.

“Yes,” says the man. “So do I,” he adds on and Fresh can hear the slime sloshing around inside of the armor. She laughs, but it hurts her head, so she tries not to laugh. But that just makes her laugh more and then it hurts even more. But at least it’s fun, so that’s worth something, right?

And so, the horrible witch, having been poisoned by the terrible ‘goo’ has once again, in her weakened state, been captured by the honorable adventuring slime and is sentenced to spend the rest of her life in solitude, confined to a small space in which nobody might ever see her again.

At least until that evening, when Basil comes into the bedroom to bring her some soup to help her feel better.