Chapter 162: 163: Slick

“Hey! Hey!” asks an excited caster, who, given the energy in his voice, Fresh is surprised to see is a small, adolescent elf and not a fairy. The elf stands in front of Shamrock, pointing over to the new sheep, which have started to float off of the shelf by themselves. “What’s with those sheep?!”

Shamrock turns his head, looking at the sheep that are flying off in all directions, before turning back to the caster. “They float.”

“Yeah! I saw, it’s really nice! But, why?!” asks the excited elf.

Shamrock stares at the pointy-eared customer, who is barely half his height blankly for a moment, before turning his head over to look at Fresh for a second and then back down again. He shrugs. “Because they’re light. They float.”

“Woah…” says the small elf, his eyes going wider than ever, before he runs off to the sheep-shelf and tries to grab one. But they all fly too high, their big button eyes stare mockingly down at the young elf, who can’t manage to reach any of them. Shamrock watches this for a second, watching him hop from down on the ground, trying his best, but not quite managing. Fresh tilts her head, also watching the scene unfold. She assumes the elf is still a young adolescent, given his very energetic personality.

Though, casters all seem to become a little eccentric eventually, as far as she has seen. She wonders if it’s because of the magic? It might be. Maybe fighters and close-combatants are just a little more grounded. It’s hard to ignore blood and screaming when it's coming from an arm’s length away. Thinking about that, she looks around, suddenly realizing that she hasn’t seen a single orc here in the west yet either. Hmm…

Shamrock reaches over, grabbing a sheep out of the air and handing it down to the elf.

“Thanks! Huh?” He spins the sheep around, looking at it. “What’s with these effects?”

“It stops bad dreams,” explains Shamrock.

“Does it work?”

“Acceptably so.”

The elf’s eyes light up as they see something else. “Woah! What’s this?!” he says, tossing the sheep back up into the air, where it floats back along with the rest of its flock. The elf run over to one of the little slimes that Shamrock had made, sitting on the counter.

“Slime.”

“What does it do?!”

“It wiggles.”

“WOW!”

Fresh hears Jubilee sigh in agitation next to her and she can’t help but laugh quietly herself. The stream of customers has slowed down to a trickle, now that it is somewhat later in the day.

In the morning, before they had opened, the others had given her high praise for her telescope, especially Jubilee, which made her happy. Though Jubilee had suggested that they don’t make a lot of them just yet. They said they knew some people who would probably pay a high price for them as specialty wares. Besides that, they had said that it has been several weeks since they moved in and that she needs to get started with her order of weapons for the thieves’ guild which they had promised that Fresh would make.

Fresh assumes now is her chance and leaves the store to Jubilee and Shamrock. Basil is already downstairs, harvesting and processing her dried herbs into her first products.

By the time she goes downstairs, everything has already been cleared up from the rafters and replaced with a new harvest. There is a strong, floral aroma down in the basement that Fresh finds very calming, if not a little off-putting. Somehow, heading downstairs into the dark room with the smells of fire and herbs makes her think that she is heading into some cave.

“Hey, Basil!” says Fresh. “How’s it going?”

Basil looks over from the work-bench. “It’s going good, look!” smiles the priestess, sliding a small metal can across the table. Fresh walks over and looks at it. Inside is a blend of ground herbs. Lifting it, she takes a deep smell from it. It smells very softly herbal and gently sweet, like a spring flower coming to the end of its life. The mixture is a dark, woody green, specked with little scraps of yellow and pink petals from various flowers.

“It smells great!” exclaims Fresh. “What is it?”

“This is a blend I’ve thought up,” explains Basil, taking the can and shaking it slightly from side to side. “If you boil it into tea, it’s great for anxiety and stress,” she explains. “But more importantly -”

She grabs a mortar and pestle that is already filled with a sort of yellowish, creamy goo. “Honey, wax and seed oils,” explains Basil, seeing Fresh’s confused gaze. She grabs a generous handful of the herb-mixture, tossing it into the mortar and then mixes it all together for a moment. The dried herb slowly comes apart, as it pulverizes and mixes into the thick, gloopy mixture which becomes more and more glossy, the longer it is stirred. After a minute, Basil stops and nods to herself, satisfied.

“Here, let me see your hand,” says Basil, grabbing Fresh’s hands and holding it. She reaches into the mortar and takes a large glob of the paste, placing it on Fresh’s hand, she rubs it in.

Fresh blinks, looking at the window and then at Basil and then down to her hand that Basil is holding with both of hers, rubbing the cream in. “Wow, good job, Basil!” says Fresh excitedly. “How did you get the quality up so quickly?” she asks.

“I’ve had a lot of free time lately, with the festival,” explains Basil. “Plus most of the customers only ever want to talk to Shamrock,” she sighs, somewhat begrudgingly.

Fresh laughs, sympathizing deeply as she rubs her own hands together, spreading the cream to both of them. Basil slides her hands back, pulling free from the oily mess of their four slipping and sliding palms. The priestess reaches under the workbench and slides out a large wooden box. Fresh looks inside. It’s filled to the brim with small metal cans, labeled as ‘herbal skin creams.’ Dozens, if not hundreds of them.

“I’ve had a lot of time,” sighs Basil.

Fresh stares at the box, surprised. She had no idea that Basil was so busy. Seeing her surprised expression, Basil smiles. “I can’t let you do all the work.”

“Where’d you get the cans?”

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“I bought them?”

“With your own money?” asks Fresh, still rubbing her hands. “Baaaasil~! I could have just made you some.”

Basil shakes her head, grabbing Fresh’s hands again and sliding some more of the cream off, to rub onto her own hands. “I can’t let you do all the work. Besides, what else am I supposed to spend my money on?”

“Yourself?”

“Do you?” asks Basil. “Spend your money on yourself?”

Fresh thinks, scratching her cheek. “Sometimes…” she says, thinking about the dragon’s milk she had bought. She looks down at her hands, feeling them. They feel a lot softer. Fresh hadn’t noticed until now, but now she realizes how hard and calloused her hands had become. She works a lot with wood, a lot with glass and a lot with metal, it’s not too surprising. Especially considering that she never wears gloves, except to do the really gross stuff. “I really like it though, Basil,” says Fresh. “I think the customers will too! I bet if we put a few cans in front of Shamrock, they’ll buy them all up in a second.”

Both of them sigh at the same time, but then seeing this, they start laughing.

“If we get him to take his helmet off, we can get him to use some,” jokes Basil. “It would be great marketing.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work,” laughs Fresh. “Maybe we can just rub it onto his armor?”

“Hmm… maybe Jubilee then?” suggests Basil. “We could make a whole beauty day out of it.”

“That sounds like a dangerous idea,” says Fresh, continuing to laugh. “I think they’ll do fine without any marketing, Basil,” says Fresh. “Good job!”

Basil nods back to her, smiling. The two of them return to their work, sharing the work-bench. Fresh watches as Basil sets to her tasks, making some scented candles as well out of the wax that she had bought. It’s a little messy, but Basil seems to know a lot about this kind of ‘household-crafting’, for a lack of a better term. She supposes that they did a lot of this back in the church.

In turn, Basil watches her as she makes glass weapon after glass weapon, carefully stacking them onto the shelves. Fresh knows that the thieves’ guild probably won’t ever even use these, same as with their orders of bone-daggers and purification-mixtures back in the north. Their interest isn’t in these low-level products, except for some niche ones like the lanterns. Their interest is in her, herself, and her ability to produce and to be useful. She supposes they always give her such large orders of items in order to give her an incentive to power through her crafting and to become stronger, though she doesn’t know why they would want this of her to begin with.

She could find out, of course. The adventurer’s guild is ten minutes away by foot. She could have all the answers that she wants within the hour.

But, Fresh, turning her head to look at the busy, humming priestess next to herself, decides that she’d rather stay here. Feeling her gaze, Basil turns and smiles, before turning back to her work, as flush and rosy in the face as ever.

Fresh has all the answers that she needs right here already.

Razmatazz

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