Chapter 388: 389: Midnight workshop

There are many things that people look for during their lives. Some of these things are of greater meaning and some of these are of lesser so. Sometimes it’s something simple; a lost item, a lost person, a lost feeling or a spirit of what might have once been a time that has now passed, despite the many hands of howling men, clawing after those forgone days in silent desperation, only for them never to return.

Fresh hums as she works, lifting her gaze to look at the body-double of herself that she had summoned, who is helping her with the project. Or maybe she’s helping her? It’s hard to say.

The other things that people might search for, during their time here on this plane, are perhaps more abstract and individual. A place to belong. Fresh exhales, wiping her forehead on her sleeve as she stops for a second, looking over at Jubilee, who is sewing some fabric together.

Something to believe in. Her eyes wander over to Shamrock, who is holding and pressing down the orichalcum bar against the grating device that she’s made.

Something to hope for. Basil is mixing together a concoction in a small pot, ducking around and under the table to pull out dried herbs and mushrooms from all manner of spaces.

Her eyes wander away from her friends and up towards the broken bauble-staff, hung up on the basement wall. The staff, which had summoned the healer-spriggan, had through some reverse magical process, been broken in half.

Then, sometimes, we find the things that we were looking for and they just don’t turn out to be what we were expecting them to be.

…Peridot.

Sometimes, the least fortunate simply never find what it is they came here to seek to begin with and the clawing desperation, combined with a shattered, renewed hope…

“Jubilee~!” complains a familiar voice. Fresh blinks, looking at her double, who is pointing her way. “I’m not working!”

Fresh yelps, returning to her task, sticking her tongue out at her double, who returns the gesture, pulling her lower eyelid down with a finger.

“Stop playing around,” scolds Basil. “This is dangerous stuff,” she warns, looking over her shoulder. “Take it seriously.”

“Yes, Basil…” say both Freshs at the same time, lowering their heads and continuing to work.

They have a few different problems at the moment.

The first problem is the fading shield. Given that the roots of the world-tree are dead, it seems that it’s only a matter of time until the monumental thing is drained empty of its inherent magic. After that, the city is entirely helpless to whatever the fountain’s whims are. If the hero doesn’t destroy it, in his pursuit of her, then the fountain surely has something else in store for it instead. That’s the second problem.

The third problem is that, even if she somehow gets through the shield and manages to lure the hero away in another direction… then what? Whatever it is that he’s become, it’s likely too late to save him, so that means that he just has to go, right?

The fourth problem -

Fresh sighs, continuing her work. They sure do have a lot of problems.

- Is that assuming they somehow keep the city safe from the hero, then what are they going to do about the fountain, about Perchta?

There’s even a fifth problem too. That being, assuming all of those things work out, somehow, then what?

Assuming what’s left of the world and they all survive… Are they just going to live here, in the central-city, forever? Where people know that she is not only a witch, but that she’s responsible for the destruction all around them?

Right now, they’re all fine. But that’s because the central-city is trying to survive at any cost. But what happens when the threat is dealt with? Will they be safe? Or will they be conveniently disposed of one night, while they’re all asleep in their beds?

Should they just… leave?

She has her flying broom. What if she just makes another one or two of those and they just… leave. The four of them could just fly east, over the ocean. There’s another continent there, right?

Sure, it might have gotten somewhat devastated by the whole wind-elemental incident, but surely there is more land and civilization there to work with than here? Plus nobody knows them there. It could offer a real chance for a restart. A clean slate.

Then again, how long will that last?

The fountain has made its intentions clear. Just because they’re starting here, on this side of the world, doesn’t mean that the other half is safe forever. Sure, it might not be at her hands, given the fact that they’re not really on speaking terms at the moment, but it could just as well find someone else to take care of the other half of the world in her place.

No. It all has to be dealt with and taken care of now. Then they can go across the ocean to the other continent. Staying here isn’t an option.

“How big is the ocean?” she asks, breaking the quiet of the workshop.

“Big,” replies Jubilee. “It’s the ocean, goo-brain.”

“Hmm…”

Basil nods. “Plus there are all sorts of monsters in the ocean,” she notes. “Crazy stuff that you’d never see on land.”

“I don’t like it,” says Shamrock. “Too salty.”

“I heard it takes a month by boat,” says Basil. “With perfect weather.”

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“Wow. That’s super far,” says Fresh.

Jubilee sets their scissors down, grabbing a set of needles and some string. “Fuck that. I don’t want to deal with those freaks of nature.”

“That’s a rather harsh thing to say,” says Basil. “They’re people, just like you and me.”

“Sure,” replies Jubilee, rolling their eyes. “’People’,” they say, making air-quotes.

Fresh points at Shamrock. “Shamrock is people too, Jubilee.”

“Shamrock is a person, idiot,” replies Jubilee.

“Thanks,” says Shamrock.

The other Fresh shrugs. “So, they have like, cat ears and stuff?” she asks. “That sounds fun. What’s wrong with that?”

Jubilee points at her. “What’s wrong with that, is that it’s weird,” they say. “Like… what the fuck? Why do they have cat ears?”

“Not all of them have cat ears,” sighs Basil. “Don’t be ignorant. Read a book. Anyways, should you really be talking?” asks the priestess. “Given your condition?”

Jubilee glares at the priestess. “Shut your yap, Basil.”

“Are you going to make me?” asks the priestess, not bothering to look away from her potion.

“I would, but you’d like it,” they reply. “So let’s just agree to disagree before things get weird.”

Basil sighs. “Things are already weird.”

Fresh smiles, looking back at their work. It’s going to be a long night. They have a lot to do and even then…

How are they going to stop Perchta? How…

She lowers her gaze, stopping her work again. The other Fresh groans in annoyance. “Stop slacking off, me!”

She gasps, getting a sudden idea. “Be right back!” yells Fresh, running upstairs to get the thing she just thought of. Sure, there’s so much else that they need to do, but certainly there’s merit in this new idea of hers too. She sure has had a whole lot of ideas lately.

“Hey!” yells her own voice after her.

Oh well. Fresh grabs the repaired crystal-ball from the table in the library and then heads back to the basement, setting it down on the workbench.

“Huh… good idea,” says Jubilee. “Maybe we can just blast the hero away with a spell from here?”

“Huh?” Fresh blinks. “Oh, that wasn’t my idea,” she says. “But it’s a good one too.”

“I have my doubts about that working,” says Basil. “What was your idea?”

“This!” Fresh lifts her hands, hovering them over the crystal-ball.

“Ta-da!” she says, presenting the item to her friends. Her mirror-self gasps excitedly, catching on, but the others look less ecstatic.

“Good work, me!”

“Really? With the fucking ghosts again?” says Jubilee, shaking their head. “Didn’t we put this behind us already?”

Basil frowns. “I’m still scarred from last time.”

“Not ghosts, guys!” says Fresh, tapping her head.

“- Witches,” says Shamrock, his chest heaving, understanding her plan.

Fresh nods. Witches. They need more information on Perchta, they need a better plan and better logistics and who better to ask than the other witches, the dead Spiraholle and Gauden?

Razmatazz

Is the plural of 'Fresh' Freshs or Freshes?

I do not know.

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