Chapter 277: 278: Like every other

It was the best night ever.

Sure. Fresh has had a lot of good nights’ sleep here in this world, many of them on her own, but many more during their so-called ‘sleepovers’. Is it a weird thing for them to be doing? Maybe. It depends, she supposes.

In the context of her old life, of her old world-view, it would certainly be odd for several friends of their age to be sharing the same bed like this. It isn’t anything seedy, they’re all just sleeping peacefully. It’s just warmer this way, safer, more comfortable, more reassuring. But, this is a different world, there are different rules that apply here.

That being said, it might also just be weird here too.

Oh well. Who cares? If it’s good enough for fairies, it’s good enough for her, right? Besides, she’s only going to live this life once and she feels that, when the day finally comes and the curtains draw closed on this chapter of her existence, she will have been happier for having done such weird things. In the end, on that day when she slides into the darkness of eternal sleep, she will go, unable to regret having missed out on the warmth and connection of something so simple, stupid and weird.

Fresh opens her eyes, staring at the ceiling as she wiggles herself back down lower, in between the body-warmed, hard armor of Shamrock and the priestess, Basil. She slept great and that’s all that matters.

Yawning, Fresh covers her mouth and looks at her friends who also begin to stir from the disturbance of her waking, but they don’t seem to wake up just yet. It’s unusual for her to be the first one up. Maybe she’ll surprise them by getting started early and getting the day ready for them all?

Fresh smiles, that’s a great idea. She turns her head, looking at Basil and Jubilee who have clamped onto each other in their sleep. She wishes that she had a camera, just so she could show them the photo every time they fight. But she supposes that that’s pointless. The two of them already know how they feel.

Squishing herself flat down against the mattress, she turns herself around onto her stomach and slides down through the blanket, coming out on the foot of the bed. Grabbing a robe from her wardrobe, she adjusts the blanket back over Shamrock and slips around the corner to get changed.

So. Breakfast.

“Eggs?” she mutters to herself. They have eggs basically every day. But there’s always at least one person who wants them, so it always works out. But after the horrible, crushing defeat she suffered during the great egg-debate, she doesn’t think she has the resolve to make fried eggs today.

Maybe hard-boiled or scrambled then? She could do less damage that way.

Nodding to herself, she goes downstairs to the washroom, crab-checking it, before washing up. The crabs have seemingly kept their end of the bargain and since that odd night, none of them wander into their home anymore. She can’t say the same for the other houses on the beach, but theirs at least, is neutral territory.

Coming back upstairs with wet hair, she looks over towards the bed, seeing that the three of them have squished themselves into the center of it, to fill the gap she left behind. Feeling her heart flutter, she clutches her hands together by her face and stares at them.

Breakfast is going to have to be really good today, to make up for this free sight that she’s getting. Living in another world is honestly not so bad, really. Sure, there are a lot of things that she misses and there are some inconveniences here and there.

Fresh grabs a bowl from down below the shelf, opting to make scrambled eggs today.

But all of those things aren’t really as big of a loss as one would think. Things like electricity or anything like that. Because if your days are full of productive, fulfilling moments like this morning is turning out to be for her, then you don’t have time for that nonsense anyways. Plus, there’s the old cliché about things being more fulfilling if you do them by hand and there’s certainly a deep truth to that.

Though, it might be a little hypocritical, since she literally has magical abilities to do a lot of the grimier work for her. But that doesn’t apply for cooking. Fresh has some cooking abilities, similar to her craftsman abilities. But she refuses to use them. Cooking should be done with love and care, not with heartless efficiency. Especially when the food is being made for special people who offer her equally as special feelings.

Mixing the cracked eggs into the bowl, she takes a bottle of milk and pours in a splash of it and stirs the mixture together. Then she sets a pan onto the stove, letting it get hot. Meanwhile, she takes their loaf of old bread and slices some thick slices off, putting them onto a rack and then sliding them into the oven to toast.

After her defeat, she had watched Shamrock make scrambled eggs a few times. There’s a few things he does differently than Basil or Jubilee, but it seems to make the difference. Copying him, she waits until the pan is hot and then puts in a small pat of butter, smearing it around with a fork and then waits another minute before pouring the contents of the bowl into the pan. It hisses, filling the room with a strong smell, together with that of the toasting bread that she manages to pull out of the oven just in time.

Fire really does cook some things much faster than a conventional oven.

Humming to herself, she sets the toast to the side and then grabs a spatula, folding the eggs over. After they solidify only a tiny bit, but are still very wet, she grabs a generous pinch of salt and sprinkles it in, together with a dash of pepper and then mixes it all around again, taking the pan off of the heat to scramble it, before putting it back on again a second later.

Not much longer after that, the eggs are already done and she sets the pan to the side.

“Good morning,” says an undead from behind her.

“Good morning, Basil!” beams Fresh, looking at the ratty-haired priestess who has a fatal case of bed-head. “You look very fluffy today,” says Fresh. Basil grumbles, running her fingers through her head as she shuffles away to go downstairs. “Red or green?” asks Fresh.

“Coughee,” replies Basil, to her surprise.

“Okay!” calls Fresh after her. Basil is usually a tea-drinker. Oh well, that’s fine. A little change now and then is good, right? Maybe she herself is going to have tea today then, just to keep things fresh.

Soon after that, the others get up too. “Good morning, Jubilee!” Without a word, Jubilee drags themselves past to go downstairs too and she can hear them and Basil get into a spat about the washroom. Turning around, she watches as Shamrock sits upright directly out of his sleep and gets up. Without so much as a stretch or a yawn or anything signaling that he had been asleep, he grabs the beds and puts them back into place and then starts making the sheets tidy.

“Good morning, Shamrock!” beams Fresh as he makes his way towards the kitchen. “You can sit down, I got breakfast today,” she says. “What do you want to drink?” she asks, pouring the coughee into two cups for Basil and Jubilee. Shamrock takes them from her and sets them down at the table.

“Green,” he says and Fresh nods.

“You like the green one, huh?” she asks, grabbing the mix of green tea-leaves.

“Green is my favorite,” he says, sitting down.

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“Color or tea?” she asks.

He turns his head, looking at her. “Yes.”

“Mm,” smiles Fresh, getting the green tea ready for him. It’s a little sweeter than the red or the yellow or the blues teas, so she supposes it makes sense that he likes it the most. It’s just in Shamrock’s nature to be more sweet-affine.

A little while later, the table is set and breakfast is done and the others come upstairs, apparently having sorted out their shower-differences.

“So what’s the plan for today?” beams Fresh, having the oddest sense of familiarity with this moment as she says the words.

“Same plan as every day,” sighs Jubilee, pushing Basil’s hand away as she plays with one of their ears.

“And every day before that,” agrees the priestess, sitting down for breakfast.

“Forever,” says Shamrock.

Fresh beams, this is the best news that she has ever heard. “Mm! That sounds great!” she exclaims.

“Yup,” says Jubilee, sighing, poking at a piece of egg and looking at it suspiciously.

“Mhm,” says Basil, taking a long sip of her coughee.

“Yes,” is all that Shamrock says as he stares at his dissolving tea.

Fresh sits down at the table, nodding her head and looking at the large breakfast set out before them. She did a good job. They don’t have to say it, because she knows that she did a good job.

“Mm!” is all that she says as their day begins. A day, just like every other day, with no grand adventure, no witchery or debauchery or anything suspicious or malicious or cruel. It’s just a fun, calm, quiet day in this new life of theirs that they have found together and despite the still sleepy expressions on her friends’ faces, she knows that they all wouldn’t trade it for anything grander or more noble than what it already is.

Razmatazz

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