Chapter 276: 277: Flagon

It seems that after a long moment of thought, the stranger has finally come to a consideration. “I’d like four scoops, please,” says the broad-shouldered man in crusader’s armor.

“Coming right up!” says Fresh, having already thrown his coins into the change drawer. “Uh…” she blinks. “What flavors?”

“Oh, uh…” the large man looks down, pointing at the coconut and at the sweet-bean. “Two of each.”

“Mm!” Fresh nods and begins scooping everything up. “So how’s the whole crusade thing going?” she asks.

Basil clears her throat from behind her.

“It’s going well,” says the man. “You really should change the name of the store though.”

“Huh?” Fresh stops, the scoop still in her hand. “Oh. We had one of you guys here the other day. My friend yelled at him,” she says, nodding at Basil.

“I heard,” says the older man, looking around. He seems to be far more senior, not only in age but in experience. His eyes are sharper and trained and while his posture is relaxed, there is a certain readiness to it, as if he were waiting for something to happen. Fresh keeps scooping the ice-cream into a large waffle-cone.

Fresh shakes her head. “We can’t change our whole way of life just because of some bad person from somewhere else, right?” she asks, lifting a finger with one hand as she hands him the ice-cream with a smile. “That would be what she wants.”

The old man rubs his beard.

“Aren’t you worried about your safety?” asks the man, taking the cone and staring at her. Fresh blinks, looking at him and then back at Basil, before turning back to him. It didn’t sound like a threat, it sounded more like a genuine question. She recalls this sensation, the feeling of the man’s eyes, the tone of his words. He’s scoping them out. It’s like back with Basil and her orc friend, when they first met. Back when the church had sent the two of them to spy on Jubilee and herself. She needs to play this down. She needs to fake him out and win him over in a natural way. She…

Her eyes catch something down to the side. Fresh shakes her head, smiling at him.

Reaching down, she grabs the thing that will let her escape. A set of prayer beads that Basil keeps beneath the counter for particularly frustrating moments when she needs to step away from the window for a minute, most often because of a troublesome interaction.

“No,” she says, rubbing the beads with a finger as she had seen Basil do before. “I keep the faith,” says Fresh, reciting the only religious statement that she has ever really heard. Shamrock had told her that. “Besides. Everyone’s been really nice to us!” she says.

Another man in line clears his throat, signaling his impatience. The older crusader looks back at him with an annoyed look, but then turns back to face her and nods. “Okay. You have a great day miss,” he says, walking away and biting into his ice-cream. He looks at it in surprise for a second, apparently liking what he tastes.

“Thank you, come again!” she waves to him, before moving on to the next customer. Meanwhile, she watches out of the corner of her eye as Basil goes to the dressing room and scuttles away with Shamrock in tow, who had been hiding there behind the curtain.

Later that day, after the closing of the store, the four of them find themselves upstairs. Fresh sighs. They hadn’t really had a chance to talk about earlier before, as the store was busy all day.

“Fish?” asks Fresh, heading towards the kitchen.

“Muffins,” says Shamrock.

“Fucking denied,” barks Jubilee. “Let’s eat something real that doesn’t come from the ocean and doesn’t come from a fucking grain.”

“A stew?” suggests Basil. “We haven’t had a proper stew for a while now.”

Fresh shakes her head. “We’ve been out of dragon’s milk for ages,” she says, inadvertently.

“Excuse me?” asks Jubilee.

Fresh stops, turning her head around to look at her friends as she realizes that she has exposed her secret ingredient.

“Uh, milk,” says Fresh. “We’re out of flagons of milk.”

Jubilee and Basil exchange a look. “A flagon?” asks Basil.

“Yeah!” says Fresh, pretty sure that she’s gotten away with it. “A flagon!” she says, holding out her hands to gesture the size of a large object. “It’s like a bottle!”

“Just fucking say ‘bottle’, goo-brain,” sighs Jubilee. “And we fucking have milk. You used it this morning, remember?” Jubilee shakes their head. “Fuckings flagons…”

“Oh!” says Fresh. “Haha!” She reaches into the cooling cabinet, pulling out a bottle of milk that she had indeed, had in her hands this very morning. It’s just normal milk though. She turns her head, looking at Shamrock who is gazing at her.

He knows.

Slowly, she shakes her head.

At his waist, he lifts two fingers and then, seeming to consider for a moment, he raises a third. Fresh frowns, but nods. He nods back.

She blinks. That seems a little… extreme. The man sits down at the table and Basil comes to help her make dinner tonight. Fresh sighs, it’s going to be a lot of work. Along with dinner, she’s going to have to make a batch of three giant muffins to pay for Shamrock’s silence. Also, because the fountain thinks that it’s funny apparently, she has to do it or she is literally going to die.

“So,” starts Basil. “That was a good save before,” says the priestess. “With that crusader. You’re a good actor.”

“You think I should try out at the theater?” asks Fresh, smiling as she begins to peel a tuber. “Sorry that I had to lie while holding your beads, Basil,” she says. “I hope they aren’t ruined now.”

Basil laughs quietly, running her fingers through some leafy greens. “That’s not how it works,” she says. “Anyways, it was lucky that you two weren’t at the counter,” says Basil, looking at Jubilee and Shamrock. “You’re awfully conspicuous.”

Jubilee and Shamrock exchange a look from across the table and then both of them shrug at the same time.

“Not as conspicuous as that face of yours,” replies Jubilee.

“I am,” is all that Shamrock says, agreeing with Basil.

Basil sighs. “Come on guys, this is serious,” she says. “Shamrock, if that man saw you, there might have been a huge problem,” explains Basil. “The older rank and file take their faith very seriously. It isn’t just a job for them.”

“Who gives a fuck?” asks Jubilee. “Let’s just put up a big, fat ‘no zealots’ sign. Problem solved.”

“That’ll just cause us even more problems,” says Basil. “Hiding in plain sight is working so far. But if we start acting shady, they’ll double down.”

Jubilee waves her off. “Wash some carrots or something. It’s a non-issue.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I am,” replies Jubilee. They lift a finger, pointing at Shamrock. “You think half the city hasn’t seen this fuck-head already?” asks Jubilee. “Literally everyone knows that he works here,” they explain. “There’s no way that your kook-collective doesn’t know about him,” they state.

“But then…” Basil thinks for a second. “But then, aren’t we in danger?” she asks, looking around. “If they know Shamrock is here, then -”

Jubilee cuts her off, raising a hand. “They know that a member of the witch’s sect is here. That’s it.”

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Basil fidgets with her sleeve, staining the fabric with some vegetable goo. “But how many of those are there even left?” she asks, looking around. “In the last few years, I’ve literally only ever seen Shamrock,” says Basil.

Jubilee shakes their head. “It’s taken care of.”

“That doesn’t reassure me at all!” exclaims the priestess, sounding increasingly troubled.

“It should,” says Jubilee. “Remember? Our meeting?” they ask.

Basil stops, looking around the room as she realizes something. She gasps, having come to understand something now. Fresh, holding a tuber, looks at Basil as she tries to process the situation. She had forgotten that Jubilee and Basil had had a shady meeting somewhere a few weeks prior, likely with the thieves’ guild.

The priestess sighs, looking unhappy, but at least reassured in some sense. Though Fresh doesn’t really understand what just happened.

“So everything is fine?” asks Fresh.

“Everything is fine,” says Jubilee.

Fresh turns her gaze, looking at Basil. The priestess seems a little unnerved, but feeling her eyes, she looks up at Fresh’s curious expression and thinks for a moment longer. “I think that everything is fine too,” she says, putting on a reassuring expression that Fresh isn’t able to decipher the validity of. “Sleepover tonight?” asks Basil.

Fresh gasps in surprise. “YES!”

“Eh…” groans Jubilee, sounding uninterested.

“Shamrock?” asks Basil. Fresh looks at him, wondering if he is feeling better today. He looks at Basil and then at Fresh, showing her four fingers.

She nods. He nods back.

“Yes.”

Fresh recoils from the window. Why is the fountain so insistent on her making muffins, of all things?

“Jubilee’s room, or Shamrock’s bed?” asks Basil. “Shamrock’s bed is bigger. But Jubilee’s room is cozier.”

“Hello?” asks Jubilee, still not having actually given an answer. “Why don’t you all just sleep in your own beds like normal adults?”

“The fairies all sleep in one room too!” argues Fresh. “They’re adults.”

Jubilee rolls their eyes. “They sure are,” says Jubilee. “How do you think that wall got blasted away?”

“Huh?”

“Things get out of hand fast when you’re young,” explains Jubilee. “Lots of energy. Not enough self control.”

“Anyways,” says Basil, clearing her throat. “Jubilee’s room it is. Except Jubilee's sleeping on the floor, so we have room for Shamrock.”

Jubilee leans their head onto the open palm. “Uh, no?”

“It’s fine, you can take your teddy with you,” says Basil. “So you won’t be alone.”

“Basil!” condemns Fresh. “Jubilee can’t sleep on the floor!” she says wagging a finger at the priestess, who is apparently surprised at this. “The foot-demons might come.” She turns back to her work, cutting tubers and throwing chunks into a pot. “Why don’t we just move our beds together, Basil?” suggests Fresh, nodding. “Then we have room for all of us.”

Basil thinks for a second and nods, opening her mouth to speak.

“- Fucking fine,” relents Jubilee, rather abruptly. “We can use my room. You fucks.”

“Yay!” beams Fresh, spinning once on her heels and dropping a fistful of tubers into the pot.

It looks like everything really is working itself out somehow. She pours a splash of milk into the pot from the bottle, which is definitely not a flagon.

Razmatazz

Muffins are serious business.

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